There's genuine concern in his offer, the kind of protective instinct that extends to all Quinn family members. Shane has been with us for three years now, long enough to understand the family dynamics and care about our well-being beyond just professional obligation.
"That's very kind, but Cillian's my ride tonight." I gesture toward the reception area. "I should probably go find him soon."
"He's inside talking to another guard about something." Shane's expression shifts slightly, becoming more guarded. "Looked like business."
"I see." I force my voice to stay level. "Well, I'm sure whatever it is, it's important."
Shane watches me carefully, and I can practically see him putting pieces together. My tear-streaked makeup, me standing alone in a parking lot instead of celebrating my cousin's wedding.
"Ms. Quinn, if someone's upset you—"
"Nobody's upset me," I lie. "I'm just tired. It's been a long day."
He doesn't believe me, I can tell. But Shane's smart enough not to push when someone clearly doesn't want to talk about it. Instead, he nods slowly and pulls out his phone.
"Let me text Cillian, let him know I can drive you."
As he types, I find myself studying his profile. Shane's always been reliably straightforward. But seeing him conducting business with shadowy informants reminds me that everyone in our world has layers, secrets, connections that run deeper than what appears on the surface.
Shane guides me to the SUV. The wedding venue's fairy lights disappear behind us as we head toward the hotel.
"Thank you for this," I tell Shane. "You didn't have to leave early."
"No problem, Ms. Quinn." Shane's eyes flick to the rearview mirror, checking our surroundings with the automatic vigilance of a man who's made protection his profession. "Sometimes you need to escape before the night gets too long."
He probably saw me dancing with Anton, disappearing into the garden, returning alone with ruined makeup.
Thankfully, the drive takes less than ten minutes. When we arrive, the hotel's valet takes Shane's keys. The lobby glows with warm lighting. I quickly scan the seating areas, relief washing over me when I don't see any familiar Quinn faces.
"Let me walk you up," Shane says, falling into step beside me as we approach the elevators.
I don't argue. Since the kidnapping, I've had double the guards and half the freedom. I hate it, but Quinn women don't walk hotel corridors alone—not when people see us as leverage. Anton had to kill the men who made that mistake.
The elevator ascends silently to the top floor, where our family maintains a permanent block of suites. When the doors open, I immediately notice the increased security presence in the hallway. Two Quinn guards I recognize stand at strategic positions, but there are others I don't know.
They nod respectfully as we pass, but their pale eyes track our movement with professional assessment.
"Basovs," Shane explains quietly, noticing my attention. "Extra security for the families during the wedding events."
"Thank you again," I say when we reach my door. I fish my keycard from my clutch, grateful my hands aren't shaking anymore.
"Anytime, Ms. Quinn." Shane waits while I unlock the door, then steps back respectfully. "Get some rest."
I close the door behind me and lean against it, finally alone with my thoughts. The suite is elegant and sterile, all cream colors and expensive furniture that belongs to no one and everyone. Through the windows, the city sparkles below like scattered diamonds.
Tonight feels like a perfect summary of my existence. Surrounded by family who keep secrets. Protected by guards who work for multiple organizations with competing interests.
Attracted to a man who treats me like I'm made of glass one moment and runs away the next.
I didn't sleep last night. My brain wouldn't stop spinning the reel of what happened with Anton.
"Is there a specific occasion you're shopping for today?"
I blink at the boutique associate. Her name tag says Emma, and I manage what passes for a smile.
"Just treating myself." I run my fingers over a silky black dress. "I hoped I'd be going out on a date tonight, but turns out I might be taking myself out instead."
Emma's expression immediately softens with understanding. She's probably around my age, with kind eyes that don't judge. "Oh no. I got stood up last week, but ended up having the best solo dinner at this little place in SoHo. Sometimes we're our own best company."
