“See, nothing to worry about.”
“Why did we follow?” I ask.
“Just a precaution.”
“Liar,” I mutter.
As we glide through the city, steadily rolling between the cars like a graceful swan through reeds, I can’t help but scan each vehicle. Who are these people in their shiny boxes on wheels? What important job or mundane errand are they embarking on at this hour? Are they rushing to a meeting that pays the bills? Suddenly I feel like the most boring human alive. Just… shopping.
Justpretty.
I look at my twins. "Actually," I say, an idea planting itself into my mind along with the word ‘pretty.’
I’ll show him pretty.
"Will you take me to Sir’s hotel?”
Jasmine raises an eyebrow. "Now?”
"I just want twenty minutes." I glance at my phone, Clay's simple ‘pretty’ still burning into my retinas. I need more than that text, or I will be stewing and temperamental by the time he gets home. I need him. Just to… soothe me or something just as pathetic, but completely real and raw. "You can watch the twins for, like, twenty minutes, right? I just want a moment.”
Jasmine's eyes widen. "I have been asking to babysit these little vampires since they were born. Of course I will watch them.”
"And HJ?" I turn to him with pleading eyes. "You’ll stay here in the car, idle and watch them all. I won’t be long.”
“I’m to follow you, Miss Harlow?—”
“You’re to follow orders,Bolton,” I counter, using his real name for dramatic effect. “Myorders, remember?”
His mouth drops open with shock. “Well, well, well, you sound like a spoilt Mafia princess there, Miss Harlow.”
“Do not.”
“If you say so, Boss,” he teases. He takes two turns, and within five minutes we are pulling into the drop-off circle outside Clay’s hotel—The Main.
“Woah,” Jasmine coos, looking up at the hotel.
"Twenty minutes,” HJ states adamantly.
As if he’s the boss.
Pfft.
The moment the car stops, I open the passenger door and stride towards the entrance, suddenly reminded of the two whiskeys when my feet falter a step. I keep going as if it didn’t happen, but aware of the two henchmen from the other Cosa Nostra SUV following close behind me.
Dobber rat.
Clay will already know I’m here.
I’ll never be able to surprise him.
The bellman holds the front door open as I reach it, and a buzz of quiet energy erupts from the staff as if they know who I am. Who I am—Clay Butcher’s fiancé.
Still, sometimes it feels like I’m wearing someone else’s skin, walking someone else’s carefully shaped path. Will I ever get used to this? Is that what will happen when I become his wife? The pieces will fall into place? I’m scared of the picture, scared it means less of him, more independence. When I settle into this life, when I am house-trained, will he give me less attention? The word ‘pretty’ taunts me.
It's already happening.
Oh, stop it, Fawn.
