Chapter 13 Willow
WILLOW
A little over a week later, I stand in my apartment in front of the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. The dress I’m wearing is so much nicer than anything I’ve ever worn, and I’m half afraid to even move in it, afraid that I’ll rip it or something.
Olivia helped me pick it out, since I told her I have no idea what to wear to something like the opening of a new wing in a museum. Of course, she knew exactly where to go and managed to find something that I felt beautiful in, in a matter of minutes.
The cost of it almost made my eyes pop out, but Olivia seems so happy to be bringing me into this world with her that I let her buy me the dress without argument.
And I have to admit, I do look good in it.
It’s made of a material that’s both heavy enough to feel substantial and light enough to move with me.
The jade green color brings out my eyes and adds some warmth to my skin, and best of all, the cut of it covers my scars—at least the ones on my shoulder and legs.
The dress still shows more skin than I’m used to, plunging a bit in the back, and I try to twist to see just how much of myself I’m showing off, but I just end up turning in circles.
The slit up the side shows off my good leg, all the way above the knee, and I blush a little at the flashes of skin that show in the mirror when I move.
It manages to be sexy and classy at the same time, and I almost can’t believe that the girl looking back at me from the mirror is me.
Taking a deep breath, I run my hands over the dress one more time, smoothing down nonexistent wrinkles and nodding at my own reflection.
“Okay. Here we go.”
Turning away from the mirror, I grab my purse and head downstairs to my car.
When I arrive at the museum, there’s a short line of cars around the front, and since I can’t see anywhere to park that’s not closed off, I join the line. When I get to the front of it, a man in a red vest comes over with a smile. He looks at me expectantly, and I roll down my window.
“Hi, I was, um, wondering where I park,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
His eyebrows draw down a little, but he doesn’t lose the professional veneer. “It’s valet parking only tonight, ma’am. So I’ll take your car.”
Oh. Right. Valet.
“Of course,” I say, trying to hide how out of place and awkward I feel. I grab my purse from the passenger seat and slide out, allowing him to take my place in the driver’s seat and go park the car.
As the valet disappears, I join the trickle of people walking up the stairs to the museum, gripping my bag nervously.
I don’t know anyone here, and everyone else seems to be gathered in twos and threes, chatting and laughing.
They all look so glamorous and glittering, and even though I’m dressed the part, I definitely still feel like I don’t belong here.
There’s a woman at the door, checking names on a list, and when I get to her, she smiles at me.
“Good evening,” she says. “And welcome to the Museum of Contemporary Art. May I have your name?”
“Willow Hayes?” I tell her, and I hate that it sounds like a question. Olivia took care of getting my name and the guys’ names on the list, so I know I’m on there. But some part of me is still waiting to be turned away and reminded that I’m not really part of this world.
But of course, the woman just gives a sharp nod as she puts a check mark next to my name.
“Perfect,” she says. “Enjoy your evening, Ms. Hayes.”
Stepping past her, I walk into the museum, and it takes my breath away for a second. It’s a beautiful space, and not just because of the art on the walls. Despite having lived in Detroit all my life, I’ve never had an opportunity to visit before.
I wander the front room a bit, taking in the paintings that line the walls. Some of the people gathered in little clusters talk about the art in soft voices, bringing up things like brush strokes and the “quality of the colors.” I have no idea what any of that means.
Chewing my bottom lip, I lift my chin and glance around, trying to find my grandmother. A group of people come through the front doors, and I turn to see if Olivia is one of them.
But it’s not her.
Instead, it’s the Voronin brothers.
Malice, Ransom, and Vic would stand out anywhere, I think. They don’t really do ‘blending in.’ But tonight they’ve made an effort, and the effect is… amazing.
All three of them are dressed in suits that must be tailored to fit their muscled frames so well. I’m pretty sure they don’t make suits off the rack that could handle the breadth of Malice’s shoulders the way the one he’s wearing does.
I’m used to seeing them in jeans and t-shirts, sometimes streaked with grease, and they look handsome in a totally different way all dressed up like this. Most of their tattoos are covered, and if they’re armed, it’s impossible to tell.
Even so, the air of danger that always seems to surround them is still there.
