Sinful Like Us (Like Us, #5)

by Krista Ritchie

He’s an archangel. Sent to protect me. And I doubt it’ll be the first time I think it—because, dear God, the analogy fits.

Despite not being on my detail anymore, Thatcher Moretti still looks at me like his sole mission is to shield me and ground me and build a fortress of peace around me.

Jane’s dad stands like he owns the world. Expensive slacks and navy-blue button-down, a Cartier watch on his wrist that probably costs more than my uncle’s row house. He has billion-dollar energy that screams I’m better than you. Arrogant. Poised. All the way down to the look in his eyes and posture. How he leans back against the cabinets, hands casually careened on the counter. In the past, in a professional setting—conversing over security matters—Connor has been approachable and easy-going. But I understand he’s no less deadly than the woman he married. The only difference is that Rose shows you her dagger, and he keeps his behind his back.

Rose plucks a buzzing phone out of her Chanel purse. “Your Aunt Lily is calling. I have to take this.” She struts off, heels clacking on the floorboards. “No, I’m not doing another bake sale for that school. They’ve insulted my baked goods enough.” She pauses. “Yes, they were from Whole Foods. That’s not the point.”

I’m head-deep, un-fucking-believably in love with this girl, and I would do anything for her.

“What if I pull you at a million different speeds? What if I slow and speed and stop and speed and slow? Are you prepared to grow exhausted of me?” My eyes burn. Thatcher doesn’t recoil. “I’m prepared to be with you at every speed, and there’s no way you’ll exhaust me.” I arch my brows. “How can you be so sure?” He is all confidence and man. “Because I don’t tire that easily.”

“Murder with the Cobalt fam,” Donnelly says through a mouthful of cheesecake. “Those who slay together, stay together.”

They can call me names. They can curse me out. I don’t fucking care. I did break a rule, and if this is one of the many consequences, I plan to bear the onslaught for as long I need to. But if someone wrenches Jane into this, I will end them. That’s my line. Clear in the motherfucking sand.

I can’t call what happened a mistake. Gun to my head, I’d repeat every moment so I’d have the boldest, smartest girl next to me—a girl I shouldn’t have. But she’s mine, and I might not deserve her but I swear to God, I’ll never harm her, and I’d give my life to protect her. I know I’m not a prince. I’m not a king. But I’d treat Jane like she should be treated. She’s my princess, my angel, and my queen. Every morning and every night. I’d kneel at her feet and stand by her side.

He cranes his neck more to look up at me. “Admit what you did was wrong.” “I can’t do that.” Flat-out. I can’t. Being with Jane is the most right thing I’ve ever done.

Packing on my battle armor, I straighten up and channel a surge of confidence. I am a motherfucking lion. I am my mother’s daughter. Even if I only have one-tenth of Rose Calloway Cobalt in me, that’s one-tenth of fire and brimstone that I can wield.

Possibly Thatcher is a magnet and I’m pulled in no matter the occasion, and I’ve really lost all sense of reality. And measurements. Spatial measurements. Because three inches from him to me doesn’t feel close enough. God, even zero inches is far too little. I desire him closer, deep in the epicenter of my soul, and it’s absolutely… Petrifying.

“Do you realize that I spent more than three years as a bodyguard to a Cobalt? Two of those were on Connor’s detail. And you know what I learned from that time?” My stomach twists, a sickening feeling surging all at once. He looks up with that same pity. “There’s always a way out. You don’t have to fall on a sword because it’s sitting in front of you, waiting. You put together the team that’s going to find the right exit.

“Is it weird that we both kissed brothers?” Sulli asks me. I’m about to mention how Uncle Loren and Uncle Ryke are brothers and their wives are sisters, but Luna already sing-songs to Sulli, “Our moms married brothers.”

“Women are better than men. Better fighters, better lovers—and the fact that you come from where I do and can say and believe shit that demeans women makes me sick.”

Aunt Daisy has taught me to use my voice, even if the world says stay quiet. Aunt Lily has taught me fierce courage, even on days when you feel lesser than. And Rose Calloway Cobalt, my mom—she’s taught me how to walk into a room full of men and never back down. She’s taught me familial love. And loyalty.

I force myself not to touch her. “I can’t promise that if you let yourself love me completely that you won’t want me or need me.” She holds her body. My eyes scald. “Because I love you completely, Jane, and I want and need you during the worst and best moments of my life.”

And the girl beside me. Jane perches her hands on her hips, sweater pink and fuzzy, and a 50s checkered scarf is tied around her neck. I’d give her a Best Dressed award every day, every time. No contest.

