Anton’s doesn’t deliver. Which means I’ve been driving around for almost an hour with a dress, shoes and about a grand worth of imported French lace riding shotgun.

Finally, I grow a set and do what I know I have to do.

Notice I said what I have to do. Not what I should do.

What I should do is take this shit back to Anton’s and tell him that I made a mistake. Or hell, just find a dumpster and toss it in. Eat the five grand I just dropped on a dress and shoes and undergarments for a woman who hates my guts and call it a stupid asshole tax because that’s exactly what I am.

A stupid asshole.

Tess hates dresses. They make her feel naked. She told me that once, a long time ago. Maybe that’s why, when I was looking at her up on that pedestal, while Anton was clucking and pinning his way around her, that’s all I could think about. How vulnerable she looked.

How beautiful.

For one heart-stopping moment, she looked happy to see me. The beginning of a smile starting to spread across her face.

Then she remembered who I am.

What I did to her.

That she hates me.

It happens sometimes when she sees me. Most of the time she pretends I’m not even there. I can take that. I can take her ignoring me. It makes things easier for both of us.

What kills me, what absolutely lays me open and tears my guts out, are the times when she notices me. When she looks at me and I see My Tess. The Tess who loved me.

The Tess I broke.

Maybe that’s why I did it.

Why I bought all this shit and paid extra for gift wrapping.

Because it’s in those moments when I’m at my weakest. When it takes every shred of decency I’ve managed to cultivate over the years to not grab her and kiss her.

You mean like you did a few weeks ago, outside the bar? Yeah, you’re a goddamned paragon of virtue.

I’m not. I’m about as far from virtuous as a man can possibly get.

But I’m trying.

I’m fucking trying.

I mean, it’s been nine years for fuck’s sake. At some point one of us is going to move on for real. One of us is going to get happy and it’s going to stick.

The me I try to be hopes it’s her. Hopes she finds someone who treats her right. Makes her happy. Deserves her.

The real me, the guy who seethes and lurks. Watches and wants her from the dark, will kill anyone who tries.

“Sir?”

I turn my head to find the valet looking at me, his face pushed close to my rolled up window, fogging up the glass.

Shit.

I kill the engine on my truck and pop the door open. When I slide out to stand next to him, he stands up a little straighter, his masculinity not allowing him to slouch. I’m six foot six and weigh 280 pounds. Just breathing is considered an act of aggression.

“Keep it close.” Forcing an easy-going grin onto my face, I hand him my keys. “I won’t be here long.”

Before I leave him to it, I reach back into the truck and drag the box and bag across the seat and take them with me.

Crossing the lobby, I spot the desk monkey out of the corner of my eye but I don’t break my stride. He must take his job very seriously because he’s already coming around the side of the front desk to attempt an interception.

“I’m here to see Henley O’Connell,” I tell him, using my elbow to jab the call button for the elevator because my hands are full.

“That may be, sir but I still have to—”

“Gatsby.” The elevator lets out a ding and I step back. The desk monkey’s mouth snaps shut and he smooths a hand down the front of his shirt, over his tie. Gatsby is the code word Henley set up for guests who don’t need to be announced.

She didn’t give it to me.

She gave it to Tess and I happened to be listening.

I don’t feel so much as a twinge of guilt over using it without permission.

“Very well, sir.” He gives me a slight nod before disappearing.

The elevator doors slide open and I step inside.

I’ve never been here.

Never been invited.

Henley pretends to be my friend but she’s not. Not really. The truth is, she struggles with forgiving me for the way I treated her. The way I pushed her and my brother apart.

It’s okay. I get it. If I were her, I wouldn’t even bother pretending. I’d openly hate my fucking guts.

But I’m here and I’m going to ask her for help all the same.

Because there’s no one else I can ask.

Leaning the box against the wall beside her front door, I knock. I can hear voices inside—female voices. It occurred to me that she might not be home. What hadn’t occurred to me is that she might have company. That Tess might be here.

Fuck.

The door swings open.

“Dec—” Henley starts to say my name but stops herself.

“Who is it?” An unfamiliar voice. Must be Cari’s little sister, Grace.

I hold up the bag, showing her Anton’s shop logo engraved into the heavy black paper. Her eyes go round and wide.

“Nothing—I mean just a delivery.” She shakes her head at me. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She eases herself into the hall and shuts the door behind her. “What did you do, Declan?”

I don’t answer her because what I did is pretty fucking obvious. “You need to be the one to give it to her.” I shove the bag into her hands before reaching for the box. “Tell her you bought it.”

“Why?” She looks down at the box I push into her hand.

“Because she won’t take it from me and she’ll at least consider taking it from you, that’s why.”

“No...” She looks up at me, deep brown eyes narrowed on my face. “I mean why?”

I know what she meant, I just don’t want to answer the question. “Because she needs a dress—” for her date. The rest of it gets stuck in my throat. I can’t say it. I can’t even think about it. “for whatever she needs it for.”

Henley stands there, looking at me like I just dumped a bucket of rats over her head. “So you want me to lie. To Tess.”

I hadn’t even considered that. That what I was asking her to do is wrong. Further proof that the old me is still driving the bus where Tess is concerned. “I can’t be the—”

She shakes her head. “I’m still on probation where she’s concerned. After what happened with Con—” She stops talking. I don’t say anything. I just let the memory sink in. That I’m the one who came to New York to tell her about how her brother, Ryan was wounded in action and was home from the Army. That I did it against my brother’s wishes.

That she owes me.

“I’m a terrible liar, Declan,” she warns as she tucks the box under her arm. “She won’t buy it for long and when she figures it out, she’s going to be pissed.”

I know she’ll eventually figure out that I’m the one who bought the dress and when she does, Henley’s right. She’ll be pissed.

Pissed is probably an understatement.

“She’s been pissed at me for eight years.” I shove my hands into my pockets and take a step back. “It’s not going to make much difference.” I turn and make my way down the hall.

“For you,” she hisses after me. “It won’t make much difference for you.” The door snapping closed behind me before I can even think about apologizing.

Translation: You’re still a selfish dick, Declan.

Hands free, I jab the elevator call button, it lets out a ding and the doors slide open.

And there’s my fiancé with her ball player. His hand is worked up her skirt and his tongue is shoved down her throat.

“Going down?”

At the sound of my voice, Jessica sky blue eyes go wide. She lets out a yelp and starts slapping at Viaga’s hand like she has no idea what it is or how it got up her skirt.

It’s ridiculous. The whole fucked-up, bullshit mess of it—up to and including the fact that I’m actually marrying this skank—is so ludicrous that I start laughing.

I laugh so goddamned hard I forget to get on the elevator and end up taking the stairs.