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Do I want more with her? More than just sex inside a fake dating op? Doesn’t matter. It’s never going to happen. She’s not open to a relationship or love.
His shoulders are hunched from bad posture—from trying to hide most of his life. Shrinking in on himself. Being six-foot-two hasn’t helped his case.
This girl is heaven-sent, and I’m fucking an angel. And gripping a one-way ticket to hell. Stay frosty. I focus on the ring. And her.
“Should’ve known you two were a fake couple. She’s not anything close to your type.” Jane shifts uneasily beside me. Goddammit. Lethal agitation and hate tighten my eyes on Tony. He just told Jane that she’s not my type. And on top of that, I’m concerned.
“I don’t know why you’re here or how you know about the fake dating op, but one thing’s certain—you don’t know me and you sure as fucking hell don’t know my type. If you did, you’d realize it’s the girl right next to me.” Jane presses her fingers to her lips. My pulse is hammering my eardrums, and the gym—the gym has gone quiet. Bodyguards heard that minor declaration.
There’s no one better than me.” There is. His name is Farrow Keene, and he’s across the gym. Akara Kitsuwon and Oscar Oliveira are also ten times better than he will ever be.
Which means no one could’ve stolen used condoms from the trash and taken sperm.” Oh God. Thatcher and I have protected sex. He came in multiple condoms just last night, but I did check my trash bins. I even counted. I’m thorough. None were taken.
“Alright.” Moffy nods. “And so my brain isn’t all over the place, I need to know. Are you here as my bodyguard or my husband—future husband.” He rolls his neck back, glaring at the ceiling. The air tenses with his slip. Mostly because Farrow isn’t joking back like he normally would. This really is a serious matter to our bodyguards. “Both,” Farrow tells him. “But you need a bodyguard more right now to tell you you’re being stubborn.”
“It’s looking more likely that whoever broke into this house wanted one of you to be home.” The intruder wanted to put his hands on one of us. To touch us. To hurt us. In some terrible way. A sickening feeling creeps down my body again, and my face twists in a cringe. But I look straight at Thatcher.
Connor Cobalt is calling me. I soften comms chatter in my ear. No hesitation. I have to talk to him. He’s considered the king of this American dynasty—and he’s Jane’s dad. Guys on the team say Connor Cobalt is all-knowing, all-seeing like the Wizard of fucking Oz and if you have the honor of protecting him, you’ll come back with a higher IQ.
To have longer conversations with Connor Cobalt, you have to be important to him.
I think Maximoff Hale is a better man than I’ll ever be.
I remember how Farrow and Maximoff went to go shower. To wash off the blood. And Farrow needed to leave the scene. He was shaking with adrenaline, and he knew it.
I scrubbed the floorboards while Moffy was with Jane. Farrow came in and helped me. In dead silence we cleaned the attic room and threw out the shredded mattress. Hauled in a new one that Quinn went out and bought. So it looked like nothing ever happened. It was our responsibility, and we’d do it all over again. In a heartbeat.
Her voice is a gentle whisper. “I love how you feel inside of me.” Her hips arch against my pelvis.
Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to wake up to Thatcher in my bedroom. And my mind whirls, recalling all the moments of yesterday. He made an eerie, cold night safe and warm and loving.
Coffee is downstairs. He must’ve put a timer on the pot, so it’d brew around the time I normally wake. No one has ever left a note for me. Not like this. My heart swells, and I stare longer at the note like it’ll disappear in my fingertips. This is a Cinderella dream that’ll end, but I want to remember it all later. My favorite moments, these magical nights and days.
“The condom broke,” I whisper to Thatcher, the ripped latex in my hand. I’m sitting on my vanity, my legs spread wide open for him.
Chestnut brown hair, tattoo sleeve, and cut muscles, trained in MMA—he’s a twenty-seven-year-old Omega bodyguard. Paul Donnelly.
I’ve recently asked my bodyguard to put his cock in me, so… I can relate to Luna, I suppose. On some level.
“Don’t you dare hurt her.” “I’d rather die.” Seriousness coats his voice. This is also the same person who has Cobalts Never Die tattooed on his kneecap and is incredibly close to Beckett—my
“Jane and I are having sex.” “No shit.” Farrow pops a chip in his mouth.
