The Unexpected (Dangerous Desires #9)

1. Do I Really Need A Chaperone?

DO I REALLY NEED A CHAPERONE?

Stella

The honey-wood floor gleams under the boutique's track lighting as I run a hand over a soft cashmere cardigan, its deep emerald color like a secret garden at dusk.

"Honestly, who tries on a sweater and then folds it like they're packing a cannonball?

" I mutter, more to myself than to Chloe, who is zoning out by the register, probably mentally redecorating her entire apartment again.

"Just say you're folding it like you're trying to suffocate it," Chloe calls back, not looking up from her phone. "More dramatic."

I snort, arranging the collar just so. The familiar scent of rose and cedar hangs in the air, a perfume so persistent it's practically part of the Nicolette uniform. It clings to my own skin, mingling with the vanilla body lotion I smooth on every morning before my shift.

A vibration starts against my hip, a familiar, frantic buzz that means the group chat is blowing up. I tug my phone from the pocket of my black work slacks, the screen lighting up my face. Three new notifications.

Kayleigh: Trevor’s still asleep. But he has the cutest little snore. Like a sleepy puppy.

I smile, my thumbs flying across the screen.

Stella: Awww, a puppy! Make sure you take a picture for blackmail purposes. xo

Another buzz, immediate.

Mary Kate: [image attached]

I tap it open. It's a close-up of a hand—Mary Kate's hand, with her perfectly manicured nails, a delicate silver ring on her middle finger, and on her ring finger, a new, sparkly addition.

It's a classic solitaire, elegant and understated, catching the light in a way that makes my breath catch for a second.

She's been dropping hints about Kent for weeks.

Stella: MK!!! Holy shit. He didn't.

Mary Kate: He did. Over dinner last night. At that Italian place we love. I was a mess. Crying everywhere.

Stella: Of course you were, you beautiful disaster. Congratulations. I am screaming internally for you. Let's celebrate ASAP.

And then, another message, a string of them, all from Andie.

Andie:

Andie: [photo of her hand holding a steaming coffee cup] Thomas brought me coffee this morning. In bed. At 7 AM.

Andie: I said thank you and then we had sexy timez

This one makes me pause because actually, Andie’s talking about sexy times with my dad.

It’s a long story. Basically, we had a bet, back when we were fancy-free co-eds, to see who could lose their virginity first, and Andie lost hers to my dad.

They were sneaky about it, but they ended up falling in love, and now, she’s engaged and set to become my new stepmom.

Ugh, doesn’t the word “stepmom” sound weird?

But I’m excited because I adore Andie and I think she’s exactly what Thomas needs.

But still, my friend has sex with my dad on a regular basis and I do not need to know the details about their relationship.

Nonetheless, I type back a quick, enthusiastic reply, a string of exclamation points and smiley faces, my thumbs a blur of practiced cheerfulness.

My smile feels genuine enough as I hit send, but as I slide the phone back into my pocket, the expression on my face feels heavy, like a mask I can't quite take off.

I glance around the boutique. The racks are neatly organized, the glass shelves are dusted, the silk blouses are fanned just so.

The floor is empty. The whole place is quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and Chloe's occasional tapping on her phone.

I find myself drifting toward the window, the large plate-glass one that looks out onto the cobblestone street.

I adjust the neckline on a mannequin wearing a cream-colored silk camisole, even though it's already perfect.

I linger there, watching people walk by, couples mostly, their hands clasped, their heads bent toward each other in conversation.

A pang of something sharp and lonely twists in my stomach.

It's stupid, I know. In movies, on TV, in the articles I scroll past online, having a boyfriend is “embarrassing” these days, a burden, something to roll your eyes at.

That's the persona I've cultivated, the one my friends know and love.

I'm the independent one, the free spirit, the one who flirts with multiple dudes, but doesn't need a man to complete her.

I'm the one who cracks jokes about big dicks, who rolls her eyes at the sappy love stories, who says things like, "Who has time for all that drama? " with a casual toss of my blonde hair.

