“No,” she groans out loud. “That is so unfair. You can’t do that to me, Cash. It’s like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey and then eating it yourself.”
I snatch the toast from her hand, stuff it into my mouth, and chew. “Like this, you mean?”
She blinks, wide-eyed with feigned indignation. “I can’t believe you just did that. I’m eating for three, remember.”
“Way to go, Cash.” My brother shakes his head. “You literally stole food from our babies’ mouths.”
“Wow.” I swallow the toast that now tastes like cardboard and wash it down with a mouthful of orange juice. “I feel bad now.”
“So you should.” Remy steps away from the counter and faces us, clinging to her bag strap with both hands like it’s the only thing tethering her to the real world. “I’d love to stay and wind you up some more, but I’ve missed too many lectures already.”
She doesn’t move.
She hasn’t been back to college since the incident with George and Isabella and has been staying in my apartment here in the Titan. Bash hasn’t been back to his apartment either. We haven’t figured out how this is going to work yet, but we all have an unspoken understanding that this is only a short-term plan.
“Skip college,” I say. “Spend the day with us.”
“You want me to work with you?”
“No, we’ll take the day off.”
“A perk of being the boss,” Bash adds. “We can take time off whenever we want.”
She smiles. “You never take time off.” Her eyes slide down our suits, and she arches an eyebrow. “You’re dressed for work.”
I shrug my jacket over my shoulders. “Now I’m not.”
Remy giggles. “What about my lecture?”
“What about it?” Bash stands. “We’ll get you a video recording so that you can listen to it in your own time.”
She tugs the bag strap as if weighing the options stored inside. “Is there anything you can’t do at the drop of a hat?”
I tap my bottom lip. Pretend to give the question careful consideration. “No?”
I don’t know how or when we drifted into this routine of easy banter and mutual teasing. There isn’t a single moment I can pinpoint, we just seem to have ended up here organically, and I have no clue how it will continue to evolve. But going back to my life before Remy isn’t an option.
“Ohh…” She’s still here.
We all know she isn’t going to college today; we’re simply waiting for her to admit it.
“I have to go back at some point.”
I smile. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” Her shoulders relax. “But if we’re spending the day together, we’re doing it my way.”
I avoid Bash’s gaze. “Deal.”
We go to Artists and Fleas, a market in Brooklyn. Remy has always wanted to visit a real flea market, and she wanders around the stalls, her mouth a round O of excitement, chatting to the vendors about their paintings, their tie-dyed T-shirts, handmade jewelry, musical boxes, crocheted blankets, gem-encrusted pens.
She soaks it all up, pointing objects out to me and Bash, and then blushing when we offer to buy them for her.
After, we take a horse and carriage ride around Central Park. We visit the Conservatory and the Alice in Wonderland sculpture. We grab hamburgers from a street vendor. We wander around the Museum of Modern Art.
And I watch Remy, viewing the city and its attractions through her eyes.
Late afternoon, we ride the ferry across the Hudson to Staten Island. That’s when she spots the bodyguards close by.
