Chapter Forty-Six: Where She Belongs
1070 Words
Marcus's POV
The mall is not my natural habitat.
I know this the second we step inside the boutique—soft lighting, mirrored walls, racks of gowns arranged like they belong in a museum instead of a shopping center. Everything smells faintly floral and expensive. My skates would be useless here. My fists too.
Anna, on the other hand, looks like she walked into a different version of her own world.
She slows, eyes widening just a little, fingers twitching at her sides like she’s resisting the urge to touch everything at once. I watch her take it in—silk, chiffon, satin in colors so rich they almost hum.
She turns to me, brows knitting. “Marcus… why are we here?”
I shove my hands into my jacket pockets, trying to play this cooler than my heart feels. “Thought you might want to try some things on.”
“Some things?” she repeats. “These are gowns.”
“Yeah.”
She tilts her head, studying my face like it might suddenly explain itself. “Why would I need a gown?”
That’s my cue. I step closer, lowering my voice even though we’re alone in this corner of the shop. “Because,” I say, “I’m taking you to the gala.”
For half a second, she just stares at me. Then her breath catches.
“What?” she whispers.
“The gala,” I repeat. “You. Me. Together.”
Her eyes search mine, like she’s waiting for the punchline. “Marcus… I thought—”
“I know what you thought,” I interrupt gently. “Everyone thought it. Bella. My father. The entire social ecosystem.”
Her shoulders tense at Bella’s name.
“I was never taking her,” I say firmly.
Something bright and fragile flashes across Anna’s face. “Never?”
“Not once,” I reply. “Not even for a second.”
Her hand lifts, hovering near my arm like she’s afraid touching me might break the moment. “But… Damian and Peter—”
“They’re not taking her sisters either,” I add. “That part’s already handled.”
Her mouth opens, then closes again. Then she laughs—a soft, disbelieving sound that makes my chest ache.
“You’re serious,” she says.
“I’ve never been more serious about anything,” I tell her.
She exhales shakily, pressing a hand to her chest. “Marcus…”
“I want you there,” I continue. “With me. Not as a statement. Not as a rebellion.”
Though it is a little bit of both.
“But because you belong beside me.”
Her eyes shine. “I thought I was losing my mind,” she says quietly. “Everything felt like it was slipping.”
I reach out and take her hands in mine, grounding us both. “You’re not slipping. You’re rising.”
She swallows hard. “What about your dad?”
There it is.
I don’t hesitate. “He’ll have opinions.”
“That’s an understatement,” she murmurs.
“But he doesn’t get to choose who I walk in with,” I say. “I do. And Damian and Peter have my back. We’ve planned for the fallout.”
Her gaze sharpens. “Planned how?”
I smile faintly. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Marcus—”
“All you need to do,” I say softly, lifting her hands and brushing my thumbs over her knuckles, “is look beautiful. Like you always do. So, will you do me the honor of being my date to the gala?”
Her face lights up in a way that steals the air from my lungs.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, and then she’s moving—launching herself into my arms with a laugh that’s pure, unfiltered joy.
I catch her easily, arms wrapping around her waist as she buries her face in my neck.
“Yes,” she says against my skin. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”
I laugh, spinning her slightly before setting her back on her feet.
She pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes bright and emotional. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
“I think I do,” I say honestly.
She rises onto her toes, hands gripping my jacket, lips parting—
“ANNA?!”
We freeze.
Anna groans softly and drops back onto her heels as Courtney comes barreling into view, eyes wide and sparkling.
“Oh my God,” Courtney says, scanning the boutique. “Please tell me this means what I think it means.”
Behind her, Damian and Peter appear, both trying—and failing—to look innocent.
Peter grins. “Hey, Anna.”
Damian claps me on the shoulder. “Guess we had the same idea.”
Anna blinks. “Courtney… what are you doing here?”
Courtney holds up a garment bag triumphantly. “Damian kidn*pped me. Said I needed a gown. Would not take no for an answer.”
Peter shrugs. “We’re very persuasive.”
Damian smirks. “Plus, we needed a buffer.”
“A buffer?” Anna repeats.
“They said something about needing my expertise,” Courtney says cheerfully. “Gala solidarity.”
Anna looks at me, laughter bubbling out of her. “You planned this?”
I lift my hands. “I planned my part. The rest is a happy coincidence.”
Courtney loops her arm through Anna’s. “Come on. If you’re going to the gala, we are doing this properly.”
Anna looks back at me, eyes shining again. “You’re really doing this.”
“Yes,” I say. “Publicly. Unapologetically.”
Her smile softens into something deeper. “I love you.”
The words land warm and solid in my chest.
“I love you too,” I reply without hesitation.
Courtney squeals. “Okay, that’s adorable, but gowns. Now.”
Anna laughs as she’s pulled toward the racks, already reaching for fabric, her earlier doubts replaced with excitement and light.
I watch her go, something steady and unshakable settling in my bones.
The gala was supposed to be a battlefield.
Instead, it’s going to be a reckoning.
And Anna?
She’s going to walk in with me.
Exactly where she belongs
- Writer
