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They see Thatcher as an experienced, expertly-skilled bodyguard, and they know he’ll keep me safe. Regardless of any bad blood.
“Turtle?” I offer, holding up the tin of caramel pecan chocolates. Thatcher has never rejected one before, and he doesn’t now. We eat turtles and face the room together.
“You’re meant to be in my arms, Jane.” She pulses against me and sets her laced fingers along the back of my neck. “I…um.” She shakes out her scrambled thoughts. “We’ll be experts in the art of fake-dating in no time. Don’t you think?”
“It seems we are dreadfully tangled, you and I.” Couldn’t agree more.
“I want to know all about you, but I can’t ask fast enough—and when I think about you, I wonder what your hands have held. What your eyes have seen.” My pulse has skyrocketed, but I keep speaking. “What your ears have heard and where your feet have landed.”
“Ensemble,” I tell him. Together. All four of my brothers repeat the word. And then Eliot grins, mischievous twinkle in his eye, and he says something I’ve heard him recite a thousand-and-one times. But tonight, it’s never felt truer. “‘Let me play the lion too…I will roar.’”
Realization hits me, that even though I was the one that told them she’s running late, I’m the one that gave the excuse, they’re all attacking her. Farrow gets the brunt of the harassment while he’s publicly dating Maximoff. They call him controlling. A shitty boyfriend and bad influence. No one has said that about me. They just blame her.
