“You’ll be fine.” Bran’s easy tone might be aimed at Harry, but it reminds me of my biggest weakness.
My son is the only person who has the power to turn me into a real monster. My real life has always been and will always be something I’ll try to steer him away from, and I’m grateful every day he seems to like it that way. I’ve never wanted him to be part of our world, even though it is his biggest protection.
At twenty-five years old he’s a well-rounded adult who takes care of himself, and I’m more proud of him than I could ever be of anything or anyone else.
Despite being the spitting image of me, the soft smile he’s offering Harrison isn’t something I’ve been capable of in a long time. That’s what I want to preserve in him. That quiet happiness and contentment.
“I know I will be.” Harry nods at Bran and offers him a smile back. “Now, come over here and tell me how law school is going.”
Iris and Bran share a significant look as they trade seats and she ends up next to me.
Nan is fussing over the twins—the way she has done for the eight months they’ve been alive—and nodding alongwhile Mike compliments the cake Theo baked for my birthday like it’s something only the gods could’ve created.
He’s not wrong. I’ve never felt the need to analyze every little aspect of my food, but like Mike, I have a bit of a sweet tooth, and Theo’s creations are masterpieces, no one could ever deny that.
“Are you ready to come back home?” I ask Iris as soon as she sits down. Her long sigh tells me she isn’t, but the fact that she doesn’t immediately tell me so is all the answer I truly need. “Seriously?” I ask her quietly, leaning in because I’m sure she doesn’t want to announce it to everyone today. She’s not that kind of person.
“I love Boston.” It’s a simple enough statement, but it’s obvious there’s a lot more going on in that brilliant brain of hers because she takes her time selecting her next words. This is one of the many, many things I admire about her, so I give her the time she needs. “I know I’m needed at home.”
It’s like my skin stops fitting correctly around my body. I want to shift on my seat, stand up, change out of my damn clothes. Ihatethe defeated tone in her voice.
“No one needs you more than you need yourself.” I tell her the words I wish I’d had the opportunity to hear when I was twenty-one. I want to give her as many options as Bran has. I don’t want her to feel trapped.
“I like being needed,” she says, like she’s ashamed of that confession.
“Princess,” I sigh out the single word.
I started calling her that as a way to tease her—as the daughter of the most powerful and influential man in the city, she’s as close to royalty as this country gets—and she hated it at first. Now the nickname represents everything I couldn’t give her while she was growing up, and we’re both finally ready to deal with my regrets.
“I need to come back home, Uncle Eian,” she whispers. The only true show of emotion is the way her throat bobs with a hard swallow—she keeps a level gaze with me, her back straight, her head held high.
A princess indeed . . .
“We’ll welcome you in style next Spring, then,” I murmur, then lift my hand to her shoulder and squeeze slightly.
“Oh, yeah. I’m gonna throw a kick-ass party and you’ll dress up as a bodyguard again.”
I see the memory of Theo’s wedding in her eyes and I have to laugh. I love seeing her happy. Even when it’s just a tiny bit forced.
“You need to find a better beard for me this time.”
“I don’t know, that moustache was really something.” The snort she gets out of me is as close to an actual laugh as Iget these days, and the fact that she looks proud of it helps with the tightness of my skin.
I look around the informal dining room in my cousin’s castle of a house. You won’t find many properties like this one in Manhattan, but for the guy who owns most of it, I guess it makes sense. It’s fitting.
“You feel like coming to the game this weekend, Uncle Eian?” Theo asks from across the table. The bright hope in his eyes is all the motivation I need to work around the headache that task will certainly entail.
“I’ll be there,” I tell him with a nod, then send Harry a significant look.
It’s a fucking circus act, getting me inside the owner’s box at the Kings stadium on game days.
I normally have to sneak in in the trunk of a car with blacked-out windows, or like at their wedding, in disguise. Which is the easier option, so I think I’ll go with that one.
“Awesome,” Mike says, and looks as happy as he sounds. “We’re gonna get out the Christmas decorations after the game. You can help.”
I can’t help but be proud of the way the gentle giant teases me. He was scared shitless of me for a few months after we first met, so it’s nice that he feels comfortable enough now to give me shit.
One of my phones starts blaring an alarm from inside my coat on the other side of the room, and that teasing glint doesn’t leave Mike’s eyes—I’ve got to give him that.
