Page 34 of Glitter Rose
I should tell her about Iron Gate. About Gavin, Sofia, Walsh, Liv, and our community. About the fact that we have doctors, gardens, and security. That she doesn’t have to be alone anymore.
But what if she says no?
Or worse—what if she says yes, and Gabriel’s peoplefind her because I took her out in the open? They’ve been hunting anyone with immunity. And Paris, with her weird zombie invisibility…
It’s only a matter of time until they find her here.
The spoon bends in my grip. I set it down before I snap it in half.
What’s the best option?
I move through the kitchen, finishing dinner preparations, trying not to think.
Everything’s ready, but Paris hasn’t returned. I check the pan again.
And then I hear her footsteps.
I look up, and the wooden spoon nearly slips from my fingers.
She stands in the doorway wearing a black dress that dips low between her breasts and clings to every curve I’ve been trying not to notice. It rides high on her thighs—Fuck, those legs. My hands twitch at my sides, wanting to trace the path from her ankles to where the hemline teases, and to grab her wet hair that falls in loose waves around her shoulders, catching the candlelight like the dark honey I was holding.
“Why don’t we get wasted today?” She holds a bottle of wine in one hand.
Gorgeous.
She’s fucking beautiful—but it’s more than that. It’s the life in her eyes, her smile, and the way she moves like the world never ended. Like we’re just a man and woman about to have dinner.
I’m fucked. Completely, utterly fucked.
NINE
PARIS
The wine flows down my throat, warm and honeyed, loosening everything. My limbs, my tongue, and the tight bundle of nerves I’ve been carrying in my chest since Knox almost kissed me in the kitchen. I curl my bare feet against the leather of the couch, toes brushing against his thigh as I take another sip, watching him over the rim of my glass.
“You look like you belong in a magazine.” His eyes travel over my dress, then back to my face. His hand rests on my ankle, thumb tracing slow circles that send heat spiraling up my leg. “Unreal.”
“Vogue: Apocalypse Edition?” I stretch languidly, the wine making me bold. “What I wouldn’t give for a camera. Proof that Paris cleaned up nice at the end of the world.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me and settling low in my belly.
“What did you want?” I ask, desperate for conversation to distract my body. “Before all this.”
“Happiness.” He takes another sip of wine, eyes never leaving mine. “Married. Kids eventually. Nothing fancy.”
“What about your career? No ‘when I grow up’ fantasies? Except forblowingshit up?”
“Not really.” His hand glides to my knee, resting there like a promise. “What about you, princess? What dreams got interrupted?”
I drain my glass, liquid courage for what I’m about to say. “Normal stuff. College. Travel. Finding someone who wouldn’t leave.”
“That’s not small.”
“Maybe a jewelry line.” I stare at my empty glass. “Blue, like my nail polish. Or maybe designing clothes. I sketch sometimes.”
“You’d be good at it.”
“Based on what? My fantastic apocalypse wardrobe?”
