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He’s an asshole, and I must be weird because I like that he’s not fawning all over me.
I feel extremely fucking lucky to be engaged to him. To be fully a part of his world and gain his comic-book-obsessed, bizarre-as-fuck family as my family—shit, I’m staying in his childhood house. A home that is warmer and packed with more unconditional love than mine ever was.
“You know me better than any guy ever has. You’re my person.” His chest collapses in a breath. “You know I feel the same.”
His love for his family has always been extremely sexy. And I’m going to be honest here: it makes me want to have kids with him. Badly.
but I feel for Donnelly. If he risked our friendship to be with Luna, there’s a good chance he really likes her.
I laugh when I glance at the bulge in the breast pocket of his black suit jacket. Thatcher breaking security rules is one thing, but seeing him break bakery rules by bringing a kitten inside this establishment is entertaining as shit. “I’m surprised you’re okay with having a mascot on the job.”
Our future spouses are best friends. Our future kids will most likely be best friends. There are very few paths where he wouldn’t be in my life.
You should know that I can survive in any universe, but I only want to live in the ones with Farrow Redford Keene.
The fact that he’s protective over Janie just amasses my love for this guy. Into the tallest mountain on Earth.
Thank God, she’s okay. Thank God, she’s happy. Thank God, she found love in him and that he treats her like the most beautiful human on the planet. Janie deserves nothing less.
Jane and I stare between them. Her curiosity piquing, and I’m pretty much just as interested in the current status of their friendship. Jesus, it’s weird even calling them friends when Farrow considered Thatcher a human hernia sent to pester the living hell out of him.
And he’s my greatest love. The only man I’ve asked to marry me. The only man I’ve wanted to be with for a lifetime. Fuck, he’s my entire world, and I’ve vowed to protect him, even on the days where he says he can protect himself.
“Have you ever read Nicomachean Ethics?” I ask in a whisper.
“Aristotle says there are three types of friendships. Friends for usefulness. Friends for pleasure. And then there’s true friendship. Friends that do things in pursuit of good for each other. Not for any other reason.”
Aristotle said it best. Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies.
He’s a cute tiny thing. Like major levels of cuteness. He has light-brown wispy hair on a mostly baldhead, rosy chubby cheeks against pale skin, and he’s warm in a gray koala-hooded onesie.
I swear my dad gave us every item in stock. And my Aunt Rose brought over the whole new Calloway Couture Babies summer collection.
“My mom and dad raised me to fight the demons that they weren’t raised to fight. I’m strong because of my parents, and maybe that’s the point. They broke the cycle, and now I’m here to fight for him.”
“But I only have one best man.” That rocks him back. “What?” His eyes redden, more overwhelmed. “Really?” It had to be Donnelly. Only Donnelly.
Aunt Rose received her invitation in the mail, and she’s not happy about the dress code. All white. I can’t remember the last time my aunt wore anything other than black and deep, dark hues.
Luna wipes her tearful gaze. “Me?” Farrow smiles softly. “You’re the one holding the card.” Her eyes drift to me. “We fought over you,” I tell my sister. “It took hours.” “I won.” Farrow lifts and lowers his brows in a wave.
They’re the definition of strength. Always have been. I’ve seen them battle this monster my whole life. They struggle, they fall, but they rise again. Every damn time.
“Maximoff.” My dad stakes me with the worst glare. “Did the first five seconds of this conversation apparate from your mind? Because I know you’re not blatantly ignoring what I told you.”
Donnelly elbows his slipping reading glasses up his face. I chew my gum and try to decipher his feelings, but it’s hard. He’s not really a heart-on-the-sleeve type of guy when it comes to girls. Unpopular opinion time: I don’t hate them together.
Rumors have been circulating in security about the guys that Luna made out with in New York. I can’t say which fucker overheard what or where, but bodyguards are talking. And they’re saying Lo got those guys black-listed from every nightclub in New York City and Philly.
Loren Hale is the Emperor of Petty, and he’s extremely protective of his daughter.
