I can’t help the chuckle that I let out. They all look at me. “Your future sister-in-law is going to hate you for damaging her hubby.”
“When it all comes out, she’ll be thanking me.”
“You might underestimate her hero worship.”
Clara pauses, wondering if that is the case. It might be. It looks like it could be. But Olivia’s delicate feelings are last on my list of concerns.
“Is that everything?” I ask, motioning to the bag at Walker’s side.
“Yup.”
He tugs her closer to him, like he could pull her inside of himself if he tries hard enough. “We’re stitching them into your coats. And a button camera for the safe. We’ll leave a seam ripper in each of your pockets. Whatever comes next is up to you two.”
RJ shifts his weight, drawing my attention. “It might be nothing, but Bryce knows what happened. With that guard.”
Clara freezes, the same as I do, but before we can ask questions, Falk whistles softly. The guys each kiss Clara fast enough that it could be a competition before she links arms with me, both of us putting on our game faces while I assume her mind is circling like mine is with that news. Bryce, the fucker.
We stroll back to the crowd of musicians in black and donors only marginally more colorful, meeting the weak-stomached guard as we enter the throng. He glances from Falk toward my father and brother, then back at us, suspicious. But he doesn’t say anything.
It’s time for us to get back to being the ignored second son and his non-society fiancée.
Can’t say I mind that role, at least.
Instead of getting our presumed solitude, though, a woman flanked by what looks like security slides up to us, taking Clara’s hand and whispering in her ear. It only takes a moment to recognize her as the soloist we’re here to celebrate, Gwendolyn Shaw, and I’m more confused than ever. Clara grins as the woman pulls away. “You’ll get there,” the violinist says, before stepping back into the crush, the jovial sound of my father’s laughter cutting through the mumbled conversation.
“What was that about?” I ask.
Clara shakes her head with something like wonder on her face. “She said that someday I won’t have to hide all my loves. That if I fight for it, I might be surprised how many people don’t give a damn.”
I squint through the crowd, unable to see the soloist in the sea of black surrounding us. “Huh.”
Clara leans into me. “We’ll get there. Only a little over a month.”
“A month and one hell of an obstacle course,” I say, both of us keeping our voices low so the guard who won’t last long can’t hear us. “But then I guess you get your perfect fairy tale ending.”
Her face grows tight, her eyes granite as she looks up at me. “No. Not perfect. Never perfect. It’ll be better than perfect, because it’ll be real.”
And maybe, just maybe, I believe her.
Chapter 27
Clara
My coat is heavy and stiff with Walker’s work, and I’m glad I’m not wearing it. Trips and I playact needing our hands on each other on the ride home to explain why they’re sitting on the seat next to us instead of on our bodies. So far, so good.
The slow coax of his tongue against mine might be an act, but I’m still squirming, wishing for the millionth time that the way this happened had been different. Because I want him. All of him. Not the bits we’re willing to share with the camera and whoever the hell is watching.
I want more like what we had in the greenhouse—a chase that leaves my heart thundering in my chest, a fight for dominance with teeth and elbows, an urgency that supersedes reason. The freedom to let loose the vicious creature under my skin that I’ve always hidden away, scared that it would hurt others, hurt myself, if I gave her a chance to do whatshe was born to do. But with Trips, I know his own monster will fight back without hurting me, and in the end, we’ll both win.
Unbuckling, I crawl into his lap, Falk snapping at me to stay buckled yet again. Instead, Trips unbuckles as well, then wraps both of us in his straps, one digging in across my shoulder, the other sliding up at an awkward angle above my ass. But that seems to be good enough for Falk, because he leaves us be.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the useless guard texting, and I can’t help but feel bad if it’s to his girlfriend.
He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d clean up the toilet after he lost control of his weak stomach.
But then, Trips grips my hips, rocking me against the delicious hardness beneath me, and I ignore everything else going on around me.
Breaking from the kiss, I nibble the edge of his ear, his breath hot against my neck, the only warning before his teeth dig into the juncture between that and my shoulder, and I groan, no longer much bothered by the audience. We always have one, even if I can’t see it. I mirror his action, pulling the same strangled tone from his throat. Taking a risk, I whisper as I rock against him. “I want you. For real.”
