Page 39 of The Two of Us

“Hmm. I don’t think this color looks good with my hair. I think my heart is set on the black-and-red one. You should try this on, though. It’s made for you.” She hops off the stool positioned in front of the full-length mirror.

I point to my chest. “I don’t think I have the proper equipment for that dress, if you catch my drift.”

She rolls her eyes, returning to the dressing room. “Please. You underestimate my mother’s tailoring skills. Try it on. Now.”

She throws the dress over the dressing room door and I obey her orders. When I return to step in front of the mirror, I’m shocked. Mrs. King will need to pull in the bust, but the rest of the dress fits like a glove. The green pulls out the amber flecks in my brown eyes and the tulle adds volume to my petite frame. It doesn’t hurt that I got my braces removed a few months ago. The dress is perfect for our dance’s theme of Alice in Wonderland.

“Oh my god, you look incredible! If Brandon doesn’t kiss you at the dance, I will.”

I grin and turn back to the mirror for one final look. A piece of clothing has never made me feel so confident and the new emotion sits like warm honey in my belly.

We bring our dresses to the checkout counter, giggling like a pair of schoolgirls high on excitement. Cat settled on the sultry, but still very school-appropriate, black-and-red dress once I told her it embodied the Red Queen. We spend the next hour window-shopping and stuffing our faces with Cinnabon.

The next morning, I head over to the Kings’ house so Alima can alter my dress. We’re on a time crunch, but she’s confident she can have it done before our pictures this afternoon. Cat’s asleep upstairs and the house smells of fresh pumpkin bread, my favorite. I settle on the sofa in the den while Alima scours through drawers for her sewing kit.

“I could have sworn everything was in here. Mara, I’m sorry. I’m going to need a few minutes. I think Robby may have moved my stuff into the new office.” She sounds annoyed, but I pretend not to notice. Robby and Alima King fight more often than not these days, but for some reason they still haven’t separated.

“No problem, Mrs. King.”

“Mara,” she warns.

“Sorry. Alima.” I smile. She always gets on my case for calling her Mrs. King, saying it makes her feel old.

While I wait for her return, I decide to quickly run upstairs and grab the headphones I left in Cat’s room the day before. Her bedroom at the end of the hall shares a bathroom with the neighboring room belonging to Ambrose. I walk past his door, noticing it’s opened a crack. Ambrose never leaves his door open. Curiosity getting the best of me, I use my shoe to widen the gap a few more inches before peeking inside.

His room is empty and I extend my neck, searching for sounds from the bathroom but hear nothing. I step in and close the door behind me. I haven’t been in Ambrose’s room in two years. The eagle bedspread he used to have has been replaced by a simple navy-blue quilt and countless books are strewn about, but it doesn’t look messy. His walls are no longer a shrine to National Geographic and the gray paint gives it a mature, but boring feel. I creep toward his nightstand, taking a closer look at a framed photo of him and Sasha. Ambrose has his arm wrapped around her shoulders with the barely there smirk I love so much while she pins him with her signature flirty eyes. I’m so busy dissecting the photo, I don’t hear the window close behind me.

“What are you doing in here?”

I jump back, ramming my ankle into the leg of the bed. Ambrose stands before me wearing a crumpled white tee and heather-gray sweatpants. With disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes, he stares at the photo in my hand, waiting for my response.

I set the frame back on the nightstand with a trembling hand. “Sorry. The door was open and I thought—”

“You thought you should just barge in and snoop around?” he hisses.

“I wasn’t snooping… I thought you’d be in here.”

“Well, clearly I wasn’t.”

“Clearly,” I say. “Why were you crawling in through the window?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “You broke into my room and you’re interrogating me?”

“You were obviously sneaking back in.”

“Are you always this observant?” he says, ripping off his shirt before pulling a clean one over his head and my eyes catch on the quick display of his hardened abs. He never had those before. “Because if you are, you should consider a career in detective work, Mouse.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap.

It’s the first time I’ve raised my voice at him and his eyes widen slightly. He roams my face as if he’s seeing me for the first time. He runs a hand through his hair, making it look more chaotic than it already is. “I was with Sasha.”

I can’t help myself because I’m a masochist. “Doing what?”

Ambrose takes a few steps forward, putting us toe to toe, his smirk devilish. “What do you think we were doing?”

Blood rushes through my ears and tension crackles in the air between us. His eyes drop to my mouth and I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until the shower in the bathroom turns on.

Ambrose moves away, grabbing a hoodie from his desk chair and his absence feels like a punch to the gut.

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