“Maximoff is working, and I’m not dropping Ripley off with someone else. So yeah, this had to happen, Mom.” I give him a look. “Where’s your cat anyway? She deep-throat Ben’s cockatiel yet.”
must confess, I think this unit is a bit big for just the two of you and your little one, but I do think you make such a lovely couple.” I choke on air, my brows high-jumping. “No, we’re not—” I start saying just as Thatcher tells her, “Thank you, ma’am.” I stare hard and wide-eyed at Moretti. He’s unruffled, and a shocked breath scratches my throat. This is not how I saw today going.
“Maximoff, your sarcasm is adorable as always. But where the fuck are you?”
I kiss the top of Ripley’s soft head. He calms, and fans audibly swoon in a collective, awwww.
In one second-flat, he playfully bites my bicep next to his inked name, raises a middle finger, and snaps a picture. Four taps on his screen, and he posts the photo to his Instagram. The caption is just the middle finger emoji.
“Yeah, seeing you nervous about this was Christmas come early. And I bet Donnelly it’d take you until after the bachelor party to ask me, so fuck you for making me lose fifty bucks.”
“No cheating.” Thatcher reaches over to take my phone. I retract and give him a look. “You planning to take the Cobalt name because you sure as hell act like one?”
paparazzi and ask, What do you call a woman with four legs? And he answered his own joke with, doggy style.”
Beckett approaches, a bright-orange drink in his hand. “Oh no, you’re not fucking coming over here right now.” Sulli looks offended by his presence.
Not going to lie, I didn’t foresee them being such a PDA-intensive couple. No judgment. Thatcher just never struck me as the public ass-grab type.
“And it’s just like Game of Thrones,” Xander proclaims, a million times brighter than before. My brother is practically glowing. “The Starks found six direwolves for the six Stark children.”
On the 33rd floor, the penthouse is a massive 9,000 square feet in Center City. Six bedrooms. Seven baths. A private elevator entrance, library, game room, and rooftop terrace. It’s extravagant, colossal, and probably obnoxious. And it’s all ours.
“I know, but sex is one of the things that I excel at. Like A-plus-plus-plus, top marks, gold stars, and fucking fireworks. I’ve never been a shit lay.”
Our son. His first swim. Our future. Everything is weighing on me more than I prefer. More than I like. I want to broach the topic, but I’m actually fucking nervous.
“I want that future too.” His eyes redden. “I’ve fallen in love with our son, and I don’t know if I can lose him in five days. Five years. Five centuries. Especially knowing Scottie could be a harm to his fucking life. We have to protect him.”
He’s smiling like he knows he’s hot. And I crave to knock his ego down a few pegs. So I ask, “You want me to be a Hale?” He goes from arrogant celebrity to flushed schoolboy at the drop of a hat. Red staining his neck.
I glance at Garrison, my youngest uncle and the father of Vada Abbey. Growing up, he was always like a cool older brother. He even tattooed Batman on his neck, which he did to piss off my dad.
Ripley rips the wire from my ear and lets out a choked sob. “I know you want your papa.” I peel the banana with my teeth, easier than it seems, and then I bite the fruit. Chewing, I tell him, “But you have me. Let’s cry about it.”
I swallow another bite of banana. “He can’t see your face.” Thatcher crouches down some, and Ripley shrieks. I laugh my ass off.
“What?” Rose snaps. “He’s not immune just because he’s marrying your son. I’d say the exact same if my own husband tried to worm his way over here.” She cringes at him in the distance. “Ugh, he’s looking at us.”
Ripley laughs a high-pitched squeal of delight. “Da-da, da-da!” Okay, my smile could rip my face apart.
“Famous ones,” Farrow says easily. “You can gawk at the hot boys later. Again, are any of you hurt?” He unstraps the med bag. “Don’t let Oscar see me.” Audrey dips down in the water. They’re way too damn focused on SFO coming in. I doubt they even heard Farrow.
“You’ll live,” Charlie says. “But we can still throw you a funeral to celebrate the death of your common sense.”
What shocks me: Sulli is charging ahead, chasing after these snickering pricks right beside Maximoff. And these two are fucking fast. I’m a good ten feet behind them.
