Death Of A Rivera
“That nose, the jawline, those lips… You’re going to steal the show tonight.”
She grinned, clapping her hands together like an artist envisioning their masterpiece.
“No wonder Lucas is so smitten with you,” she added offhandedly.
I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of her words. This was all an elaborate act, and she had no idea. But instead, I turned back to the window, letting her fuss over the dresses.
Hunter—or Lucas—returned a few minutes later, carrying a crisp white paper bag.
“I got you Coney Island hot dogs, black-and-white cookies, and yogurt?” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s all they had nearby.”
Bab Populer