I take the water and nod in thanks.
“What helps you?” Farrow asks me, vague. We’ve been vague about PTSD.
“Water on my face should be enough.” I unscrew the bottle. “You said yours is triggered by rain?”
He kicks back against the closed fridge. “Yeah, but it’s been better.” He pauses. “Is yours frequent?”
“No.” I swig the water, coolness rushing down my throat. “I haven’t had a nightmare in a while.”
“It kicked your ass awake?”
I meet his eyes. “Like a hammer to the skull.”
He nods a few times.
We exchange this look that reaches into me. Acknowledgement. An I understand you and I’m here. Something that I’ve never shared with Farrow face-to-face.
SFO is a brotherhood. More than any other force.
After hurting him, I’ve wanted to be deserving of it. Can’t say that I am, can’t say that I’ll ever be—but I won’t retreat.
I hold his gaze. “I stuck a fucking thorn in your side.”
“No, you were the thorn,” he says matter-of-factly. “And being honest, I didn’t know what Jane saw in you. I didn’t think you’d ever break a rule to give her what she wants and needs, and the fact that you did—it makes you someone I don’t mind hanging around.”
I nod slowly, realizing this fucking whole time, he would’ve appreciated me breaking the “don’t fuck your client” rule. For Jane.
I cap the water bottle, my eyes narrowed at the reality. With the looming breakup, it’ll all reverse. Like I never broke the rule to begin with.
Farrow checks the oven clock. “And you broke her little 3 a.m. get-the-fuck-out rule.”
“Accidental. ” I set the water bottle on the counter. “Don’t go buying me a fucking round.”
“Man, you don’t have to worry that I will.” He pushes away from the fridge. “I only buy rounds for broken hearts.”
I open my mouth to speak—a crash thunders from upstairs. Shaking the kitchen. Like a body just hit the ground. We don’t wait for the vibrating to stop.
We bolt. As fast as our fucking feet can carry us. Concern detonating a strong force inside of me. Fear hyper-focuses me. Four souls upstairs. Jane, Sulli, Luna, Maximoff.
Jane.
Jane.
We don’t call out to them.
In case someone broke in without setting off the alarms, we can’t yell their fucking names and give our positions away. We’re already risking being heard as we race up the old stairs. I’m out in front of Farrow.
Adrenaline pitching my pulse. Her name is a scream caged inside me.
Maximoff is running down the stairs from the attic. Towards the second-floor. Where the girls are.
We come up to the landing, just as Jane’s door opens and she steps out, cautious. “Thatcher?” Her eyes widen, scared for her cousins.
I act fast. Clutching her waist, I pull Jane further out of the room. Behind my back, and Farrow goes straight to Luna and Sulli’s door. He kicks it open.
“Whoa, fuck ,” Sulli curses from inside.
By her surprised tone, I can already tell this is a false alarm. But we need to check her room regardless.
Protocol: Jane can’t come in until it’s all-clear . Neither can Maximoff.
It’s hard to leave her. My chest knots. “Wait here until I call you,” I tell her strictly. She’s safe.
“I will—”
Our heads turn as Sulli suddenly fills the doorway, yanking earbuds out, drenched in sweat. “Uh, guys…is this about the fucking bang because that was me. I’m so fucking sorry.” She wipes her forehead with her toned bicep. “I was doing deadlifts and dropped the bar too hard. Luna slept through the noise, so I didn’t think anything of it.”
“It’s okay,” Maximoff says.
Jane lets out a deeper breath. “We’re just glad you’re safe.” Her gaze pins back to me, and our eyes lock. Thoughts and feelings tumble between us. But we’re quiet. Even with Maximoff and Farrow knowing our secret, Luna and Sulli are still in the dark. It’s a reminder that we still have to be careful. Can’t get too comfortable.
But she is right—at least everyone is safe.
Especially her.
41
JANE COBALT
I knew I’d be nervous when this day finally came. But I didn’t know I’d have a swarm of caterpillars crawling around my stomach. So naturally, I called in reinforcements.
