Alex: "Azalea's mom was something else."

Hannah: "I'll say. And Dale definitely didn't help either."

Hunter: "I'm glad Azalea had my back though—she really came through for me."

Azalea Rose Jackson:

"Hi, Mom," I said with a smile as she opened the door.

"Azalea." She smiled back warmly. "Are these your friends?"

I nodded, pointing to them individually. "This is Alex, Hannah, and Hunter."

"Oh, your teammates?" she asked, her eyes growing wide.

I nodded happily as she curtsied before us.

"Well, let me be the first to offer my sincerest congratulations. I'm delighted to get to meet you all." She paused. "Well, don't just stand there—come inside! What's that line from The Little Mermaid? 'We mustn't lurk in doorways.'"

Hunter smiled at me, clenched my hand inside his own as we ambled forward, Alex and Hannah following.

As soon as we'd made it through the door, I could see the awe written on their faces. In the main foyer hung a gold-rimmed crystal chandelier with ten lights. It cast white rays that, struck by the sunlight, split into rainbow-drenched sparkles that descended to settle on the marble-encrusted vanity. The smell of fresh coffee wafted in from the kitchen, whose granite countertop sidings and plush burgundy chairs shone invitingly from a distance, beckoning us to sit and indulge.

"Wow," I heard Alex whisper.

As we strode through the hallway, the four of us following my mother, I caught Hunter eyeing the life-sized portraits that decorated the walls. "Whoa, these are some really nice paintings," he breathed.

"Why, thank you," my mom said into the air. "I bought them at an auction in Los Angeles a few months ago. They were only a few hundred thousand each, so I figured why not splurge a little. I'm absolutely in love with renaissance art. It's a true delight, purely ethereal—and just so inspiring."

Seriously, Mom? I rolled my eyes, then tried my best to change the subject. "You still have all the ice cream and stuff from earlier, right, Mom?"

"Oh, right, of course!" She lifted both hands in excitement as we followed her into the kitchen. "I put them all in the freezer the moment I made it back home." She paused, then added, "By the way, would you all like to stay for dinner?"

****

Dinner was great. If there was one thing my mom did better than flash her money in other people's faces, it was cook. I guess that's one stereotype her green washcloth hadn't quite wiped away.

After the meal, Hannah and Alex decided to head out. I knew Alex was biking, so I offered to drive Hannah; but she declined with a sweet and girlishly mischievous smile—she'd much rather ride Alex's handlebars home.

Hunter called his dad, but no one picked up. "That's weird," he mused. "His phone's always on. Maybe I should text him."

He texted.

Still no response.

"Maybe his phone's dead," I offered.

"Can't be—he's got read receipts on, and it says he just saw my message."

I placed a single hand on my hip. "Is he seriously just not gonna answer?"

Hunter's eyes fell, and he shook his head.

"...Do you think he really meant it when he said you couldn't come home?"

"I—I don't know."

I hesitated. "Try calling one more time. No way was he serious."

With shaking fingers, Hunter pressed Call again.

The low mutter of the dial tone buzzed out, hollow and frail.

Hunter looked to me, his eyes fearful as the monotone pitch flicked suddenly to the strident husk of an angry voice—

"Whaddayou want, you little prick!?"

"Dad, I need you to come pick me up..."

"SCREW YOU! You disrespect me and expect favors. You can forget it, you dumbfu—"

Hunter cut off the speakerphone. "Sorry," he mouthed to me.

"Turn it back on," I said. "I don't care what he says."

Hunter pressed the speakerphone button again—

"AND YOU TELL THAT KINKY SKANK TO SHUT HER STUPID TRAP! I AIN'T ABOUT TO COME GIT YOU! YOU CAN LIVE ON THE STREET! SEE IF I GIVE A—"

Hunter cut off speakerphone again. He pulled his head closer to the phone. "Dad, come on. Please..."

I heard the phone click, followed by another wave of that sunken, rumbling dial tone.

Hunter shut his eyes.

"What happened?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. "What else did he say?"

"You heard most of it. He basically told me I can't come home." Hunter paused, shoving both hands in his pockets. "Mind giving me a ride to a hotel?"

"Hotel? Gosh, Hunter, what kind of a heartless jerk do you think I am? Just spend the night here."

His eyes lit up. "What? A-are you serious?"

"Yeah, for sure. Just let me ask my mom." I left him beaming in the dining area as I trotted off, climbed the steps and strode down the upstairs hallway to my mother's bedroom.

