My Not So Super Sweet Life

by Rachel Harris

  She darts a glance behind me and subtly shakes her head. “I just need to get out of here. Take me?”

  I don’t hesitate. “Anywhere,” I tell her.

  Her shoulders visibly sag in relief, and I wait as she walks over to the head of security. When I first pulled up at the gate, the man made it seem like guarding Cat was a matter of national security. That I could appreciate, even if his attitude did terrify the crap out of me. But from here, I can tell Cat’s not scared at all. The dude towers over her and is clearly not happy with her wanting to leave, but that doesn’t stop her. One thing I’ve learned in the last couple months is that very few things do. There’s just no arguing with Cat. Not when she’s determined.

  Sure enough, a minute later she ducks inside to yell good-bye and then walks back toward me, the storm in her eyes beginning to fade.

  “I promised Jack we’d be good,” she says, jutting her thumb toward the mammoth standing behind her. “He won’t smother me with surveillance, and we won’t try to duck his tail.”

  The guy’s biceps are larger than my head, and he has at least six inches on my five eleven. There’s no way in hell I’d mess with this guy, but I’m glad to see her feistiness returning. “And where will he be following us?”

  Cat surveys the crowd several feet away and purses her lips. “I’ll tell you in the car.”

  My protective vibe gets a shot of adrenaline as we make our way to where I parked. Security succeeded in keeping the paparazzi off her property, but photographers surge the gate as we walk. A frenzy of camera clicks and questions follow each step we take.

  “Are you going to see your mom?”

  “What’s the big secret?”

  “Are you the maid of honor?”

  “Have you met Kate Lyons?”

  And my personal favorite: “You’re just like your mom. Who’s the boy toy?”

  Through them all, Cat’s mask of calm, cool collectedness never fails. I hate that look. It took me months to break through, and seeing it return is like a messed-up omen. My jaw clenches as a thrum of energy shoots through me. Soccer practice and my three-mile run earlier wore me out to the point of exhaustion—but right now, that feels like a lifetime ago.

  I help her get in the car and then jog around the front, slamming my door seconds later. My knuckles turn white as I grip the wheel. These people are taking a moment that is so personal, so real, for the girl I’m falling for, and throwing it back in her face like it’s entertainment.

  If they hurt her—if that woman hurts her—I can’t be held responsible for my actions.

  Cat curls her hand around my clenched fist and says, “I’m okay.”

  Her voice is soft, like she’s talking me down off a ledge. My job today is to protect her, to take care of her, and yet somehow the roles got reversed. Releasing a breath, I look at her from the corner of my eye and flip my hand around so I can lift hers to my mouth. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  A small smile plays on her lips. I put it there. A thrill of satisfaction clenches my chest, along with the feelings I have for this girl. They grow deeper every day. The anger, the adrenaline, they dissipate as we both take a breath and stare at each other. For a brief moment, it’s just the two of us locked away in a bubble surrounded by chaos.

  Then I press a kiss against her fingertips, inhale the scent of rose, and set her hand on my thigh. We need to get going before the paparazzi ruin everything again. I start the engine and ask, “Where to?”

  “Just drive,” she says, lowering the visor to hide her face. “Take a right at the stop sign, and I’ll lead you from there.”

  Nodding, I glance in the rearview mirror at the photographers waiting for a shot. The gate slowly opens, and security steps in to prevent a mob attack. My stomach knots in disgust as I reverse.

  The circle begins closing in the second I’m back on Roxbury Drive. Screw not causing a scene. Revving my fine-tuned engine, I jerk forward like I’m gonna run them over, and chuckle when they jump back in fear. I’d never really do it, but they don’t know that. And watching them cower for once feels damn good.

  Hearing Cat laugh—a free, lighthearted sound that’s worlds away from the haunted girl of a few minutes ago—feels even better.

  Smiling for the cameras, hoping they can read the implied “F-you” in my eyes, I drive through the space my stunt provided and wave good-bye.

