“Jazz ballet. Bob Fosse. FromSweet Charity?”
Declan’s mouth curves. “Shirley MacLaine.”
“You’re so weird,” I tell him, but it’s an escape and I take it.
I herd the kids out, the animals swirling around us like we’re leading a tiny circus. Even Fiona and Monarch join in. We mutilate the choreography since it’s not kid-appropriate at all, but the jazzy sixties music and exaggerated poses work perfectly for them.
We’re jumping and flailing and “dancing” when I glance at the doorway.
Declan’s there with Cal. Cal looks…relieved. Declan looks like he’s trying not to show any emotion at all.
“Okay, kids,” Lucie says, squeezing past her husband. “Let poor Marlowe breathe. Tatiana and Natasha, time to go. Raff, bath.”
Raff looks up at her, then lets out a howl as the girls head out to find Ava.
Cal scoops him up. “He reminds me of you, Dec.”
“Brilliant?” Declan asks.
Cal mutters something under his breath and carries his squirming son away. The others drift out of the room. The animals scatter.
When it’s quiet again, Declan steps forward and holds out his hand.
“I’m not touching that,” I mutter.
His dimple makes an appearance, and he looks more devastating and smugger than usual. “You’ve touched a whole lot more than my hand, princess.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“I’m not. You are. You’re obsessed.” His fingers flex, waiting. “Come on. We’ve got lunchwith your mam.”
I push a single lettuce leaf around my plate, ignoring the perfect mound of mashed potatoes, green beans and chicken in a mushroom cream sauce that Declan ordered for me.
I want to eat it. Desperately.
But the dry salad was waiting at my place when we sat down, and I’d rather not piss my mother off.
She talksatDeclan, nottohim. About security. About schedules. About herplansfor me. When he mentions he stopped an attack, something flickers in her expression.
Her hand trembles. She puts her wine down too quickly. “Someone broke into the apartment,” she says. “So I was worried?—”
I snort before I can stop myself.
“Marlowe.” Mother’s voice slices deep. “Enough. I care about you. The hoops I’ve had to jump through because of your father…”
My eyes sting. “You don’t care about him.”
Declan puts down his knife and fork. “I think she might,” he says calmly, not looking away from my mother. “She just shows it…strangely.”
“You’re the help,” Mom snaps. “And the moment my daughter’s safe from any threats, you’re out of the picture.”
She shifts her laser focus to me. “Your father put us in this situation. Remember that. I’ve tried to shield you, but he’s not the hero you think he is. He?—”
“I also don’t think she should move back in with you,” Declan says, cutting cleanly across her. He spears a piece of steak and chews it, completely unbothered. His free hand drifts to the back of my neck, thumb brushing the fine hairs there like he owns them.
Mom’s fingers curlaround the wineglass stem. “She’s better off under my eye, Mr. Murphy. If you stopped the attack, then?—”
“You really think there’s been only one?” Declan lifts an eyebrow at her. “She’s in a lot of danger, Cloris. Because of your husband, she’s now a target.”