When I arrived, she was applying makeup, and I remembered that on Thursdays, she liked to go out with a few of her friends—which meant Hunter and I would have the whole house to ourselves.

"Hey, Mom?" I asked.

"Yes, honey?" She powdered her cheekbones as she spoke.

"Can Hunter stay over tonight? He's having some family trouble, and he can't exactly go home right now."

"Oh, Azalea, tell him to go to the Embassy. It's just up the street, and it's only a couple hundred a night."

"Mom, are you serious?"

"Azalea, I'm not prepared for this. I will be very busy tonight, and entertaining guests was not part of my schedule."

"But, Mom, he just needs a place to stay. He's not asking for entertainment—"

"Azalea, no. Not tonight. It's too short of notice."

"But DeAnthony and LaDarius stay over all the time without me telling you in advance. Remember that night they just randomly walked in drunk off their rockers and you told them to sleep it off in the guest room?"

"Well, DeAnthony and LaDarius are fine, upstanding young men—" Just as she spoke, her hand mirror fell to the floor and shattered in half, and she let out a shriek. "Oh, look what you've made me do! Now I'll have to spruce in the vanity." She turned daintily to the giant vanity mirror and began inspecting the dark curls in her hair.

"Fine? Upstanding!?" I practically screeched. "Mom, did you miss the part where I said they came in drunk? How on Earth is that fine and upstanding?"

"Azalea, darling, if you don't want those boys over here anymore, you shouldn't invite them. It's that simple." Her tone was straining toward impatience, sullen eyes staring back at me through the mirror's reflection.

I sighed. "Mom, that's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" She twisted two fingers through a curly strip of hair that refused to stay in place.

"The point is that Hunter is more my friend than either of those buffoons are, and he should have just as much right to stay here as they do."

"Azalea, listen." She paused, her words measured and careful. "Boys like Hunter can't be trusted."

"And what exactly are 'boys like Hunter'?" A hand rose to my hip.

"Azalea, I think you know."

My mouth fell open in shock. "This is unbelievable! Are you seriously telling me he can't stay with us just because—"

"HOW DARE YOU!?" My mother screamed suddenly, her eyes lifting with rage from the vanity mirror as she turned to point menacingly at the doorway behind me.

I whirled around and saw Hunter standing barely in the door. "Hunter!?" I gasped. "Were you...spying on us?"

"No!" he blurted, raising both hands in defense. "I promise I wasn't!"

"How dare you eavesdrop on my conversation!" My mother was livid.

"Wait," he begged, "Please—it wasn't like that—!"

"Leave my home this instant!"

"Mom, wait," I tried. "At least hear what he has to say—"

"I SAID OUT!" Her gaze shifted to me, wildfire blazing in her eyes. "Azalea, you have thirty seconds to get that white trash out of this house before I call the police!"

"Mom, please!"

She eyed me cruelly. "Twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six..."

A pulse of sadness overtaking my fleeting surprise, I turned fearfully to Hunter, who bowed his head in defeat, the two of us skittishly exiting the room under my mother's vociferous countdown.

We sidled down the stairs, Hunter picking up his backpack from the foyer as we trudged to the front door.

"I'm so sorry, Hunter," I began, tears building up around the makeup barrier beneath my eyes.

"Hey, don't cry." His bright blue eyes shone as he reached out and stroked my face, brushing back my dark hair now wet with tears. "Look, I'll be fine," he said. "That embassy's only a few hundred a night, right?" He joked, managed a half smile.

"Hunter, I'm serious," I cried on. "This is so awful." I paused. "And...and why were you outside the door looking in on us anyway?"

"I heard glass breaking, and then your mom screamed, and...and I just got afraid you were hurt or something." He bowed his head. "And when I came up and saw you guys were fine, I was about to leave. But she saw me, and—well, you know the rest."

I buried my head in Hunter's shoulder, tears soaking the fabric of his collared cotton shirt.

"Hey, it's okay," he said. "It was my fault. I guess that's what I get for lurking in doorways." His attempts at humor only made me cry even more. I couldn't believe this.

As we plodded outside and climbed inside my car, I bit back a scream. But Hunter kept his cool; he even smiled at me. "Azalea, I'll be fine, really," he kept reassuring as I cranked up the car, put the gear in reverse, and backed out of the driveway.

Just as we were pulling off, the swirling mist of the fallen night wisping foggy breaths against the windshield, I felt the light of a new and daring idea burst to life inside my head. "Oh my gosh!"

"Azalea, wha—?"