“Oooh, I like this one.” Aunt Daisy playfully waves a cheetah print vest.
“Or this one.” Aunt Lily scoots out from the bottom of my closet with a tulle mint-green skirt.
And ladies and gentlemen, behind me is a sword, a cannon blast, a shoulder to cry on, a stroke of hope—my mom.
In a form-fitting black dress, long matte black nails, and dark rouge lipstick, Rose Calloway Cobalt stands pin-straight, her posture stiff and rigid. And cold. But she wields such deep love for me in her piercing yellow-green eyes.
I watch her through my vanity mirror. She curls my hair. Methodical and slow, but she snaps the curling iron at her sisters. “Don’t confuse her.”
It is all very confusing.
I’m about to meet Thatcher’s entire family. His mom, stepmom, cousins, uncles, and aunts. The only person missing in action will be his dad.
Pressure is a creature I know good and well, but I find myself caring about how his family perceives me, most of all.
I glance between the skirt and vest. “I like them both, really. They’d look perfectly un-matching together.” Which is what I love best.
“Wow, we’re like stylists,” Daisy says, giving Lily a silly grin and wagging her brows.
Lily takes a sip from a can of Diet Fizz. “Must be why I’m wearing…” She has to look down to remember what she’s dressed in today. “Leggings and…” She frowns as she inspects the Spider-Man T-shirt. “Uh, I think this is Lo’s? Everything gets mixed up in the wash.”
“So true.” Daisy plucks a cat-ear headband off my mirror and places it atop her head. Blonde hair chopped bluntly a little below her shoulders. She smiles at me, radiant like the sun.
My cheeks always hurt when I’m around all of them. But I’ve smiled far less today. Pressure keeps sinking my stomach.
My mom finishes my hair. “You’re done, gremlin.”
All three women turn to look at me as I stand and approach my closet door’s full-length mirror.
Brown waves cascade on my collarbones, frizz successfully combatted. More presentable for a meet-the-parents dinner. This is my best foot forward.
I untie my cotton robe, a little hot all of a sudden. “What if I’m so awfully verbose and I annoy them?”
My mom snaps a glare at me through the mirror. “You’re not too verbose. You’re words are an asset.” She speaks like it’s written in stone and blood and all indelible things. “And if they don’t like you, then that says more about them than you.”
I love that she doesn’t tell me they will love me and give me a false sense of confidence. She lays battle armor on my shoulders.
Sometimes I feel as though I’m the daughter of Joan of Arc. Ready for war.
I try to take a breath. Another insecurity rises. “What if they hate me?” A good portion of the world does, and I catch all three sisters glancing cautiously at each other.
I spin on my heels. “I recognize that I’m only fake dating Thatcher—it’s not serious between us.” Do I sound defensive?
My eyes bug.
I keep going. “We will break up soon. We will. It is in the stars.” My collarbones protrude, my eyes burn. “But his family is special to him, and he’s my bodyguard. I’d rather them not hate me.”
“If they judge you that harshly after one meal, you don’t want to be loved by them,” my mom retorts.
Lily nods repeatedly. “What Rose said.”
Daisy looks at my mom. “Didn’t you throw wine on your mother-in-law’s blouse when you first met her?”
My lips rise, rememb
ering this story.
My mom sighs at the memory, then flips her hair off her shoulder. “And I prevailed.”
“See,” Daisy smiles at me. “You could throw wine on someone, and all could end miraculously.”
I breathe in their encouragements the best I can.
“How are you doing with the fake dating thing?” Lily asks. All of them thought the ploy was a good idea.
I remember the notes he’s been leaving me, and I smile. “It’s worked rather well.”
My mom crosses her arms. “Security told me it’s dispelled some potential stalkers.”
“It has.”
Only a handful remain. Thatcher and the rest of security are taking care of them.
“So it was worth it then?” Daisy asks, adjusting the cat ears. “Fake dating your bodyguard?”
I picture all the nights we’ve spent together. “Yes, I’d say so.” I sound more morose than I intend.