  …

  An hour later, I turn in to the gated entrance of the Michaels’ beach house in Malibu. The place is sick. Hanging with Austin, you’d never know his family is loaded. Or that his dad is a senator with a stick up his ass. He’s just your normal, surf-obsessed guy whipped by the girl he cares about—and that’s a feeling I’m familiar with. I key the security code Cat rattles off and glance at her as the gate glides open.

  “Why here?”

  “Because it’s not home,” she replies, shifting her head against the seat to meet my gaze.

  Since we left Beverly Hills, we haven’t talked about her mom, our security tail, or the jerkoffs trailing them. We listened to music. We looked out over Pacific Coast Highway. We debated who’d kick whose ass in an artistic battle, Michelangelo or Chamberlain. I gave the battle to her, since she did meet the man during her trip to the past. And because I’m nothing if not chivalrous. But now that we’re here, away from the madness, I need to know what’s going on.

  “And home’s suddenly a bad thing?”

  Cat sighs. “I needed a break from the drama. They mean well, it’s just…” A line forms in the smooth skin between her eyes. “They don’t understand. Look, Luc, I get it. What my mom did was wrong on a massive scale. But it’s also the first time she’s even acknowledged that I exist. She totally deserves Dad and Jenna hating on her,” she admits before shrugging a shoulder. “But I just couldn’t listen to it anymore.”

  I nod stiffly, jaw throbbing from holding back a response, and accelerate through the open gate.

  I hear what she’s saying. More, I understand what she’s not. Cat has abandonment issues like you wouldn’t believe, and it all stems from her mom. She split when Cat was five, and the only contact they’ve had since has been sharing the occasional tabloid cover. When Caterina Angeli goes nuts or falls face-first into another scandal, her daughter is the press’s favorite target. Another reason I know the weeks ahead are going to suck.

  But despite everything the woman’s done, or I should say hasn’t done, I sense her claws sinking in. It pisses me off. Too much time has passed for her to go Mom of the Year now. There has to be an end goal we’re not seeing, and though I haven’t figured it out yet, I will. We’ve fought too much—lookalike ancestor exes, gypsy magic, and Cat’s own stubbornness—to let an attention-hungry, deceitful bitch take us down.

  Nothing is going to hurt my girl. Not on my watch.

  At the top of the hill, I park and get out, lifting my chin at the security stationed at the bottom. Jack actually waves. Looking around the Michaels’ estate, he probably figures it’s a better option than Cat’s house anyway. Her dad is the strangest Hollywood player I’ve ever heard of. According to Forbes magazine, they’re rolling in money, but other than the high-price zip code and security gate, you’d never know it. They are ridiculously normal and low-key. He won’t even let Cat on the back of my bike—at least not yet. I’m slowly wearing him down on that one.

  “Does anyone know we’re coming?” I ask, taking her hand.

  Cat nods. “Yeah, Alessandra called Austin earlier.”

  Even though we’re in a gated property on a private beach, I scan our surroundings as we walk to the front door. Manicured shrubs and thick trunks of towering trees give too much room for photographers to hide. Halfway to the entrance, I catch movement and automatically shift Cat behind me.

  Austin strolls out the front door, wearing board shorts and flip-flops, hair wet as usual.

  “Welcome to Casa de Michaels,” he declares, arms slung wide. “This place has harbored many a scandalized politicia
n, so you two miscreants should feel right at home.”

  He winks, and Cat shakes her head with a snort. Leave it to Austin to make light of a stressful situation. Thank God.

  “You’re such a dork,” she says, but I hear the smile in her voice, and I send him a grateful nod.

  Austin subtly returns it.

  “Dork, charming prince, take your pick. I answer to them all.” He grins as he tosses his keys in the air and catches them behind his back. “But a third wheel I’m not, so I’m headed out. The door’s unlocked, the kitchen is stocked, and the waves are killer. Help yourselves to anything, and hey, if you trash the place, even better.”

  Austin’s smile is tight after he fires off the last remark. It’s no secret that he and his old man are on the outs. For all my family’s problems, at least Dad’s not a complete ass. He’d never treat me or Angela the way Austin’s father treats him. The Michaels family is a whole other level of dysfunction.

