Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“We wanted her help. You already asked,” Farrow says coolly. “And she said yes.”
They wanted my help. Farrow wanted me too. I smile even brighter, and with an agreeing nod, I also remind Maximoff, “I said yes.”
He lets out a distressed breath and looks to Thatcher. “Please tell me you at least see where I’m coming from.” It feels like Moffy is actively trying to include Thatcher more, and my heart flutters.
Thatcher stares up from Ophelia, brush in hand, and he tells Maximoff, “She’s excited and she’ll be good at it.”
He thinks I’ll be good at it. I breathe in. “Three against one,” I say to Maximoff. “You’ve been outvoted.”
He sinks onto the loveseat in his wet towel. “Je te dois beaucoup, ma moitié.” I owe you so much, my other half.
We exchange a smile together, excitement brewing.
“You’ll need to talk to Farrow about details,” Maximoff says.
I frown. “Why not you both?”
“He’s been dreaming up his wedding since he was a kid. I never thought I’d get married.”
Farrow passes him a to-go container. “Just because I’ve dreamed up shit doesn’t mean I don’t need your opinions. We’re not doing everything I want…” He grins. “Even though that would be nice.”
Maximoff lets out a dry laugh and they start teasing each other.
We talk for a while about wedding destinations, and I propose a scouting location trip. To pick the perfect spot.
“How about a vacation in December?” I ask them. “We’ll be back before Christmas.”
Farrow smiles at Maximoff. “You know where you want to go?”
He says he’ll have to think about it, and after a few more minutes, I stand and cross towards the kitchen. Thatcher sidles next to me.
He dips his head down to whisper, “You’re going to have to leave the house, if you’re planning this wedding.”
My stomach plummets.
A part of me wanted to hole up inside for Tony’s two-month probationary period. If I don’t go out in public, then he doesn’t need to be around me. It was a win-win.
But Thatcher’s right. I’m not going to be able to become a two-month hermit, and while he’s on Xander’s detail, I’ll have a pompous asshole on mine.
We share a long look.
It’s going to be a horrible two months—and the worst part—maybe I am hoping I get hurt. Because if Tony is actually bad at his job, those two months could be cut short in an instant.
4
THATCHER MORETTI
ONE WEEK LATER
I haven’t seen Jane since early this morning. Hell, we’ve barely talked all day. I missed four of her texts while I was on-duty. She’s missed three of my calls.
Don’t think about it.
Fuck that—she is all I’m thinking about.
Jane Cobalt is still in every compartment of my brain, and I’m not looking to cut her out. I’m not looking to shut down or shove off without her, but ever since I moved in a week ago, we’ve been zigzagging in the fucking opposite direction and not meeting at the same point.
Missed calls.
Brief texts.
Gaping silence.
I’m not her bodyguard anymore. Distance between us is territory I expected to cross, but I’m afraid this isn’t due to our fucked circumstances.
I stand next to a wooden stool at an old South Philly sports bar, too tensed to sit, and while I change the frequency on my radio, my breath tightens in my chest. Like an iron fist squeezing my ribcage.
Banks smacks my flexed abs before sliding on a barstool. “She’d call you if something bad went down. Just take the silence as a gift.”
I narrow my gaze on my radio. “It’s not a gift. Silence from Jane is a fucking omen.” I tune into Epsilon’s frequency, and I look over at my twenty-eight-year-old brother.
Banks Moretti.
My identical twin, my soul and conscience, someone I couldn’t live without. The sun could be crashing down on the world, and Banks would be right by my side burning alive to push it back into the sky.
He leans forward on his stool to tie his boot. Dog tags clink together around his neck, which he’s worn since the media and security team discovered we were in the Marine Corps. “You think something’s wrong?”
“I have a bad feeling.” I shake my head, neck stiff, and I keep my voice low. “Since we got together, I feel like she’s holding me at a distance.” I re-clip the mic on the collar of my black shirt and fix my earpiece.
He sticks a toothpick in his mouth, frowning. “You two haven’t had sex since you moved in?”
I meet his eyes. “We’ve had sex every night.”
“Then what are you worried about? Because it seems like she’s holding you pretty fucking close.” The corner of his lip rises but then falls at the sight of my dark frown.
The physical part of our relationship was always going to be easy. But to push through the bad in her life, she closes off emotionally to a lot of people. So do I, and I’ve struggled to be emotionally available to girlfriends in the past.