Page 49 of Heaven Help Me

“You would?”

His hand, the one on my jaw, slips into my hair to gently stroke the strands sticking to the back of my neck. “Of course I would, V. Every time.”

The tears are back but I’m conscious enough at the moment to swallow them down instead of let them spill over. Deuce cares about me. Enough that he’d lie to his best friends to protect me.

Mary London claps her hands, startling us all. “Okay, that’s adorable! Y’all owe us a story time after tomorrow’s event is over, but for now, I suggest you get this lady home and get her fed. Tomorrow’s going to be hectic, but I promise you, everything will turn out fine.”

She pats my back and somehow I believe her. It’s weirdly wonderful to accept encouragement from someone.

Betsy checks the time on her phone. “Crap. Yeah, Silas had to go rescue the babysitter. He’ll be trying to make dinner with Harlow under his feet. I better go before we have a kitchen fire.”

She points at us both, a terrifying expression on her pale face. The mob could learn from her. “Story time on Sunday. Full disclosure on what the hell’s going on. Got it?”

Deuce looks at me expectantly. I realize he’s waiting to see if I agree. Again, he’s choosing me. I nod. He turns back to Betsy and Mary London.

“Agreed. Thanks for helping my girl today.”

I’m finally his girl.

My head drops to his shoulder. I’m suddenly exhausted and too overcome with emotions to keep myself away from this man. Without planning to, I can feel it happening. Like a tsunami that can’t be beat back.

I like Deuce.

I crave his attention.

And I’m coming to depend on him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Deuce

Valentina let me rub her feet last night and feed her takeout, a huge step in the trust department. She fell asleep on the couch, her head in my lap. I stayed there for longer than I’d like to admit, enthralled with stroking her dark hair and watching her sleep. She looked so soft and sweet in slumber. Eventually, I lifted her in my arms and put her to bed.

Today, the mob boss is back, shouting orders, giving death glares, and moving so quickly in her stilettos that I barely see her and then she’s gone again. My models all look amazing, if I do say so myself. I pull my inspiration from Europe for most of these looks, blending that unparalleled sophistication with the historical looks we prefer here in the South. I’m the last model to take the catwalk, a position of honor I didn’t expect Valentina to give me.

The music changes and that’s my cue. I strut out, muscles immediately locking into place. I’ve walked a lot of fashion shows, so my facial muscles know the exact look. Strong jaw, hollow cheeks, bored eyes, but slightly lifted eyebrow. A bit of a strut, but also a commanding pace to my gait. The crowd cheers and I feel that familiar pulse of adrenaline. I hit the end of the catwalk and pause, scanning the crowd.

There she is.

Yelling at the taco truck vendor while she watches me. Her violence can multitask.

Her hair is slicked back like New York Valentina, but her dress is a shimmering emerald with ruffles and a belt to cinch in her waist. The heels are stilettos, but in a matching emerald with a huge flower on the toe and at the ankle where the straps crisscross her gorgeous calves. She’s stunning.

And I’ve missed my cue to turn.

I pivot, walking back to the sounds of whistles and cheers.

The show ends with every single model from all four Heaven boutiques crowding onto the stage. I take to the front of the catwalk with Mary London, Silas, and Darby Kate. We all take two bows when prompted and then Mayor Jackson Pruett comes to the microphone to thank everyone for coming to our third annual Battle of the Boutiques.

He proceeds to tell the crowd that the winner will be determined by their cheers. He heads to Silas, who gets a thorough round of applause and cheers. He won the first year. Darby Kate gets a lot of bells ringing, which is the way her demographic cheer, considering they’re mostly over seventy and don’t have the vocal tenacity to holler. Mary London won last year and gets a ton of cheers again. Her target market, the college sorority girls, can be very vocal. And then it’s my turn.

The amount of wolf whistles of the female variety have me realizing I should have been modeling every year. I smirk, which only makes the ladies whistle more. I spot Valentina in the back of the crowd, clipboard in hand, a scowl etched across her face as she glares at the ladies whistling the loudest. That just makes me crack up more. Mayor Pruett gets the crowd to calm down and then announces the winner.

“The winner of the third annual Heaven, Mississippi, Battle of the Boutiques is Saint’s Suits and Deuce St. Legare!”

Pride in a job well done puffs up my chest. I step forward, Silas clapping me on the back in congratulations, and take a bow. Mayor Pruett hands me a trophy that just arrived half an hour ago and only because I paid for a courier to find the broken-down truck and rescue the items Valentina needed for today. The mayor hands me the microphone for my acceptance speech.

“Landry, come on up here, baby.”