"Hunter, I just thought of something!" I grabbed my purse from the floor between my feet and shoved it into his arms. "Reach in the front pocket—get my phone. Call Hannah and put her on speaker!"

****

"I can't believe you're actually going through with this," were Hannah's first words when I'd told her the whole plan.

"Oh, come on, Hannah. You know how messed up it is that Hunter's not allowed to stay at my house just because he's white."

"True," Hannah granted, "but how are you so sure you're not going to get caught? I mean, does your mom, like, never go in the basement?"

I smiled. "Well, my basement is pretty much the size of a small house. There're plenty of places for Hunter to hide if he hears someone coming. And my mom knows that I study in the basement all the time, so she won't think it's weird if I start going down there a little more often than usual."

"But wait—remind me again why I'm keeping your car at my house and driving you two to school for the next week?"

"Well, I had to stash my car somewhere. And if I say that I let Hunter borrow it so he'll have some transportation for a little while, my mom's more likely to think that he's gone—after all, if I don't have my car and he's 'staying at the Embassy,' then he couldn't possibly be living in my basement, right?"

"...Still sounds kinda shaky to me," Hannah said. "I mean, if your mom's as uptight as she seems, I'd imagine she'd roast you alive if she found out Hunter was driving your car."

I shook my head knowingly. "It'll be a slap on the wrist at most. I bought that car with my own savings, and if she thinks I don't have it anymore, she'll be way too relieved that I've got no way to visit Hunter."

Hannah shrugged. "If you really think this'll work, I'm all in. The way your mom freaked out like that was so not okay."

Hannah pulled her car up to the curb outside my house and dropped me off at the front patio, then I strolled up the porch and let myself inside. By then, my mom had already left to go out with her friends, and a lingering stillness hung in the indoor air. I scurried downstairs to the basement and stole straightaway toward the exit.

Quivering a bit with nerves, Hunter was still smiling when I swung the cellar door wide. We both thanked Hannah again, and she drove off as we turned to descend the steps to the basement's interior.

I stayed down there with Hunter and helped him get situated, and we chattered on in the palely lit darkness until he fell asleep. Then I headed back upstairs to my room and did the same.

The next morning, I awoke and waited for my mom to leave for work before I got dressed and returned to my home's underground dwellings to check on Hunter. Once he'd finished packing his supplies for school, the two of us climbed together through the basement door and met Hannah, whose car sat on the street directly adjacent to the back porch.

She shook her head with a smile as we slid inside her vehicle. "You two are insane."

Hunter and I both laughed as Hannah's foot pushed on the gas pedal and we sped away.

To say that Friday went by in a blast would be the understatement of the century. I honestly felt as though I were in a dream—a dream where Hunter and I were forbidden lovers dodging the judgmental eyes of a disapproving overlord, seeking shelter in an absconded underground safe house!—and when I awoke, my Calculus III professor was dismissing class.

I caught up with Hunter outside, and we kissed as Hannah drove up. "Are you two lovebirds gonna smooch all day?" she joked through the front window, Alex chuckling in the passenger's seat next to her. "Or can we all head home before Christmas gets here?"

****

When we made it to my house, I let Hunter in the basement and then ran back up to meet my mom, who was pacing past the kitchen in a pair of quilted black slippers that matched her blouse of midnight silk.

"Hello, darling," she said. "How was school today?"

"Okay, I guess," I answered, giggling inside. "Calculus was interesting. But school is school, and I'm glad to be done for the day."

"Well, that's good, I suppose," she replied fleetingly, taking pause to peer out the window as an engine whirring just beyond the glass signaled the arrival of shining vehicle painted a sharp and royal blue.

"Oh, how wonderful! He's here!" My mother's eyes grew wide before turning to me suddenly. "Azalea, you must come outside. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

I followed her out to the sleek, polished Rolls-Royce that waited on the pavement. When its driver stepped out and rose from behind the tinted glass to meet my gaze, my heart leapt inside of me.

His hair was low-cut and very well kept. He stood a little over six feet tall and wore a dark blue polo with khaki slacks and Sperry's. His almond eyes, warmly squared jaw, and golden-brown skin belonged in a fashion magazine. And as he reached for my hand to press a gentle kiss against it, his gorgeous smile sent my head spinning.

"How do you do, Ms. Jackson?"

I stood there giggling stupidly for at least a few moments before I finally answered, "Hehe, I'm g-good."

