“Still some.”
“Most people have more cameras outside their homes than in them.”
“Most people fear the people outside of their homes more than the people inside them.”
She looks up at me, her dark eyes dull. “How much longer do we have to stay?”
“I don’t know. It sounds like Father wants me to make a big show of it. Then I imagine there’ll be toasts or some shit.”
She looks back across the lawn. “Toasts for the happy couple.”
I swallow back something bitter. “Do you think you’ll be able to play the part?”
“Do you?”
Fuck. The hell if I know.
Have I wanted Clara? Wanted her more than I’ve wanted anything since those first few months I got sober?
Yeah. As much as I’ve tried to fight it, ignore it, downplay it, I’ve wanted her.
But not like this. Never like this.
All I wanted was to remove us all from danger. From the mystery problems with our jobs, which ended up being my father. From my father’s threat to pull me back into the family business. God, even from the fuckwad of an ex who’s stolen so much from Clara. From dangers outside the group, from the risk of meltdown within.
So, I stayed separate. I dug down leads; I beat up her ex. Forcing myself out of my comfort zone, I managed the mopey mess that Walker can devolve into and the powder-keg that is Jansen. Fuck, I taught her to fight in the dead of the night, just to give her something else to focus on besides the shit her ex put her through. The shit that resulted from my damn family figuring out what I’ve been up to.
But it wasn’t enough. Not enough for her, for us. But more than enough for my dad to find a solution to all his problems, a way to chain me to the family, cursing her right alongside me.
“I don’t fucking know if I can,” I admit.
“What if we ran?” She doesn’t stop staring across the blanket of white, swallowing the lake below.
“How fast and how far?”
“As fast as we can. As far as we have to.”
A cough has us both turning back to the house, my goddamn father standing there. “I hope this conversation was entirely hypothetical.”
“Entirely, sir,” I respond, the courtesy falling off my tongue like it was trained to, already slipping back into old habits I wish I didn’t have.
“Good. It’s time.”
“Yes, sir.”
He holds the door, making us both pass him, and when it shuts behind him, there’s a finality to it. Like the slam of a prison door.
Brunch is dying down, the chef cleaning her station. My father passes us, his gaze heavy as he heads for my stepmother, Mattie looking between us, unable to hide her sadness. Her fear.
Clara steps close, slipping her hand into mine, and I wish I knew if it was because she still cared, or because it’s the way to play this. From here forward, we’re a couple.
I clear my throat. “If I could have your attention, please.”
The room turns toward us, and my damn heart claws its way into my throat.
I debate just announcing it, like it’s a done deal. But Father insisted on a show, and the way he looks at us, he’s ready to threaten us with some other ungodly disaster. Until I know what it is, I’ll play by his rules. As fucked-up and broken as they are.
Down on one knee, gasps echo from the crowd of strangers. But all I see is Clara, tears unshed in her eyes.