Lily frowns deeply. “You know, you don’t have to go meet his family. If it’d be easier, you could just come up with an excuse.”
“Like a cold or 24-hour flu,” Daisy offers.
That thought sends a wave of knives into my stomach. “Why would that be easier?” I take the skirt and vest from their hands.
“Because,” my mom says icily, “you’re going to be lying to them. All of them.”
I’m going to be lying to his family.
To their faces. None of them think this is a fake relationship. His family believes we’re really together.
I understand now. My aunts and my mom are concerned about me. They want to protect me from this deception. In truth, I haven’t felt like I was going over there to lie or fabricate some story.
I haven’t been nervous about that.
I’m just nervous they won’t like me.
And I’m already lying to the people in front of me. The ones I love most. Who have no idea that I’ve been intimate with my bodyguard.
But I’m not alone in this. Thatcher and I are ensnared, and that has a comfort all its own.
I force out the words, “I want to go. Even if it’s hard.”
42
THATCHER MORETTI
“Ah, you buncha loud mouths. Statazitt’! I’m tryin’ to make a toast here.” One of my uncles raises his brash voice above the other fucking brash voices.
Songs by Lou Monte play right on top of that. “Hey Gumbaree” blaring at the current moment.
It’s all an Italian earful. And it’s home.
Sunday family dinner is a weekly gathering at my Uncle Joe’s row house. Braggiol’ already eaten, dishes cleared—after the meal, the women stay clustered around the table drinking coffee and eating cream pie.
Jane is in sight while I hang around the kitchen with Banks and the other men. More wine bottles being uncorked and poured. But my gaze is gripped on her.
How she laughs with the women, talks breezily and bows toward every person at the dining table. Making all of them feel like they’re her sole focus.
Those women are deserving of her gaze.
And Jane doesn’t realize just how much she can make people feel loved in a single glance. My mom has a hand on Jane’s arm while they talk into brighter laughter.
My grandma’s rosy cheeks are in a perpetual smile, and Nicola, my stepmom, sees me watching and mouths, we love her.
I thought she’d fit in, but seeing it happen is something else. Surreal. Overwhelming. Conflicting—because I shouldn’t be emotionally invested in this picture.
It’s supposed to only happen one time. One fucking time.
That’s all we get.
My mom catches my gaze and shoos me with the swat of her hand. Her words are inaudible from the ear-splitting commotion around me. But I read her lips: Go, go.
I rotate. Just slightly. Standing near the coffee pot, Banks and I still tower but not as much here. Most men are tall and in occupations that require us to stay fit. Bodies built.
Multiple conversations are happening at once, and I tune into the closest one. Talking about car trackers. They think paparazzi bugged my mom’s vehicle.
“How else could they’ve known she’d be at the bank?”
Guilt tries to ride me like a fucking buck-toothed hitchhiker. Don’t let it. I knew the risks of going public.
I cut in, “Paparazzi probably followed her from the shop. Her job is public information.” My mom used to be a bookkeeper at an auto mechanic shop. Until they finally let her, a woman, work as a mechanic.
“Are we sure?” Uncle Joe asks.
Banks fists a beer. “I already checked her vehicle. I didn’t find anything.”
The louder voices overtake our talk. We turn our heads.
“Youse been making toasts all fuckin’ night.”
“I don’t see you making any.”
“Because youse been doin’ ‘em all!”
“Statazitt’!” many guys yell, telling them to shut up.
The corners of my mouth almost rise. My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I uncross my arms and grab my cell.
One of my uncles squeezes through and clamps a hand on my shoulder. “Why aren’t youse drinking? Your girl brought over an expensive bottle of wine.” Plus flowers for my mom, stepmom, and grandma. My grandma pinched Jane’s cheeks and hugged her for a full minute, and I’m sure it’ll be longer when we leave.
Banks answers, “He doesn’t want to drink for a while.”
“For the job,” I add. For her protection. I unlock my phone and read a text from the Alpha lead—my stern demeanor darkens. Eyes narrowing like barrels of a gun.