"My name is Dale Evanston. My father is a friend of your mother's. And when he let slip that the lovely Mrs. Luvietta Jackson had a daughter, why, I thought it was a tragedy that we had yet to make one another's acquaintance. It is truly a pleasure to meet a young lady as beautiful as yourself."

Thank God I'm black, or I'd be blushing blood red right now.

I could feel myself shivering, but I tried to give him my most attractive smile, raising one hand to brush through ebony waves that I now wished I'd spent more time straightening earlier that morning.

"Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner tonight? I've already cleared it with your mother and father—they've conferred their permission."

I paused, my smile fading. "S-sure," I answered abruptly, ignoring the trident of caution stabbing at my tongue.

What about Hunter!? my brain screamed at me. You know, the boy hiding in the basement?

I hesitated, quivering on my feet. "...Pick me up at seven?"

Dale nodded politely, and I curtsied with a smile, doing my best to ignore the ambivalence wobbling through my legs.

Moments later, Dale reentered his Rolls-Royce, cruising up the street and out of view. And the moment his vehicle disappeared over the hill past a set of gaudy trees, my mother spun on her heel and grabbed me by the shoulders, practically flying me back inside the house.

"Oh, this is just wonderful," she gushed as we made it through the doorway. "If he's arriving at seven, that doesn't give you much time, but it should still work." She ran her fingers through my hair as we walked. "Alright, go upstairs and start drawing a bath; I'll have to lend you my straightening iron, because this hair simply won't do..."

I rolled my eyes and began tuning her out, my mind shifting again to Hunter as my mother chattered on. He was still downstairs, still waiting trustfully in the basement—probably starting his homework or messaging some of the guys from the football team.

After sequestering me in my upstairs bathroom, my mother scampered down the hall. I started running bath water, the liquid's ice-blue shade calling to mind a certain pair of eyes just two floors beneath where I now stood.

Arms shaking beside me, I rose my head from the tub's water and hazarded a glance back at the mirror, biting my lower lip as my reflection met my gaze.

****

Moonlit night had fallen by the time I was skittering to the first floor on the balls of my feet, a pair of black two-inch heels in hand as I stopped nervously and listened for the voice of my mother.

In the distance, I heard her cheery wails of delight, apprising my father over the telephone of all the day's events. Knowing I had only precious few moments before she barreled from her bedroom and demanded I display myself to her, I drew in a tenuous breath and wavered downstairs, then tiptoed toward the door to the basement.

"Hunter!" I called out in a hoarse whisper as I swung the door open and stole furtively down the steps.

"Azalea?" The moment I saw him, pale light shimmering overhead, he bolted up from one of the couches situated along the wall. "Whoa." He took a step back, a steamcloud of blush rising to his cheeks.

I stopped in my tracks, glanced down at myself for the first time since I'd made it home. I'd spent the past hour and a half titivating before my bathroom's crystalline mirror, micromanaging every infinitesimal detail, but I hadn't paused to truly take in my appearance until now.

I was draped in the dark fabrics of a cocoon-collared trumpet dress, short and gently ruffled sleeves overhanging my shoulders, while a necklace of gold links adorned with a pearlene centerpiece hung around my neck. The high-heeled shoes in my hand were a lustrous ebony; and they matched the darkly flowing, freshly straightened waves of hair that fell volumized behind my shoulders.

"You...you look beautiful," Hunter breathed.

"Wow, um...thanks." I hesitated, eyes darting off.

Hunter's voice fell. "Is everything okay?"

I sighed. "Look, I know this is crazy, but my mom just set me up on a date tonight with this...this model. And I know this is sorta weird because me and you are kind of, well, I mean...you know..."

He smiled as I glanced back at him. "It's fine, Azalea."

I felt my eyes pop wide. "Wait, what? You're not mad?"

"Of course not." He reached out and wrapped his hands around mine. "I like you, Azalea. I really like you." He paused, maybe even sighed. "That means I want you to have fun."

"Oh," I quivered. "Um, okay. I just..." I looked up at him. "Are you sure, Hunter?"

His only response was the slow, soft nodding of his head.

Lowering my stare for the briefest of moments, I rose to my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek before running back upstairs. But even as he grinned from ear to ear while I scampered away, I could've sworn I spotted a pang of regret flash briefly in those laughing eyes of his, eyes still streaked with waves like the sea.

****

After I'd finally gotten the okay from my mother—the pronouncement that my outfit was "elegant and tasteful" enough—Dale Evanston escorted me to Sylve DuLánge, my favorite fancy restaurant.

