Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
He wouldn’t accept how much he loved my mom.
I breathe in.
Once my dad exits with her, I’m left with my siblings. All standing on their chairs. Eyes all on me.
They all know this will end miserably, don’t they? Of course they do, Jane. There is no realm where a bodyguard could be with me.
They believe Thatcher is strictly professional and I have a crush from the fake dating ruse—and soon, we’ll break up.
I’m on a one-way street of love, and I’m afraid to drive down alone. But I must in order to feel something.
Is that it?
I repeat all of this, and they say yes. They can’t know that I’m sleeping with my bodyguard, none would’ve held back from mentioning it. But I suppose it doesn’t change the feelings that I’m fighting.
I wipe my splotchy cheeks. A pain in my heart, my stomach still sinking, and I reach out and clasp my little sister’s hand.
I stand up on my chair next to her. “Whose idea was this tonight?” I ask curiously.
Everyone looks to Eliot.
It worked well.
Because my chest floods, and I hold on to the possibility that I might be hopelessly in…
“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.
44
THATCHER MORETTI
I’m at one of the most elaborate, private Halloween parties I’ve ever seen. Mostly, it’s a challenge for the team.
Fog rolls along a dark, sprawling farm. Three-hundred pre-vetted guests in costumes run around screaming and shrieking. A massive graveyard sits on a steep, muddy hill. Where a DJ plays remixes of classic Halloween songs, adding to the cacophony.
The real threat so far tonight is a heeled leather boot.
“I doubt it’s broken,” Jane winces, eyes on her foot. If I could, I’d take a fucking bat to every smoke machine here. She didn’t even stumble. The heel of her boot just sunk into wet mud that neither of us could see.
She’s seated on a hay bale around the carnival games. In my peripheral, a cluster of costumed fairies bob for apples and ogle us, interested in my relationship with Jane.
I’m squatting and cupping her ankle in my large hand. With my right, I quickly but carefully unlace her leather boot. “Could be a sprain,” I say.
Farrow hasn’t checked it yet, but I’ve already radioed him. He’s grabbing ice with Maximoff before they return to this side of the farm.
“That’s most likely.” She holds on to her witch hat that tries to take flight in a gust of wind.
Our gazes brushing as I look up, constantly checking on Jane. Green paint coats her face, hiding her freckles, but she’s flat-out the cutest witch I’ve ever seen.
After Jane, Sulli, and Luna posted a picture from their facemask night on Instagram, fans started affectionately referring to them as the Witches of Philadelphia , and they embraced the name for Hallow Friends Eve.
All three are witches. Green faces, black dresses, black hat, and black leather fucking boots. Which I’m still unlacing.
Jane watches, and I notice how her eyes skim the whistle around my neck and my red trunks. An October chill tries to nip my bare chest. I gave Banks my windbreaker since he forgot to bring his, and I can withstand the cold.
To boost morale, the Tri-Force let the whole team decide on a group costume. We’re lifeguards, but I didn’t really care what was chosen.
Other actual concerns bear on my chest. Like how this is my last public outing with Jane as boyfriend and girlfriend.
The end. We’ve reached it. And I hate it.
Jane keeps two hands on her hat. Still eyeing my costume, she says in thought, “I realize we weren’t ever given the chance to wear couple costumes, so at the time, I hadn’t considered what you and I would be.” She pauses. “But now I think I know what I would’ve loved…”
Our gazes latch for a strong beat.
Very softly, she says, “You would’ve been my Tarzan, and I would’ve been your Jane.”
It slams into me. The would’ve been . And the feeling that she might be open to more. Is that my role in her fucking life—I just prepared her heart for some other man?
I nod a few times. A pit in my ribs. “I wanted that too.”
“Bien,” she says, wiping the crease of her eye.
It’s killing me. “Jane,” I say deeply.
“I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about me.”
Not possible. “I’m your bodyguard, honey.” I gently pull off her boot, and I see heartache filling her eyes. She clutches my muscular shoulder for support.
“I’m not trying to make this harder for you,” she whispers, wide-eyed. “It’s not my intention. I know there’s no way we can have everything, and I don’t want to be unfair to you.”