While Maximoff jogs past, Farrow gives him a blatant once-over, and we all watch Maximoff trip on a rug. Everyone laughs, and my lip begins to lift. “Jesus Christ,” Maximoff curses. “You didn’t see that.” “I definitely did,” Farrow teases.

And now that quirky, cat-obsessed Jane is my twin brother’s girlfriend—I instinctively will always look out for her like she’s my flesh and blood.

“If someone hurt my little sister, it’s not going to be a fucking fictional manhunt. I’m going to kill him with a switchblade laced in arsenic.” I try not to smile. My best friend has murderous hyperboles that my mom would applaud in a heartbeat.

Maximoff crouches, forearms on his knees. His adrenaline must be pumping. He looks up at me. “He’s eight years older than her, Janie.” “I know,” I say softly. “But Aunt Daisy and Uncle Ryke have a seven-year age difference. It’s not so different.”

Fuck anyone who thinks they can hurt the people I love. Fuck them all.

“No boy’s allowed!” my mom screams from the treehouse window. “Go away, Loren!” Uncle Loren glares up at her from the foot of the tree. “Fine, Cruella, I was just asking if you needed more blankets. Freeze your titanium pussy off for all I care!” “Go fuck a cactus!” My mom gets the last word in before returning to the mound of blankets.

We look to Aunt Lily. Her eyes are drawn to the cutout window in the treehouse. “Did he look cold?” My mom glares. “No. Your husband wasn’t even carrying blankets. He just wanted to worm his way up here like he always does.” Truth: 9 times out of 10, Uncle Loren will find a way to either pull Lily away or become a part of the PJ party. He might also be the biggest gossip queen of us all, so I don’t even mind the addition. “Maybe he misses me,” Lily says pensively, tugging her long gray tee over her gangly knees. “You saw him five minutes ago,” my mom retorts like her younger sister is losing her mind.

Daisy just shrugs, not minding. Blonde hair and arresting green eyes, her cotton shirt has a graphic of two hugging avocados, and she wears a pair of matching boxers. “Ryke wants us to let him know when we leave, so that we don’t have another…situation.” Situation is a kind word for all of us getting plastered last November and Aunt Lily falling down the third step of the ladder. She face-planted in a pile of leaves and sprained her wrist.

My mom leans forward and takes my hand in hers. Our eyes close, noses near, and I hang onto every word as she says, “You’re not two halves, Jane. You don’t lose when you love. You gain.” She draws closer to whisper, “You have all of him.”

Realizations wash over me coolly. “All this time, I thought love is a compromise of equals. 50-50. But it’s not…is it?” She leans back and gives me another pointed look. “With the right person, they’ll ensure you’re always whole.”

“I need you. I need you like the air I breathe, and I want you like ground beneath my feet. I’m not afraid—I’m not afraid, not even a little. You are the man who has respected all of who I am and protected every little piece of me.”

“You keep me whole,” I profess. “And love—that dreaded, beautiful word—love.” I breathe, “Love is two wholes. We are two-hundred percent—an illogical number, maddening, and I will forever embrace every illogical, maddening second with you.” Tears threaten to surge. We’ve drawn closer, touching without touching. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” It pours out of me. “Je’taime, je’taime, je’taime.” He’s already clasping my face, and I’m in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist. Our foreheads nearly press together, and his lips skim over my lips.

I take a deeper, stronger breath. “Mr. Moretti, will you spend the rest of your life with me?” His mouth breaks apart. He looks stunned. “I’m asking you to marry me,” I clarify. He smiles. Ladies and gentlemen, a full-blown smile that overtakes his face. My lips pull to extraordinary heights. Happiness swelling between us. “I know what that was.” He places me gently on my bare feet. Fountain still rushing beside us. I don’t understand what he’s doing until he drops down to one knee. And he unpockets a paperclip, twisting the metal between his fingers into a little ring, and I laugh, tears pricking my eyes. My steepled fingers touch my lips. His eyes are reddened, and he holds up the paperclip ring. “Yes. My answer will always be yes.” He slides the ring onto my finger. “Sempre toujours.” Always always.

“You’re dating our daughter,” Connor said like that had made all the difference during the switch. “I recognize that Jane didn’t know how this would go since she’s the first of my children to be in a serious relationship. But know now that there’s a hierarchy.” His lip rose in a grin. “Many people need me, but there are only a handful that I’d drop everything for—and you’re now among them.” He cocked a single brow. “Just so you understand: you rank higher than security, and I would lie for you, if needed.”