Especially while you’re in pre-wedding bliss.” Farrow smiles teasingly at Maximoff. He groans. “I’m in pre-wedding nothing.
If she looks at you a lot, it means she likes you. His advice. He’d ruffle my hair with his hand and grin. Teasing me, and I thought he was a badass. Some kind of invincible warrior.
“Skylar used to say to our dad, I’m going to be a Marine one day. To piss him off.” My dad used to be die-hard Navy. Until after my brother died, when I said, “I’m going to be a Marine.” For Sky. And then he said, “Okay.”
“Rich guys can do that,” Banks points out. “I’m rich,” Akara says, “and I can’t do half of what he’s planning.” Akara had about the same wealth as Farrow growing up.
How deep is he?” Akara tosses pills back into the jug. “Banks, I love you, man, but we talked about that phrase. No one but you and your brother use it, and all I picture is someone’s cock deep between a set of thighs.”
Failure is a dear friend of mine.
“Farrow is winter. Thatcher is fall. Which makes the four of you the Seasons.” She claps her hands accidently. “You have your own friendship name. We do our best.”
Farrow doesn’t have much of a family. So Moffy didn’t really “meet the parents” in the traditional sense.
Hopefully Aunt Lily is with him. She always knows what to say to calm Uncle Lo.
“Why don’t you join the facemask party? Luna nods. “Yeah yeah, Insta Live it for the fake dating thing.” He can’t see my cousins. But they are both grinning like they’ve discovered fairy dust and fountains of eternal youth. Between this and the Seasons name, I’m beginning to think Sul and Luna are like two impish pixies.
I do believe he’d want to do this with me regardless of the fake dating ruse.
One: our Instagram viewers think this is real. Two: Sulli and Luna think this is all fake. I know this is real. Every touch has been real since we had sex at the B&B. I’m certain of that. But as we get closer and closer to Halloween, the end is near. I wish I could just…push it out of my mind. But it’s there.
“Spring and fall are rising.” More accurately, those seasons can’t rise together. Fall rises when spring ends.
I clutch her wrist, and I guide her hand closer to my mouth. She smiles, and as she slides her fingers between my lips, I taste her against my tongue. Gripping her wrist tight, I suck her fingers.
And I find her sticky pad on the end table. About to jot down a quick note, but I notice her illegible handwriting. I trained myself to decipher it when I was a lead. I read the words clearly. Merci mille fois. Pour tout. xoxo Jane She knows I can translate simple French phrases. She wrote: Thank you a thousand times. For everything. My lungs expand. I tear her note off the pad. Pocketing it, and then I write on the top blank one. It’s my honor to be with you in everything.
“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.
“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.
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.
“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.
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, remembering 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.”
“For being five minutes late you all may—” She stops short, finally noticing the table. Her eyes go wide and her red lips part in shock. No one told her that Beckett would be here tonight. And I know she’s mentally counting each chair. How they’re all filled with each of her children. She fights tears, eyes reddened, and her hands brace the top of the chair, still standing. “What are you doing here?” she asks Beckett. “I thought you had a performance.”
You trick me, Richard, and I will roast your heart on an open fire.” His grin only grows. “My heart is yours to do with as you please.” “Stab it.” She picks up a steak knife. “Roast it. Eat it.”
“To eat my heart,” my dad says smoothly, “is to have me with you always.” Thunderous noise escalates. “Incorrect.” She zeroes in on him. “It is cannibalism. It is murder.” “You love me,” he declares, his eyes fixed to hers in victory and affection. Usually, she’ll deny. Tonight, my mom lifts her chin and restrains a smile.
“It’s alright, Jane Eleanor.” Tom tilts his head and gives the room a sweep with his gaze. “Thatcher wouldn’t fit in here anyway.” All of my siblings nod in concrete agreement. I feel like I can’t even give Thatcher the chance to try.
It slams into me. The would’ve been.
“I’m your bodyguard, honey.”
And I don’t know which one of her brothers would be the hardest to gain trust or respect from—she has five. My jaw tics. Why would I need to gain anything from them? She’ll just be my client soon.
A Viking charges Maximoff, about to shove him, and Farrow intervenes fast. He cold-cocks the Viking hard. Lights out instantly, and the rest erupt on both of them. I run.
