Page 111 of Sweet Ruin

Because she knew him as a kid. Here. And didn’t he say that Sunset Park was “his” neighborhood? What did he mean by that?

There’s a story here, I can feel it. Maybe even one that explains a lot about this mystery man who’s crash-landed in my life.

Stepan pulls out. I wait until we’re at the light. “How much was the dress, by the way?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I turn in the seat to face him. “I’m serious. I want the number. Add it to what I owe you. I’ve already got four million on the books, so what’s another two grand? Round it up. Make it a nice figure.”

“No.”

“C’mon, don’t⁠—”

“You’ll pay nothing,” Kane interrupts. He’s looking out the window at the shuttered fronts on Fourth. “As long as you’re with me, you won’t put your hand in your pocket. Not once.”

“That’s not⁠—”

“It isn’t up for discussion.”

I let out a breath and slump into the seat. The stupid massagers start in on my back again like they’re on his side.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“If I say no, will you let it go?”

I laugh and then do what he expects of me, which is ask the question anyway. “You told me not to tell anybody about you. ‘Our little secret.’“ I pick at the seam of my coat. “So am I still doing that?”

Kane finally turns his head and looks at me. “That instruction is over.”

“You’re not flying under the radar anymore?”

“It’s you I was protecting, Lilah. But that’s no longer relevant.” He nods at the windshield. Up ahead, I see with alarm that we’re suddenly approaching what appears to be a massive party. “By tomorrow morning, every person in this city will know whose you are.”

“Whose I— Excuse me?”

“You’re Kane Makov’s woman now,” he explains. “Because of that, they’ll never disrespect you again.”

22

DELILAH

I sit up so fast the seat’s massage rollers lose track of my spine.

“Whoa, whoa, no. Nope.”

I throw up one finger. Historically, this gesture has never stopped Kane Makov from doing anything, yet hope springs eternal.

“We discussed holidays with you. As in singular. Not with you and two hundred of your closest friends. Nowhere in the fine print did it say that.”

“That’s because there was no fine print,” Kane replies as we zoom ever closer to the party of my nightmares.

“That’s exactly my point! There should have been! I would have read it, too. I read everything. I read the terms and conditions on my Hobart mixer warranty, all eighty-nine pages, and let me tell you⁠—”

“Lilah.” He puts a hand on my thigh. “Breathe.”

I was kinda forgetting that essential step, so I do take a moment to breathe.

But it doesn’t help, because it means I’m getting a double-barreled lungful of Kane’s scent.