I guess that’s the kind of thing that can’t be covered up or disguised no matter what kind of veneer you put on it.
Brutal power still radiates from them, and I see a few people—women, mostly, if I’m being honest—follow them with their eyes as they stride into the museum.
This isn’t the brothers’ turf, but they still walk in like they own the place, and I find myself unable to look away from the imposing sight.
Almost in unison, their eyes snap to me, as if my attention on them has sparked theirs right back. All three of them take me in, and my breath gets stuck in my throat as their footsteps slow a little, their gazes running up and down my body.
Ransom grins, slow and sure, one side of his mouth quirking up higher than the other in a way that makes him look sexy and rakish.
Malice’s eyes seem to burn as he stares at me, and it’s as if he can see right through me, making my stomach flutter.
Victor’s gaze is more assessing. There’s no obvious heat in his expression, not the way there is with Malice and Ransom, but there’s something approving in the way he studies me, as if he’s already found the most beautiful piece of art in the entire museum.
I don’t move, but the three of them change course, heading toward me. They stop a few feet away, and it’s as if the entire room full of well-dressed people around us fades away. The hum of conversation grows muted and indistinct, and all I’m aware of is the three men in front of me.
Ransom’s smile widens, his tongue piercing flashing as he wets his lips.
“You look fucking gorgeous, angel,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes my cheeks heat.
“Thank you,” I murmur, glancing down at the shiny marble floor while I try to get my blush under control.
“No, thank you.” Malice’s voice is a low rumble. “You really came through for us.”
There’s something in his tone that makes me glance up at him—but I immediately regret it, because as soon as our gazes lock, I can’t look away.
He’s clean shaven tonight, unlike the last time I saw him when he had a bit of a shadow on his jaw, and the dark ink of his tattoos peeks out from beneath the collar of his shirt.
“Of course,” I murmur. “I know it was important.”
He doesn’t look away, and although his expression doesn’t change, something shifts in his eyes. His gorgeous gray irises churn like a stormy sky about to erupt with rain, and I swear I can feel my skin prickle with the electric hum of lightning about to strike.
It takes an almost physical effort to wrench my gaze away from his, and when I do, my eyes meet Victor’s. His irises are almost the reverse of Malice’s, blue flecked with gray instead of the other way around, but just like his twin’s, they reveal so much more than the expression on his face.
“That dress fits you well,” he says, nodding at it. “The asymmetry suits you.”
Ransom snorts a laugh. “What kind of lame-ass compliment is that, Vic? No woman wants to hear that ‘asymmetry suits her.’”
But I’m already smiling, strangely pleased by the fact that Vic likes my outfit.
“No, it’s a good compliment,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
Malice and Ransom share a look, and I’m pretty sure they’re both about to start teasing Vic. But before they can, we’re interrupted by Olivia’s arrival.
She enters the museum looking gorgeous and understated at the same time in a silvery dress that makes the white in her hair stand out. It’s clear that she’s very comfortable in this environment, moving with purpose across the large space as she heads toward us.
“Willow,” she says warmly, clasping my hands and pressing a kiss to my cheek in greeting. “And these must be your guests.”
Her eyes flicker over the brothers, and I can tell she recognizes them from that night outside the hospital. She shoots me a curious glance, looking between me and the three of them as if trying to figure out what the dynamic is between us.
A flush of heat rushes through me, and I pray that my cheeks aren’t turning red.
There’s no way in hell that my grandmother would ever guess I’ve had sex with two of these men while the third one watched. And I’m sure as fuck not going to tell her.
But I don’t want her to worry that I’m not safe around them or anything, especially considering that I’m sure she picked up on the tension between all of us when they came to the hospital.
She’s definitely aware that my life before I met her was on the rougher side of the tracks, so I’m assuming she thinks the brothers are just a part of that old life.
Which they are, in a way.
Except I can’t seem to leave them behind the way I meant to. Can’t seem to make a clean break between us.
They occupy too much space in my head and heart.
“Mrs. Stanton,” Ransom says, nodding his head politely. “Thank you so much for getting us on the list for this event. We’re huge fans of the museum, and it’s amazing to be here for the unveiling of a new wing.”