But the truth, the one I keep buried so deep I almost forget it's there, is that I want it.

I want all of it. I want the late-night texts, the surprise coffees, the inside jokes, the stupid arguments over what to watch on TV.

I want a boyfriend. A huge, handsome one, with broad shoulders and a kind smile, who would wrap me in his arms and hold me until the world went away.

Who would kiss me until I forgot my own name, who would stroke my hair and tell me everything was going to be okay.

I want to lose my senses in someone, to be so completely and utterly consumed by another person that there's no room for anything else.

Even crazier, I think it could be fun to have two such men in my life. Or three. Or four. Who knows? Being poly is the thing these days and I feel like I’d love to have two gorgeous men waiting for me at home. But that’s the thing - home is now so different from my college days.

Just a few months ago, I'd go home to a tiny, shared apartment that was always buzzing with life given that it housed four 20-something girls.

Kayleigh's terrible singing in the shower, Andie's endless collection of herbal teas, Mary Kate's frantic pre-date outfit changes.

Our laughter would echo off the thin walls, a constant, chaotic symphony of friendship and shared experiences.

But then they all moved out, one by one, drawn into the gravitational pull of their new relationships.

And now I'm back in my father's mansion, rattling around in rooms that are too big, too quiet, too pristine.

The silence there is a physical thing, a weight that settles on my chest and makes it hard to breathe.

Sure my dad and Andie live there too, but they have a separate wing, and I hardly see them.

Besides, I want them to have their privacy because my dad and Andie are lovebirds and the non-stop sex sounds would probably make me barf.

"Still staring wistfully out the window, Stella?" Chloe's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Waiting for your prince to ride up on a white horse and rescue you from this cashmere prison?"

I turn, a bright, practiced smile already on my lips. "Please, Chloe. If a prince showed up, he'd have to be on a Vespa. And he'd better be bringing coffee." I toss my hair, a gesture so familiar it's almost involuntary. "I'm not waiting for anyone. I'm perfectly happy on my own."

Chloe grins, unimpressed. "Sure you are. That's why you've rearranged that same rack three times today."

I laugh, a light, airy sound that doesn't quite reach my eyes.

"Just trying to maintain the high standards of Nicolette. You know Miriam. She can be a bitch."

As I turn back to the rack, I feel a slight tightening in my jaw, a tension I try to release with a slow, deliberate breath.

My fingers trace the soft, expensive fabric of the cardigans, a tangible comfort in the face of a hollow feeling that's been growing inside me for months.

The rest of my shift passes in a blur of customers and small talk, the constant buzz of my phone a reminder of a world I'm not quite a part of anymore.

Finally, six o'clock rolls around. I say my goodbyes to Chloe, grab my tote bag, and head for the door. The little brass bell above it jingles softly as I pull it shut behind me. I take a deep breath of the cool evening air, the scent of rain and pavement a welcome change from the cloying sweetness of the boutique. I’m free, finally.

I adjust the strap of my tote on my shoulder and start walking, the click of my heels on the cobblestones the only sound in the encroaching darkness.

The streetlights flicker on, casting a warm, yellow glow on the empty street ahead of me.

I pull my phone out, not to check for messages, but to call a car.

My father's mansion is too far to walk, and I don't feel like navigating the bus system in this mood.

As I wait for the car to arrive, I find myself scrolling through my photos, landing on one from last summer.

It's the four of us, me, Kayleigh, Mary Kate, and Andie, squished together on a blanket at the park.

We're all laughing, our faces sun-kissed and carefree.

I'm in the middle, my arms thrown around Kayleigh and Andie, my head thrown back in a fit of genuine, unadulterated joy.

I barely recognize the girl in the picture. She looks so light. So unburdened.

The car pulls up, a sleek black sedan that blends seamlessly into the night. I slide into the back seat, the cool leather a stark contrast to the warmth of my own skin. The driver, a middle-aged man with a kind face, nods at me in the rearview mirror. "Evening, miss."