Her smile grows, and she shifts on me and straddles my waist, palms splayed on my chest. As she bows forward, dog tags suspend from her neck. Same ones I wore during two tours overseas. They mean something to me, encapsulating a time of my life that civilians can’t understand—and I always planned to give them to the woman I’d marry. I wish I had brought them to Scotland, and I was kicking myself that I hadn’t. Because the dog tags were her Christmas gift.

The poor Italian-American boy from South Philly is marrying an American princess. I’m marrying into the Cobalt Empire. She’s marrying into my rowdy, obnoxious, and loving Italian family.

And that’s the easier part. I’d follow Akara into darkness time and time again.

To prepare me, Jane told me three things about Wednesday Night Dinner. The dress code is anything and everything and nothing. Costumes are acceptable. Being buck-naked is also acceptable. There are no rules. Conversation is not a requirement. Talk as much as you want or don’t talk at all. There are no rules. But there are rules. Only one. Come as you are. Be true to you. And all will fall into place.

My chest rises, and I look around at her family who I hope will one day be mine. “I belong here,” I say again, “because I love deeply and I’m learning to feel deeply too, and I make no apologies for who I am.” Jane is beaming, glassy-eyed with hands to her lips. I continue, “And at the end of the day, the people I care about are the ones I would die for. No questions asked. I’m standing at the battle line.” Say more. Say what you feel, and I just go. “You’re a family of warriors—I’m a warrior too. We just have different weapons. You use words. I use a gun. And ever since I was a young kid, I wanted to be that Spartan hero for someone. I belong here. Not anywhere else.” Not because of Jane. But because when it comes down to it, I’m a fucking lion. I’m a shark. For the first time, I really believe I’m the same as them.

She’s about to reply, but Tom points at me with a steak knife. “What’s its name anyway?” He means the kitten. I watch the tabby stretch a paw mid-sleep. “Jane usually picks the person who’ll name her cats.” She rests her chin on her knuckles. “Our cats.” Our cats. I hang onto that declaration. Looks like I’m a father of six—now seven—cats. This is bigger than Jane asking me to marry her. These cats are her babies, and she’s sharing them with me.

More orderly but disordered sound reverberates and floods the room when Rose and Connor arrive hand-in-hand. What happens next is history. My history. Maybe they never explained these dinners because you can’t. I’m twenty-eight, but here—no person is older or younger. Time is frozen, and a soul-bleeding feeling sings and screams—an experience that philosophers and mathematicians would fail to encapsulate. I’d try. But then again, I’d rather carry their secrets to my grave.

If my life means anything, let it mean this: I tried with my whole soul to protect the ones who couldn’t protect themselves, and I loved while I was here. I will always love my brother. And Jane—I will always, always love Jane. Death can’t take that from me.

“I’ve fallen madly in love with you.” Her powerful blue eyes flood with tears, and I hold her wet cheek while she says, “And the you that I know is all unwavering strength and resilience and South Philly grit—and every day, you risk your life for me and for other people who need your strength and resilience and grit.” I almost shake my head again because I still feel like I let her down. Gently, I place my hand on the top of her beating heart, and I stare deep into her tearful gaze. “You’re my duty. My heart, and you come first.” “You think you put me second or third tonight?” She frowns. “You didn’t, Thatcher. I was safe.” She clutches my jaw stronger. “Your entire life is built on service to others. I don’t want different. I don’t need different. I need you exactly as you are, just as you’ve loved me as exactly as I am.”

“Thatcher.” She inhales like we’re on an ascent. My chest caves and expands. “Jane.” “You’re my bodyguard.” She speaks our blissful reality into the world. I hold her close, emotion barreling into my body. Surging and stinging my eyes, and very deeply, I say, “You’re going to be my wife. I promise you that.”

I stand strong, my pulse soothed, and my hand lost in her frizzed hair. I can live inside hell, but for the first time, I’ve finally reached heaven—and I’m happy and I’m staying. I’m staying. To build a life and future and family. Right here, with Jane Eleanor Cobalt. For forever.

Tony was released from the hospital at the same time as Thatcher, and the rumor is that he’s being transferred to Security Force Alpha. Where he’ll be the bodyguard to Connor Cobalt—my brilliant, cutthroat dad. Who can make the tallest men feel infinitesimally microscopic and tiny.

Near the end of the table, Winona and Sulli burst into laughter, cupcake frosting smudged on their noses and cheeks. I smile. It’s not a real party until the Meadows sisters shove cupcakes in each other’s faces.

I never want to leave his embrace, happiness is right here in his arms. And if we’re strong enough to survive ice and fire together, we can survive anything. Sempre toujours. Always always.