“Conchiglie al burro,too,” I add. “And apple slices.”
“Already on it,” Rosa replies.
I carry Ben into the kitchen and set her on the counter. She’s still got Frederick in a death grip.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “Let’s do the rules. You and me and Frederick. Ready?”
She nods. Just barely.
I take her hand. Squeeze three times.
She squeezes back. A little stronger than before, but not much.
“Now breathe. Smell the cocoa. Blow the steam.”
She follows along. Her shoulders drop maybe another half inch.
Rosa slides the actual cocoa across the counter. Always perfect timing with her.
Ben wraps both hands around the mug. Stares into it like it might have answers.
My phone buzzes. Marco again.Fifteen minutes out.
I don’t reply. Just pocket the phone and focus on Ben.
She’s eating apple slices now. Mechanical. Still not really present but at least she’s doing something.
Filepe appears in the doorway. “We need to talk protocol.”
Right. Because of course we do.
When ‘can everyone just calm down for a minute’ is not actually an option.
I glance at Rosa. “Can you—”
“I’ve got her,” Rosa says before I can finish. “Go.”
I follow Filepe to Marco’s home office. The security setup is already on the laptop screen. Camera feeds. Routes. A map with little red dots that I assume are the paparazzi vehicles.
Except now there are more dots. Like, significantly more.
“They’re multiplying,” I say. Very helpful observation, Jess. Gold star.
“Four vehicles now,” Filepe confirms. “Coordinated. They know Marco’s on his way back and they’re setting up for arrival photos.”
Luis joins us, appearing from wherever security people materialize from. “Perimeter’scompromised. Front entrance, side street, even the back alley. They’ve got coverage on every exit.”
My stomach drops. “So what do we do?”
“Shelter-in-place if it escalates.” Filepe pulls up another screen. Floor plans. “Primary suite. Hallway sweep, layered locks, blackout drapes, white noise machine.”
I blink at him. “You’re talking about hiding in Marco’s bedroom.”
“I’m talking about keeping a family safe from telephoto lenses and a media circus. Keeping a five-year-old safe...”
When ‘close proximity’ suddenly means ‘potentially trapped in your boss’s bedroom during a media siege’ and you’re trying very hard not to think about how that’s going to work.
My face heats up. Fabulous. Blushing during a crisis meeting. Very professional.