  After keying a code in a side panel, Austin steps back and the garage door groans open. Sunlight streams in, my eyes adjust, and my jaw unhinges. Inside, parked next to his red truck, is a Ferrari Enzo.

  “Hot damn.”

  Austin chuckles as I step forward, reverently skimming my fingertips over the body. The Enzo is rare. Only four hundred of them are even in existence. Made completely out of carbon fiber, this baby can go from zero to sixty in three point three seconds. It’s a street legal racecar.

  Stroking the tapered nose, I say, “What I wouldn’t give to get under her hood.” Cat elbows me in the ribs, and I tuck her back against my side. “Don’t worry. I want to get under yours, too.”

  She rolls her eyes like I’m an idiot, but a smile twitches her lips.

  “Man, go for it.” I look back to see Austin shake his head in disgust. “It’s only collecting dust anyway. Another one of my father’s toys.”

  His eyes harden as he stares at the car, and I can tell he means it. My palms itch to accept…but that’s not why we’re here. We’re here for Cat, and she’s more important than a car. Even my dream car.

  “Maybe some other time.”

  “You got it.” Austin hops in his truck, guns the engine, and rolls down his window. Music pours out, and he raises his voice to say, “Seriously though, go wild in there. A cleaning crew comes every Friday to restock the place, so mi casa es su casa, all right?”

  I press a kiss against Cat’s hair, tightening my grip around her shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

  He nods. Transferring his attention to the girl in my arms, Austin’s smirk drops as he reaches back to lower the music. “Cat, you know we’ve got this, right? You’re part of Less’s family, which means you’re now part of mine. Between the three of us”—he tosses a glance in my direction—“we’ve got you covered. No one’s gonna mess with you. You hear me?”

  A small shudder rocks her frame, and an intense loathing of Kate Lyons floods my system. Cat squeezes my hand, somehow sensing my emotions, and says softly, “I do. Thanks, Austin. For being cool, and for letting us chill here for a while. I appreciate it.”

  I know that was big for her. It’s been a process to accept help and to trust that people have her back. There’s my silver lining in all this. Maybe she’ll finally see that she’s not alone.

  Austin’s normal smirk returns. “Hey, Alessandra called me a dashing hero, which I’m pretty sure is Shakespearean for awesome. Hooking you up scored me major points, so looks like we all win.”

  Cat laughs, and he winks. The truck inches forward, and we step back, watching as he drives down to the gate where security stops him. Apparently, the fact that this house is his doesn’t matter; Jack subjects Austin to the same treatment I got earlier. Austin doesn’t seem to care. With a good-natured shrug, he glances back at us with a smile, salutes Jack, and then hops back into his idling truck, apparently passing the inquisition. Thrusting his arm out the open window, he takes off, blaring music trailing behind him.

  Silence falls, and we’re alone.

  Or, as alone as two teenagers can be with a large security detail several yards away. Cat sags against me, releasing a heavy breath, and I tighten my hold around her.

  “What now?”

  “Nothing,” she says. “I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to think, I don’t want to talk. I just want to spend the rest of the day in ignorant bliss and pretend I’m someone else. I’m not the daughter of a Hollywood diva; you’re not the son of a music mogul. Skeezy dudes aren’t waiting to snap a picture of us making out or of me picking my nose. We’re just a normal, everyday couple, with a huge, stinking house all to ourselves.” She shifts her head back to give me an upside down grin. “But don’t be getting any ideas. We’re a PG-13, everyday couple with a house all to ourselves, you dig?”

  Smiling, I touch my forehead to hers. “Have you seen PG-13 movies lately? I can definitely work with that rating.”

  Cat smacks the side of my thigh, but it’s her genuine, full-body laugh that sends the sting. It’s like an electric jolt straight to my chest. I would do anything for that sound. To keep that beautiful smile on her face and the fear out of her eyes. After years of feeling lost, moving back and forth across the world, I’ve finally found my home. This is where I belong.

  And I’ll do anything to protect what’s mine.

