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)
SFO has already been in the public spotlight from the Hot Santa video, and some fans have paired us off and made creative ship names. Like Quinnivan is Quinn plus Sullivan.
But it’s been contained to one fandom realm of the internet. As Farrow would say, harmless. I can see how security would be concerned if that one realm mushroomed into popular public opinion.
Maximoff thinks hard. “Then Jane and I will talk directly to the Tri-Force. We’re the clients. They’ll have to listen to us.”
“Man, that’s not how that works,” Farrow says, his hand on the back of Maximoff’s neck in comfort. “We can’t have our clients running to our bosses because we want something.”
Thatcher nods once. “We can’t undermine the leads.”
They’d both lose a great deal of respect among security. “You don’t need to put pressure on the security team for this,” I state. “I’m not searching for longer or more.”
Thatcher tenses, looking me over in concern. He rakes his palm across his hardened jaw and then tries to hold my hand again. But I slip out of his fingers and browse through the costumes.
“We have a greater purpose. We’re here for the girls,” I remind all of them.
They know I’m referring to the Girl Squad: my sister Audrey, plus Winona Meadows, Kinney Hale, and Vada Abbey.
They each requested that their older sisters pick out their Halloween costumes this year, and since Vada is an only child, she asked Maximoff, her cousin, to do the honors.
The four girls said, “Surprise us.”
Luna and Sullivan already ordered costumes online for their little sisters—Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz for Kinney and Harley Quinn for Winona. Even if I fail miserably at this and choose something my thirteen-year-old sister despises, I know Audrey will pretend to love it.
Big sister duties are truly my favorite.
And yet, I can’t stop thinking about how abruptly this may all end between Thatcher and me. I have so many questions left to ask.
So much that I prolonged, and I wonder if our fake breakup will force us to return to a time where it’s uncomfortable, where we’re not speaking at all.
Timelines are necessary, I remind myself. You like structure, Jane.
I do, and I sift through more steampunk corsets and a few frocks.
I can feel all three sets of their eyes on my back.
And they’re tall.
Towering behind me.
“Really, I’m fine,” I say loudly.
Men. I love them dearly, but their concern comes so powerfully in my family and security. It could bowl you over, and while Luna, Sulli, and I are harassed more heavily and frequently, we were all raised by three extraordinary sisters who could summon hell and part seas together.
“Would vouching for you help?” Maximoff asks Thatcher behind me. “I won’t persuade the Tri-Force, but I can just tell them you’d never cross a line with Jane—”
“No,” I interject, spinning on my heels with wide eyes, a leather corset in my hands. Unbeknownst to Moffy, Thatcher has already erased that line and drawn a new circle around himself and me.
Thatcher’s arms are ironbound over his chest. Difficult to read, but I think he’s just on guard.
Maximoff looks between us.
I speak quickly. “I highly doubt an extra recommendation in Thatcher’s resume will persuade the Tri-Force of anything.” I hook the corset on the rack. “Let’s just leave things as they should be and not cause more trouble for our bodyguards.”
Maximoff reluctantly nods. “Alright.” He cracks another knuckle. “You want to split up? Farrow and I will meet you back at the checkout?”
I clasp my hands. “Oui. Diviser et conquérir.” Yes. Divide and conquer.
23
JANE COBALT
We hug before I go.
Farrow and Maximoff stay in the steampunk section for Vada’s costume, and Thatcher and I walk into the darker depths of the shop, away from paparazzi and onlookers at the entrance.
His hand brushes along my back, and he scouts every inch of ground. He’s on-duty. Regardless of fake-dating, he places my safety above all else, and so each glance we take still feels stolen.
Each touch still feels forbidden, and I’ve come to realize that this allure will never die with Thatcher Moretti. As long as he’s my bodyguard, as long as he values protecting me and taking care of me first and foremost, our embraces in public will be drawn out slowly like flowing magma.
Until an eruption happens. Somewhere, sometime. At night.
Thatcher surveys the back area. “I meant to tell you in the car, about what the team decided.” He stares down at me, then fixes on a fog machine that gurgles out smoke, whisking along his boots, my ballet flats. He adds a deep, “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be.” We trek further, and he pushes aside a fake spider web that almost catches in his hair. I take a breath. “I distracted you back in the car.”
He lets out a soft laugh. “We both know I distracted you.” He glances back at me, his eyes falling down my body. “Honey.” He cradles those five letters.