Chapter 12 - Elena
I have no intentions of enjoying myself tonight. That, I’m supposed to remember.
Walking into the mall with a mental list of reasons this shouldn’t be happening, like how it’s too public, too risky, and far too normal for either of us to accept, I tell myself I’ll just grab what I need quickly and get out before the illusion of choice clouds my judgment.
Yet, half an hour later, I’m standing in front of a tall mirror in a boutique dressing room, holding up a jacket I definitely don’t need while Wyatt lounges in one of the armchairs meant for exactly this kind of situation.
I scan the material, going over in my head if it goes with the few other items I’ve already picked up. Then, I lift my gaze and meet his through the mirror.
After a beat, I murmur, “You’re staring.”
He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t even startle. “I’m assessing.”
“Assessing what?”
“If it makes you easier to spot in a crowd.”
He says it casually, with an undertone of more care than he lets on.
I scoff. “Liar.”
His lips twitch into a brief smile, and he shrugs. “Maybe.”
Ignoring the way that expression of his makes him look even hotter than usual, I roll my eyes and return to the change room to try more on.
Looking at my reflection with a new ensemble on, the neutral colors and more plain patterns are still a disguise, but the clothes feel more like they could be mine instead of borrowed camouflage.
And of course, I’ve been sneaking in a few bolder pieces I would normally wear, just as long as they don’t catch his attention too much.
That alone sends a small thrill through me.
I step out of the dressing room again, presenting myself to him in a way that feels oddly vulnerable. Normally, something like this wouldn’t faze me. But it’s him.
…I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.
“Well?”
Wyatt looks me over slowly and deliberately, allowing his eyes to drag a little longer before returning them to mine. That should irritate me, but instead, it makes me squirm inwardly.
“It works,” he says calmly, expression neutral to an almost annoying degree. “Get it.”
“You’re not going to ask how much it costs?” I ask, lifting a brow. “Or even pretend to be frugal?”
“No,” he murmurs, as if it’s obvious. “I don’t need to be frugal about this, especially not when you hate the other ones you’ve been wearing.”
I pause at that, feeling a strange stitch of guilt for some reason. “I didn’t—”
“You complained about the seams,” Wyatt interjects with a knowing tone. “And the sleeves. And the fabric.”
Both of my brows go up then. “You noticed?”
“I notice a lot of things. Especially when they’re complaints from you.”
That shouldn’t do anything to me, and I know it, but I turn back to the mirror, feeling unsettled by the sudden warmth moving through my chest.
This is too much…too far.
But the next store is worse.
Wyatt hovers while I browse the racks, offering opinions I don’t ask for, and yet, he’s somehow right every time.
He hands me a scarf that complements my skin tone and isn’t completely atrocious, and even suggests shoes that are both practical and surprisingly stylish. It’s a bit irritating how natural he is at this.
“Sneakers,” I murmur as Wyatt carries them while he follows. “Let me guess…in case of emergency?”
“That’s right.”
“So you’re always planning for a disaster, then.”
“Always,” he replies with a subtle grin, not looking even remotely tired of trailing me through the stores that catch my attention. He already has a few bags he’s been hauling around.
At one point, I catch our reflections in a full-length mirror while he stands close behind me, leaning in close while he murmurs something about the fabric. It throws me immediately, and I don’t even register what he’s saying.
For a moment, I’m seeing us from a different perspective, and we look suspiciously real. Like this isn’t some kind of temporary ruse.
Almost like this is nothing out of the ordinary for us.
Startled, I step away, breaking the moment while I pretend to care about a sweater up ahead.
I’m sure he notices, but Wyatt doesn’t say anything.
Nothing about this should feel intimate, but it does, and that scares the shit out of me.
Eventually, we leave the last store with several bags in hand, heading through the parking garage. I’m glancing around, trying to remember where the car is, when Wyatt slows.
At first, I assume he’s taking issue with a man sitting against the wall near the entrance, bundled in many layers that likely don’t fight the chill from the concrete with a cardboard sign propped up beside him. The cup ahead of him looks mostly empty.
“Wait,” Wyatt murmurs to me, making me stop in my tracks.
Turning back around with my brows furrowed, I watch as Wyatt sets the bags down, then digs into his wallet before approaching the man. He slips the folded bills into the cup, murmuring something I can’t hear.
The man looks surprised, but his eyes light up when he notices, and he nods gratefully.