  Mood Kill

  ∙Cat∙

  The lull of waves crashing on shore is every bit as magical as one of Reyna’s tricks. If I could capture the tranquility in a painting or a photograph, I’d be famous. Or at least famous for something good. Closing my eyes, I listen to nature’s symphony, feel the rhythmic rise and fall of Lucas’s chest against my back, and it’s almost easy to forget. Pretend we are just a normal couple, with no worries more pressing than bogus curfews, heinous exams, or possible onion breath. As for the last one, our dinner of frozen pizzas was thankfully onion-free, and we each popped a mint after scarfing it down. Any future lip-lock action will be minty fresh.

  As if the onions would’ve stopped me anyway.

  Turning in Lucas’s arms, I shift my legs around his hips and clasp my hands around his neck. I realize I’m putting off the inevitable. In therapy-level denial that beyond this private beach, a world of chaos awaits. It’ll be there tomorrow. Heck, it’ll be there in an hour when we have to leave. But I’m not ready for reality yet. I want to lose myself in my boyfriend’s kisses and tune out the endless questions circling my brain.

  Lucas lifts an eyebrow, lowering his gaze to my mouth. “Can I help you?” he asks, shifting his hold to the small of my back. He tugs me closer, and my ankles lock behind him. “Is it PG-13 time?”

  Despite everything, I smile, even as butterflies begin to swarm. Leaning forward, I whisper in his ear, “Yep. And if you’re lucky, I’ll even consider pushing that rating.”

  His breath hitches, a strangled sound caught between a groan and a chuckle, and a thrill of excitement passes through me. I love that I affect him so easily. It proves that he really is here just for me. That he’s as into this thing between us as I am. I scoot back, watching as his chocolate eyes smolder, and my heart squeezes inside my chest.

  I’ll never get used to the way he looks at me.

  Lucas believes I’m beautiful. The way his eyes both soften and blaze, the way he holds me in his arms. Solid, like he never wants to let me go. Strong, like I can always depend on him. Even though I know he’s the beautiful one, Lucas makes me feel special. Cared for. Wanted.

  Only one other guy ever did that, shot past my defenses and tipped my world on its axis. That was Lucas’s Renaissance ancestor, Lorenzo. His sixteenth-century doppelganger was my first kiss—my first boy anything. He opened my heart during my time travel jaunt, taught me how to trust again, and more importantly, he gave me hope. Despite not knowing where I came from, or even who I really was, he got me. There’s no denying that my time in the past with Lorenzo was nothing short of a fairy tale.

  But being with Lucas in my own time? Being one hundred per
cent myself?

  This is real. And it blows my ever-loving mind.

  “Cat.” Lucas whispers my name like it’s precious. Like I’m worth something. And I so badly want to believe it. His blond curls catch in the breeze, gliding over the tanned skin on his forehead, and my fingers itch to tame them. To capture the silky locks and gently tug. He grins as if he can read my thoughts, and warmth floods my body, pooling in my stomach. Picking me up, Lucas lays me on a blanket of soft sand and says, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

  But I think I do. And that’s what makes my head so wonderfully fuzzy.

  That look is back in his eyes. Still smoldering, but soft now, too. The hint that his feelings are real…and deep. Before he can see the tears welling in mine, still unsure I deserve any of it, I clamp them shut and tug his head down.

  “Make me forget,” I beg him. It’s a big step, admitting what I need, but this is Lucas. I know I’m safe. “I just want to forget everything but us right now.”

  His hand curls around the side of my face, tilting my chin as his thumb skims my throat. But he doesn’t kiss me. He hovers, breathing me in until I reluctantly open my eyes. His gaze tracks over my face.

  “We’re all that matters.” Our lips touch with each word he speaks, his stare so intense that I know he can see straight through to my soul.

  Too many emotions clog my throat to reply, so I nod. Right now, we’re everything.

  Lucas brushes his nose along mine, and my eyelids flutter. The last thing I see before they close completely is the dimple flashing in his cheek. Then his lips press into mine in a kiss meant to make the world fade away.

  And it delivers.

  Fingernails rake down my back, bringing a shiver. A low growl sounds in his throat, and I want to climb into his skin. Cologne, bodywash, something uniquely him fills my head, and when his tongue flicks out, licking the seam of my lips, I open eagerly, greedy for more.