Mom must have told him, I thought to myself as we rolled into the parking lot. He opened the door for me like a gentleman, and the two of us strode toward the building's tinted windows overlaid with gilded lettering.

From the darkened interior, a hostess wearing a marble-patterned button coat emerged to greet us and welcome us inside, where she led us to a grand table at the center of the restaurant.

Eyes were on both me and my date as he pulled out my chair and waited politely for me to sit, then spread my napkin neatly across my lap. He took his seat across from me and smiled that polished, radiant smile.

"So, Ms. Jackson—"

"Call me Azalea," I piped up almost instantly, giggling.

"Very well," he said, letting out a chuckle of his own. "Azalea, it's such a pleasure to be with you tonight. I consider this a great honor. I really have a passion for smart, attractive women like yourself."

I paused, somewhat awkwardly. Did I just hear that right?

"I'm sure your parents have told you—my father is a very successful investment banker, just like your mother, and he grosses over ten million a year. My mother, meanwhile, is a political science professor and occasional keynote speaker who just can't get enough of academia." He guffawed as though he'd told the funniest joke of the century. "Needless to say, I love to talk and make a deal."

Okay...I smiled uneasily. "So, um, what do you do for fun?"

"Young women like yourself."

My jaw dropped, shock and disgust erupting all over my face.

A hearty laugh escaped his lips. "I was only joking, Azalea." He reached across the table and lay a chiseled hand on top of my own. "What about you? What do you do for fun?"

"Well, I play tennis and volleyball, and I really like to read."

He chuckled again.

I arched my eyebrows. "What's so funny?"

"It's just difficult to imagine you playing sports," he said.

I twisted my head to the side. "And why's that?"

"Well, simply because athletics is a field so devoid of any kind of scholarly significance, and you're clearly a woman of intellect. It seems a waste to me." He stopped talking, tried staring into my eyes as I rolled them at him. "So tell me, what do you like to read?"

I paused, measuring my tone before speaking. "Well, I love mysteries. I've read almost all of Agatha Christie, and I really think Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's original Sherlock is quite the—"

He burst out laughing. "Fiction?" His words were dripping with condescension. "You still read fiction? You certainly don't take after your mother, do you?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You know, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm starting to wish you hadn't asked me out."

Dale froze mid-laughter.

"If you're really just going to make fun of everything I say, then I'd much rather head home and save myself the trouble."

"Oh, come now. You can't be serious."

I stopped listening after "Oh, come now." I stood up and slung my purse over my shoulder, twirling my back to him.

"Azalea, wait!" He leapt to his feet and darted to my side, gripping my arm in an instant. "Azalea, forgive me. I can tell I've upset you—"

"Really? What gave it away?" I snapped, ripping my arm free before turning away from him.

"Azalea, please. At least stay for dinner."

Just as I was about to scream for him to get away from me, to crawl back inside whatever hole my mother found him in, I noticed again the sea of prying eyes gushing from other tables—couples stealing furtive glances, kids staring with wide eyes, waiters hazarding fearful peeks. Now was not the time to make a scene.

"Fine." I lowered my voice, shot Dale an angry look. "But if you laugh at me, I'm leaving. And I don't care who sees."

When the waiter came to take our orders, Dale asked for the most expensive dish on the menu and ordered the same for me.

"Excuse me," I protested amid his unimaginable pomposity, "I can order for myself."

"Nonsense! I know this place like the back of my hand, and the Chicken Tuscany is to die for." He snapped his fingers. "Waiter, why are you still here? Fetch our food. My date grows famished." He turned to me and smiled.

I guess that was meant to be attractive, but it only succeeded in lowering my opinion of him—if that was even possible. I pulled out my phone immediately, swiping past the lock screen and tapping open my texts.

"What's that, dear?" Dale asked as my thumbs pattered across the screen. "Whom are you messaging?"

"That's my business."

"You know, you needn't take everything with such great offense."

I didn't even sigh at that; I didn't even say a word. I held my silence and flat-out ignored him. And after ten more minutes of Dale's dreadful company, the waiter returned and placed upon the table two identical plates of Chicken Tuscany.

"Wow," I said, speaking up to address only the waiter. "It looks delicious."

"Waiter," Dale interrupted, "you haven't forgotten the almond sauce, have you?"

"Of course not, sir," he answered, handing Dale a glass bottle of brown and syrupy liquid.

Snatching the bottle and unscrewing its cap, Dale speedily glazed the sauce on both his and my dishes before I had time to say through my teeth, "Actually, I'm allergic to almonds."

