“You can’t stay at the hotel they put you up in.”
“What?” I blink. “Why not?”
“Because I said so.”
I snort. “How very Neanderthal of you.”
“I’m serious, Pix,” he warns. “That place is a paparazzi swamp with a skeleton crew of security. You’d be safer in the greenhouse.”
My breath catches. “Is that an invitation? Because if you’re asking me to move in with you, I decline.”
I take exactly one step before my foot skids, and I nearly face-plant into the ground.
Lumberjack catches me easily and slings me over his shoulder like a sack of oranges.
“Hey!” I laugh despite myself. “What are you doing?”
“My civic duty,” he says dryly as his feet navigate the path. “Helping those ridiculous ballet slippers survive another day. You’re welcome.”
“They’re my favorite.”
“I assumed as much,” he says evenly. “Considering how often they’re involved in near-death experiences.”
He shifts me higher on his shoulder with infuriating strength, and continues.
“I’ve made arrangements for you to stay somewhere else. Somewhere safe. Round-the-clock security. Zero access to reporters.”
“You did?”
My stupid heart immediately assumes this means he cares.
Then my brain catches up. “Wait. When did you make these arrangements?”
“Yesterday.”
Oh.
So that’s that. “Couldn’t wait to get rid of me?”
“That’s not it at all. I just—” He cuts himself off. “Just don’t tell anyone where you are.”
“I have to,” I snap. “My manager. My PA.” I stop, irritation flaring. “And who I tell about my whereabouts is none of your business.”
“I promised your brother I’d look out for you,” he says evenly. “And that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Silence stretches between us as we make our way back to the house.
Then I hear it.
Voices.
Oh no.
To my horror, the kids are already up.
Another walk of shame. Fantastic.
Harrison sets me down just as the kids rush in for hugs. Connor beams, waving a spatula like he’s hosting a cooking show.
