Page 115 of Twisted Control

He considers for a moment, looking just a little bit guilty. “I hit Max at the gala. Made it look like an accident.”

I think of the blood down Max’s shirt and—God, what is wrong with me?—I have to fight back a smile.

“A bit dramatic,” I say.

“He upset my girl,” Drew replies simply. “Wanted to do a lot worse.”

I lean into his chest and he winces. I pull back immediately.

“There’s one more thing,” he says.

He unbuttons his shirt to show a fresh tattoo on his left pec, still covered in plastic wrap.

Grace.

“To prove my lifelong devotion to you,” he says, a little sheepish.

I stare at the tattoo, the bold black ink still slightly raised and shiny under the porch light. It suits him. The ring and the tattoo don’t magically fix everything between us, but they help.

I close my eyes and lean into the other side of his chest, breathing him in. His warmth wraps around me like it always does.

Drew’s not what I was supposed to want. I was raised to marry a billionaire, to live a perfect life. Drew is deeply flawed. Dangerous. A man who has done terrible things. And yet…he’s the only man I’ve ever truly wanted.

His arms tighten around me.

After a long moment, I pull back just enough to look up at him.

“What do we do now?”

“We’re going to have to flee the country for a little while. Until everything dies down.”

I slip my hand into his, lacing our fingers together. His palm is warm and rough against mine.

“A little while?”

“A few months. A year at most.”

“A year?” I snap. Then I glance down at our hands wrapped together and smile. “I guess I can tolerate that. We could always trade this in for something smaller,” I say, flashing him the big diamond. “So we don’t have to live too rough.”

“I thought you loved this ring?”

“I do. But mostly I loved what everyone else would think when they saw it,” I admit. “I don’t care what they think anymore. We could find something closer to five hundred thousand.”

Drew grins that slow smile that always undoes me. I grin right back.

“Now,” I say, tugging him inside, “you need to meet my mom. And just so you know, she’s fully aware of everything, so try to be charming.”

“She’s going to love me,” he says with complete confidence.

I laugh under my breath and pull him inside.

A few months ago, I would’ve been terrified of this. Of the mess. Of the judgment. Of disappointing everyone.

I spent so much of my life trying to twist myself into whatever version made other people comfortable. I had to be beautiful enough, obedient enough, good enough.

But with Drew, I finally understand something I wish I’d realized years ago.

I’m not graceful or selfless or perfectly behaved. I’m impulsive, stubborn, and occasionally selfish. I don’t like stuffy country clubs or the even stuffier men who belong in them.