"Oh, forgive me. Waiter, another Chicken Tuscany, please!" He snapped his fingers at the man again.

"That's okay," I said, weary of this nonsense. "I think I can manage." I grabbed my fork and stuffed my mouth with a piece of chicken slathered in blended herbs and the almond sauce that covered them. I smiled mockingly.

Dale frowned, quirking a brow. "Darling, why are you so stubborn?"

"First of all, I am not your darling. I am not being stubborn, and I can order food for myself." I feigned choking. "Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom to make sure I'm not breaking out." I stood from the table and strutted past the waiter as I beelined for the restaurant's leftmost back corner.

I really hope Hunter got my message.

I sashayed into the bathroom, where I glanced around twice to make sure no one could hear me. Then I slid over to the side wall and looked into the light of sunshine cast by an open window. "Hunter?" I whispered.

"...Yeah?" he answered after a moment's hesitation, his head leaning in through the window.

I smiled, a wave of relief crashing over me. "I knew you'd find the spot I was talking about."

Hunter laughed. "Next to the walkway beside the tiny shrubs," he quoted the text I'd sent him, raising an index finger and staring skyward for effect. "The window lets in right by the vent to the women's bathroom."

"Talk about your crazy construction designs." It was my turn to laugh.

"Wow," he beamed at me. "You really do come here all the time."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks, and I blinked my eyes away from him.

He sighed. "So...I'm guessing your date with Dale isn't exactly going as planned."

"What gave it away? My frantic text that said, 'please come to Sylve Dulánge so we can talk,' or the literal hives that I had to give myself to get away from that egotistical moron?" I pointed to a bright-red splotch on my neck.

Hunter's eyes grew wide. "Whoa, Azalea, that's—!"

"Not a big deal," I cut in, waving my hand. "My allergy's nothing serious. I could eat ten baskets of almonds, and I'd only get a maximum of maybe six hives." I paused. "Thanks for coming so fast, by the way."

"Hey, I said I'd be here in ten, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I know, but...You must have run like a maniac to get here from my house that fast!"

He smiled, and for the first time I noticed sweat shining on his forehead. "It was worth it."

I shook my head. "You're the best, Hunter. And I am so done with Dale Evanston. Male model or not, he is not even worth half the trouble."

"I'm sorry your date's going so badly. Think you'll be able to make it through?"

"Are you kidding me?" I laughed. "Hunter, the whole reason I asked you to come here wasn't for you to cheer me up so I could go back in there and fight through another round with Dale. I'm done with Dale. Me running away to hide in the bathroom was my two-weeks' notice."

"Wait, are you saying...I mean...are you gonna—?"

"Spend the rest of the day with the cutest football player I know? I mean, I'd love to if that's okay with you." I stroked a hand through the dark strands of hair falling behind my ear.

"Really?" A crimson surge of blush erupted across his cheeks. And he didn't have dark skin to hide it.

I smiled widely and stroked my hair again, then laughed at my faux seductiveness. "Well, don't just stand there. Help me out!" With both arms, I reached toward the window, toward Hunter, and lifted a high-heeled foot to step through the glass and into the warm sunshine. Hunter gripped my hands in his and started to pull.

I giggled as I climbed out, as my heels landed on the grass, and Hunter giggled right along with me. It really was ridiculous. Here I was, the daughter of a nationally renowned lawyer and a world-class investment banker whose combined net worth totaled over one hundred million dollars; and yet I was staggering through a bathroom window to escape from the elitist, über-arrogant male model who sat patiently waiting for me inside one of California's fanciest restaurants.

Hey, I never said I was sophisticated.

Hunter and I ducked behind a set of outcropping shrubs, scanning both directions before darting into the street, and we ran—yes, I ran in a long black dress!—scurrying three blocks down to a movie theater called StarTime Cinemas.

I had plenty of money, but Hunter paid for my ticket regardless, as well as a practically bottomless bucket of popcorn smothered in golden butter. And honestly, I couldn't tell you what that movie was about. All I know is that I sat for two hours, enraptured by the blond-haired, blue-eyed masterpiece seated next to me.

By the time the movie was over, I didn't know if Dale was still waiting for me at Sylve DuLánge—and if he was, it didn't bother me one bit.

As the movie credits rolled, Hunter turned to smile warmly at me, lips quivering as I angled my body to face him. "Thanks for coming with me, Azalea."

"No," I said before pressing my lips softly against his. "Thank you."