Chapter 36
Sean
The salon smells like lavender and peroxide. I sit in the corner with a latte I didn’t want and a magazine I haven’t opened. Everything about this place is too clean, too curated. It feels like an alien world.
Johnny texted me yesterday with the appointment time and a pinned location. Said the cost was covered for whatever she wanted done. I think this is his version of taking care of her. The only way he knows how.
The wedding’s tomorrow, and Aro’s getting her hair done. Though if she knew Johnny was footing the bill, I doubt she’d have come. Things between them have been tense as hell. They’ve barely said three words to each other since the family meeting.
“She’s about finished,” the receptionist tells me. “Can I get you anything else?”
Just my girl.
“No, thank you.”
A few minutes later, Aro steps out from behind the frosted divider. She’s smiling faintly, and golden waves spill down her shoulders like she just stepped out of the sun.
I let out a low whistle, and her cheeks turn a delicate shade of pink.
“What do you think?” she asks, fingers grazing her hair like she’s not quite sure she’s allowed to love it.
I’ve seen hints of her natural color before, peeking out at the roots. But never like this. She looks like she’s reclaiming herself. Glowing and radiant. Watching her do it feels damn near holy.
I stand and pull her into me, kiss her slow. “You’re gorgeous, Baby.”
She lights up beneath the words, chin lifting. “Thank you.”
I kiss her again because I can’t help myself.
She laughs softly. “Ready?”
At my nod, she grabs my hand and heads for the door.
I follow her. Always.
∞∞∞
The elevator ride to the penthouse feels off. Like the air’s holding its breath. As soon as the doors open, I regret not texting ahead.
Johnny’s in the foyer. With a woman.
She’s dressed like she’s hosting a Vogue shoot. Heels. Red lipstick. That kind of entitled posture that says she thinks the room belongs to her.
It doesn’t. Not anymore.
Aro steps in behind me and stops short. Her fingers brush the small of my back, seeking comfort.
The woman’s smile falters when she sees her.
“Lina,” she says, syrupy. “How… nostalgic.”
She turns to look at Johnny. “You didn’t tell me she was in town.”
Johnny shrugs, but his focus is all on the blonde next to me. He can’t take his eyes off her. I know the feeling.
Aro’s face doesn’t twitch. “Rachel.” She says it like an unfavorable diagnosis.
Rachel tilts her head, fake sweetness oozing off her. “You know, I should thank you. You were the best thing that ever happened to Johnny. All the havoc you caused? It pushed him to be the man he is today. The man who earned me.”
Johnny closes his eyes and looks up. He exhales heavily, like he wants to disappear. Good.
I start to step forward, but Aro stops me with a light touch. Her smile is slow and dangerous. I know my woman’s about to serve up some fresh hell.
“So, what you’re saying is… you needed me out of the picture for him to finally notice you. Good to know.”
Rachel’s mask slips. Barely, but it’s enough for my girl to be satisfied.
“Let’s go,” Aro says, brushing past them like they don’t exist. Her work here is done.
Again, I follow. Always.
∞∞∞
Back in our room, she just stands there. Silent. Breathing like it hurts.
I don’t ask if she’s okay. I don’t press. Instead, I wait for her to tell me what she needs.
“I need you,” she says. No drama. No buildup. Just raw, exposed honesty, that sounds like it costs her to say it out loud.
I step toward her. “What exactly do you need, Baby?”
She looks up, eyes burning like they did the night she first let me hold her. “To forget. To feel. To love.”
I swallow hard. “You sure?”
She nods. “I trust you. I want… that. With you. Only you.”
I cross the room in two strides, cupping her face in both hands, my forehead resting against hers.
“You don’t have to be strong for me.”
Her hands slide down my chest, tugging at the hem of my shirt. She lifts it slowly, fingers brushing bare skin. She presses a kiss to my collarbone, then another just above my heart.
“Show me,” she whispers. “What it’s like to be cared for by you. All the way.”
I don’t rush. Slowly, I strip her. Like she’s art I’m unwrapping. A masterpiece no one else gets to see or touch.
By the time she’s bare, she’s trembling. I lay her back on the bed gently, kiss her lips, her throat, the space between her breasts, the soft curve of her belly. The places no one’s loved right.
I stand and rid myself of the rest of my clothes.
“You’re mine to catch when you fall. Mine to hold together when you break. Mine to worship when you don’t believe in yourself.”
A tear escapes down her cheek. I hate it, but I also love it. Because it means she trusts me enough to be vulnerable. And I know I can put her back together the way she needs.
“Please,” she whispers.
I climb between her thighs, deliberate and sure. “I’ll give you anything you want. You never have to beg.”
I ease into her, enjoying the way we fit together so perfectly. Her fingers clutch at my back, nails digging in like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. But I won’t. I never will.
When she falls apart—broken, gasping, crying my name—I hold her through the aftershocks.
She doesn’t speak when it’s over. Just curls into me, heart racing against mine, and lets herself be small.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper into her hair.
And I do. Always.
Forever even, if she’ll let me.