Her mother fed us for a week with those tamales and made the house warm with flowers.
Pix is family.
Not by blood. But some ties are stronger than blood.
Which makes this a problem.
A very attractive, deeply inappropriate and forbidden problem.
Because being in her orbit for any length of time will shatter my self-control. It makes me forget the rules I live by.
Rules that exist for a reason.
Like, hey, don’t bang your best friend’s baby sister unless you have a death wish.
I watch as they all pour into the living room, and I’m dimly aware that my entire household has fallen under her spell.
Every last one of them.
Before I lose my final sanity cell, I puff out, “Can someone please explain to me who Princess Luna is?”
Ollie looks at me the way I’ve looked at him more times than I can count when he can’t identify a single middle US state. “Dad. Everyone knows Princess Luna.”
Connor is already shoving his phone at my chest. “It’s all over the socials. Ava Alvarez is Princess Luna.”
Article after article. Headlines. Photos.
A clip from an interview that dropped yesterday. Twelve million views and climbing.
Something in my chest sinks.
She lied about her name.
She’s also a megawatt celebrity. And Gabe’s baby sister. So, I’m not sure why this is the gut punch. Her lying about her name.
But somehow, it is.
“You’re a celebrity,” I say flatly, handing Connor back his phone.
“I am,” she replies, chin lifting with enough defiance to remind me exactly how I talked about celebrities with disgust.
Good.
Stay the asshole.
That should keep me safely at arm’s length.
My phone buzzes.
A text from Batman.
The sooner the better
Nice reminder. It’s immediately followed by three more texts.
Travis is waiting.
Outside.
