Page 35

I shake my head, frustrated, and then I spot something behind him. On the TV in the guest house…is that me?

“What are you doing?” I snap, stepping around him.

“Oh, that.” He shrugs, completely unbothered. “I was watching your show.”

“You’re not allowed to watch it,” I say.

“Nothing else to do around here,” he replies, amusement clear in his voice. “Honestly? That finale was my favorite part. Finally got to see the real you come out swinging.”

“That’s not the real me⁠—”

“It is,” he says, quieter now, almost intimate. “I like her. God knows why.”

“Turn it off,” I snap.

“No.” Before I can argue, he wraps his arms around me and gently but firmly steers me back outside, his bare chest warm against my robe.

“I’ll sort you out Saturday night,” he says, like it’s already a done deal. “But right now? We’re getting the hell out of this house. Go get ready.”

I blink. “I’m sorry?”

“We’re both losing our minds in here. We need fresh air.”

“I can’t. I’m recognized everywhere I go.”

“Then we’ll deal with it,” he says simply.

“How?”

“Go get ready.” He gives me a pointed look. “Wear something low-key.”

I open my mouth to argue but he cuts me off before I can even start.

“Grace,” he says, low and firm.

I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck, but my feet are already betraying me, carrying me toward the house.

“Fine,” I mutter under my breath. “But if this ends in disaster, I’m blaming you.”

I can practically hear him smirking behind me.

11

GRACE

We pull up outside the mall and I stare at the massive building. I haven’t set foot in one in years. I can already picture the racks of identical, mass-produced clothes, and I hate it.

I’m wearing my soft cream cashmere cardigan over black yoga pants and simple black flats. I’d never normally dress this casually, but Drew said “low-key,” and this is the closest I could get.

“What are we doing here?” I ask.

“We’re getting you some jeans,” he says, switching off the engine.

“My mother taught me to never wear jeans,” I say automatically.

Drew turns to me, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel. “That’s exactly the point. Right now you look like Grace Whitmore. We need to change that.”

“So you want me to look bad on purpose?”