Burned Hearts (Burned 3)

“Did you take the GoPro with you?” I had to ask.

“Damn, didn’t think of it. Wouldn’t that have been something? I could have uploaded the video to YouTube.”

Okay, so she had the same warped mind as I did. Maybe that was why we were such great friends.

Ari continued. “I very sweetly let her know there’d be more to come if she didn’t leave us all the fuck alone. I could see my tone scared her, but clearly the threat of baby poop or vomit—and the damage to her reputation when she threw her snit fits—trumps it all.”

“You’re kind of … disgusting, Ari. Anyone ever mention that?”

“I just homed in on her weakness.”

“Okay, maybe ingenious.” I gave this some thought and added, “You get props.”

She searched around the immediate area, as though looking for something soft to throw at me.

“Come on,” I said. “I’m in Armani. You don’t want to ruin the tux.”

“Consider yourself off the hook for the moment. But I’d sleep with one eye open, if I were you.”

“I always do. I live under your husband’s roof, after all.”

“And he’s a little less menacing these days, right?”

“Yeah. Right,” I deadpanned.

“Anyway, what do you think of the decorations?”

“Um … plentiful?” I ventured.

“Kyle!”

“They’re great, Ari,” I assured her with a nod. “Really great.”

“Phew.”

I crossed to where she stood and pulled a small box out of the inside pocket of my tux. Handing it over, I said, “My wedding gift.”

“Kyle, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I didn’t get you one last time. And since I now hold a percentage of the Lux, I can definitely afford it.” An arrangement Dane had made for me, Rosa, and Amano. Quite generous of Dane, even I had to admit.

Ari took the box from me. “This is nice of you.”

“Don’t get too excited. I’m not good at selecting gifts.”

“My dad said the same thing. He gave me these earrings.” She sho

wed off the sparkly, dangly things that actually looked perfect with her gown.

“Not too bad,” I said with a head bob.

She opened my gift and gasped. Likely just for dramatic effect.

“Kyle, this is awesome!” She lifted the delicate chain from the velvet folds and held up the platinum and diamond–encrusted locket.

“Open it,” I quietly urged.

She did and another gasp filled the tent. A photo of Amsel was on one side, with his date of birth on the other. Not that she’d forget it or anything. I just didn’t know what else to include.