We have an official breakup date. Op ends the day after Halloween. The reason will be she didn’t get along with your family. Leave the dinner in separate vehicles. Farrow is picking her up. – Price
They want me to put my family on fucking blast in the media. To be a fucking scapegoat in order to end the fake dating op.
No.
Hell no.
I rake my hand across my hardened jaw. Hardly blinking. Just cussing a hundred times over in my head. Until my brain is fucking overloaded with fucks and goddammits and mannaggias.
I text back: using my family as the reason for the breakup will endanger them.
He responds fast.
We’ve discussed this with a publicist. They said it’s minimal blowback. Your family will be safe. – Price
I’m yelling at the top of my lungs internally. But really I’m stoic. Painfully still. Silent. Veins bulge in my tensed neck.
Banks comes close, ripping my phone out of my fist.
He reads the text.
I lower my voice so only he can hear. “They fucked me.” My nose flares. “Or maybe I fucked me.” I’m the one who made the request to bring Jane to meet my family. Full well knowing it’d be for the op.
A public ploy. Paparazzi asked Jane where she was going before we left. She said, “To meet my boyfriend’s family.”
I just never imagined security would push further and use this for the breakup.
I have to tell Jane.
This is going to hurt her—and I don’t want to follow through with this fucking order. For too many reasons.
Banks is pissed. Less pissed than me, but still fucking pissed. “They couldn’t have told us at the last meeting before you brought her here?”
It feels like Price and Sinclair are punishing me. Akara couldn’t have known. He warned me that he had a bad feeling and that those two were leaving him out of some discussions.
My family here can sense that I’m upset. The men start looking over in concern, and Uncle Joe is the one who approaches.
Banks slips my phone in my pocket and backs up. Uncle Joe puts an arm around my strict shoulders. He’s the only one as tall as us.
His hoarse voice is consoling as he says, “Whadda you so angry about, huh?”
Losing her. This way. I shake my head, the movement stiff and short.
He cups the side of my face. “Fuhgeddabout it. Come have a
drink.”
I take a shot with my uncles, and after many pats on my shoulder, I push out of the kitchen and into the dining room.
I hang in the archway, not interrupting my rosy-cheeked grandma who’s in the middle of a story for Jane. One about how her mom immigrated to America alone at twelve-years-old.
“…she sewed jewelry into her panties so no one would steal ‘em, and she had to wear the same pair from Italy all the way to Ellis Island.” Italy sounds like it-ly.
All the women smile and laugh. Jane has her chin on her knuckles, enrapt. As soon as she sees my hardened expression, her face begins to fall and her arm drops to the table.
My mom frowns at me. “What’s wrong?”
“We need to leave soon,” I announce, and I come around to Jane’s chair next to my mom.
I bend down behind Jane, curving my arm over her collarbones, and I whisper against her ear, “Farrow is going to pick you up and take you home.”
“What?” Her voice pitches.
Staying behind her, I cup my phone in front of Jane. Letting her read the text. Careful not to angle the screen. Only Jane can see.
I press my lips to the top of her head in a kiss. She reads quickly. I feel her breastbone collapse beneath my forearm.
“Confirm,” I whisper, pocketing my phone.
She tilts her head back to meet my eyes. I clasp her soft cheek, my large hand almost engulfing her. Jane blinks back pained emotion, inhaling a breath in preparation for what needs to be done. “Yes,” she whispers. “I understand.”
We’ve been pretending that she’s an ordinary girl coming to break bread with my family. But she’s an American princess who is internationally recognizable.
I’m her bodyguard.
That hasn’t changed. It can’t change.
Her safety comes first.
But for Jane, I’m positive she’s agreeing to this order just to protect my career.
I straighten to a stance, my hands on her shoulders, and Jane looks forward again.
My mom places a hand on Jane’s. “Everything alright with your family?”
“You can’t ask her that,” an aunt snaps. “The Cobalts are celebrities , Gloria.”
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