Then, without any kind of ceremony, Wyatt straightens and keeps walking like nothing happened. With the bags in hand again, he sidles in next to me.
I don’t know why, but that simple gesture strikes me, and I can’t find the words to say until we’re loading everything into the car. Finally, my thoughts stop tripping over themselves.
“How much did you give him?”
I have no right to ask, and I know that, but my curiosity has gotten the best of me.
Wyatt closes the rear door before getting into the driver’s seat. “Enough to get him something nice to eat. A comfortable room for a night or two if he wants.”
I blink back at him once I’m settled in my seat, so close to gawking at him. “Do you know the number of people who would’ve just walked by him today?”
“Likely too many to be considered fair.”
Keeping my eyes on him, I watch his every movement. “And you do that often?”
“Often enough,” he murmurs as he starts the engine.
I can’t tell if he’s toying with me, or if this really isn’t out of the norm for him. I can’t help but press.
He starts to pull out when I break through a beat of silence. “Why?”
Wyatt glances at me, then back at the road. “Why not?”
“That’s a lame answer.”
“Maybe it’s the one I want to give you.”
With a dissatisfied breath, I let it go for a few blocks, trying to ignore the repeating memory in my head. But the question keeps poking at me to the point of near desperation to know the truth of it.
But the longer I sit with it, the more a small thought grows.
“Most people don’t bother unless they empathize,” I murmur, almost more to myself. Then I glance at him while the realization sets in. “You weren’t always…comfortable, were you?”
Wyatt’s jaw tightens, revealing more than he knows. But he doesn’t deny it.
Instead, he sighs. “No. I wasn’t.”
Sensing there might be more to his answer, I wait, allowing him to continue.
Then, he pulls in a breath, as if bracing himself for the memories. “After our parents died, it was just my sister and me. By then, I was barely scraping by with odd jobs, doing cash work wherever I could. Anything that kept her fed and put a roof over our heads.”
Blinking back at him, the admittance surprises me. I murmur quietly, “How old were you?”
“Old enough to be on my own with a successful career until it fell apart just as I became her guardian, but too young for that kind of pressure.”
His answer is simple, but the weight behind it is anything but.
“She was scared and trying to get through high school. She was angry, hurt, and I didn’t have the luxury of falling apart, even when I wanted to,” Wyatt adds, allowing the distant look in his eyes to betray his sincerity.
The image fills my mind immediately. Wyatt, young and trying to figure life out for himself, suddenly finds himself carrying a responsibility far too big for his shoulders. It’s hard to picture the man beside me, one who is always so calm and confident, as being in any kind of financial trouble.
“When I was desperate enough to start running for the Balakins, I promised myself I’d never forget what it felt like to reach that point.
I was prepared to do anything, even when it all blew up in my face,” he murmurs, grip on the wheel tightening a bit while he focuses on the road ahead.
“I was terrified, but her comfort mattered more than mine.”
A thoughtful silence lingers between us, and something moves in me.
He doesn’t owe me any of this information, and he gains nothing by sharing it. That’s how I know he’s telling me because he wants to.
Staring at him, I feel my heart break at the prospect of him putting his needs beneath his sister’s. Especially when it reminds me of something my brothers would do for me without question.
“Wyatt…”
As if forcing it away, he shakes his head slightly and adjusts his grip again. “It’s fine. You don’t need to make this into anything.”
“I’m not,” I say quietly, suddenly not wanting to make matters worse. “I just didn’t expect this.”
“That seems to be a pattern.”
Before I can stop myself, I huff a laugh, only to go quiet again as I watch him from my peripheral vision. The city lights stream in, softening his features more than they have any right to.
Try as I might to keep seeing him as the same man with rough edges and nothing to lose, it’s getting harder and harder to do exactly that. He isn’t heartless. He isn’t aggressive. He goes out of his way to do kind things, even when others wouldn’t waste their time.
He isn’t who I thought he was, and it’s shaking my resolve more and more.
When we get back to the condo, Wyatt takes some of the bags from my hand without asking, and his fingers brush against mine briefly. It lingers long enough to feel intentional, and as I meet his gaze, my pulse stammers.
Even if I should, I don’t pull away.
Looking up at his infuriatingly perfect features, I internally remind myself that this doesn’t change anything. Not the marriage, not the danger, and not the fact that my brothers will come for him eventually.
Still, that reminder doesn’t hit as hard as it should.