But truthfully, I don’t regret a damn thing. I’d follow him out of that reception hall again and again if it meant making sure he’d leave Sophie alone for good. The fact he acted like he was cracked out on coke and clearly drunk wasn’t something I anticipated. He should’ve gone down the first time I decked him, and we would’ve all walked away.
Blinking, I clear that night out of my head. It’s been on repeat since the moment it happened even though I’ve been trying to push out the thoughts, memories, and horrific aftermath.
Waking up to Sophie in my house for the past several days has shifted my mood even when the demons threatened to pull me under. This nightmare feels like a repeat of what I went through years ago, and even though the circumstances are different, the anxiety is the same.
Spending time with Sophie keeps me preoccupied, and I’ll forever be grateful for her company. But now that she’s here and staying, she deserves more than a shitty couch to sleep on.
“Mason, it’s too much,” Sophie repeats for the third time. I saw the way her eyes lit up at the upholstered bedframe with built-in storage underneath. She immediately rushed over to touch the dark gray pattern. Then her eyes bugged out as soon as she found the price tag.
“Let’s find you a mattress set now. What size do you want? Queen?” I walk toward them when I feel Sophie’s hand grace mine.
“Wait.” She attempts to pull me back, but instead, I thread my fingers through hers and pull her with me. “Mason…a full would be just fine.”
I turn and look at her, drinking her in. Today, I notice the sparkle she had pre-Weston is starting to come back, and she looks flawless. Her long brown hair is pulled up into a half ponytail with waves flowing down her back. Though she wears a touch of makeup to cover her bruised eye, she doesn’t need it either way. Sophie looks stunning as is.
“A queen for a queen.” I flash her a wink, but my attempt to reassure her that she deserves this bed doesn’t work. She groans, knowing damn well she won’t win this argument.
After I’ve tracked down the salesman, ordered the frame and mattresses, and paid an assload for same-day delivery, I drive us to Bed Bath and Beyond.
“Really?” she asks, laughing. “You want to shop here?”
I park my truck and kill the engine. “Sure, why not? Is it for a secret society only or something?” I mock.
“Okay. It’s your funeral.” She shrugs.
And I drove myself right to it.
Once we’re inside, Sophie’s eyes light up like a kid in a candy store. This place is insane.
“Well?” she asks, looking up at me with a knowing smirk.
“I’m regretting every decision I made that’s brought me here.” I deadpan, glancing at the aisles that never seem to end.
“Liar,” she says. “You guys could use some new shit in your house anyway.”
“Why do I have a feeling we’re about to go on a fat ass shopping spree?” We walk farther into the store, then grab two carts.
Sophie giggles, and I follow her lead.
We head to the bedding first, and the options are overwhelming, to say the least. Sophie looks through them all, taking her time, but I see her eyes widening when she checks the prices. “Soph, stop stalling.”
“I’m not,” she says without looking at me.
“What about this one?” I ask, pointing at a solid gray comforter set. “Matches the headboard of the bed.”
She squints at it, pursing her lips left and right. “It has no personality.”
“Okay then.” I chuckle. “What kind of personality does your bed need?”
Sophie glances at me over her shoulder and glares at me. “I meant my personality,” she clarifies, then turns her whole body until she’s facing me. “Your bedroom should reflect you and your happy place. When things in your life are shit, you should find solace in your room, surrounded by the belongings that bring you peace. That’s what I want my bedroom to be. Somewhere I feel safe and comfortable.”
Safe and comfortable. That’s exactly what I want for her. With me.
“So not the gray?” I tease, needing to lighten the mood before I choke on the tension between us.
She steps closer and smacks my arm. “You’re such a guy.”
After searching for another ten minutes, Sophie squeals when she finds a pattern with Eiffel Towers surrounded by Paris written in pink script. The cream-colored background is actually really pretty, but I don’t tell her that.
“Is that the one?” I ask, eager to move to the next section of the store so we can get the hell out of here before I lose my man card.
“Yes! I love Paris! Well, the idea of it. I’ve never been. But it’s my dream destination vacation.”
I grab the handle of the bag and haul it into my cart. “Perfect.”