Broken Hearts (Light in the Dark 5)

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but laugh. “What do you think of this outfit?” I ask, turning to face him so he can see the blouse and skirt combo.

“You look like a fucking librarian and not like you,” he answers honestly.

My shoulders sag. “You’re right. Forget this.”

The restaurant is dressy—hence Jace’s dress shirt and slacks—and I don’t own a lot of nice things; I’m a simple girl.

I pick up the first dress I tried on—a simple black number—and slip it on.

“See, you looked perfect the first time,” he says with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I intone, searching for my heels. I finally find them under the bed and pull them on, leaning against the dresser for support. “God, I hate these things,” I mutter. I’m positive heels were invented as a torture device to keep women from running away.

“Ready?” Jace asks.

“No,” I answer honestly.

His face softens. “You’ll get through this. We both will.”

He wraps his arms around me, pressing his face into my hair and inhaling the scent. He bends, kissing me softly, and grabs my hand.

I let him pull me out of the apartment, swiping my bag off the table before we’re swept into the hallway and down the hall to the elevator.

It feels like it moves at a snail’s pace down to the ground floor. I lean against Jace for support, breathing deeply. I keep trying to remind myself I’ll also be having dinner with Greyson and he makes all this better.

Seeing my little boy fills me with so much joy.

Although, he’s not so little anymore. He’s nearly ten years old. When did that happen?

The doors slide open and we step out, heading outside. Jace holds the door for me, his eyes roaming up and down and stopping at my heels. I never wear heels.

“Don’t. Say. A. Thing.” I warn through clenched teeth.

He chuckles. “I was only going to say your ass looks fan-fucking-tastic.”

I smack his solid stomach, which only makes him laugh harder.

He leads me to his ancient truck, which he refuses to get rid of even though he has the money, and I slide into the passenger seat.

The truck still carries the faint hint of cigarettes despite the fact that he stopped smoking years ago.

Jace gets in and glances at me. “It’s going to be fine,” he reminds me, and I let out the breath I was holding.

When I get nervous about something, I hold my breath, and when I was little I used to pass out because of it. Thankfully, I don’t do that anymore.

He pulls away and heads to the restaurant which is all the way on the opposite side of town. It’s a place I’ve never heard of before, but when I looked it up, it’s all shiny marble and chandeliers. Nothing but the best for the Mitchells.

With traffic it takes us a good thirty minutes to get to the restaurant. They have a garage below ground which we quickly take advantage of. No way am I allowing him to park blocks away so I have to walk back in heels.

We get our parking ticket and find a space. Jace hops out, adjusting his dress shirt, while I slip out slowly, still not wanting to do this.

There’s an elevator and it leads from the garage up to the restaurant. I squeeze Jace’s hand as it ascends; I know it has to hurt, but he makes no comment.

The doors slide open with a pleasant ding and we walk toward the hostess station. She looks up with a pleasant smile.

“Do you have a reservation?”

“It’s under Mitchell,” I reply.