Oof. She’s two for two here. Sounds like Nicole and I have more in common than either of us would like. It’s not the kind of common ground you find easily with new people, but it does help put some things in perspective.
I regard Eleanor out of the corner of my eye. “You know, you’ve got this whole… wise beyond your years thing going for you. Kind of freaks me out.”
“I know,” she agrees, suddenly somber. “I’m actually 30.”
“Really?”
She sighs and lowers her knife, swiping her hair out of her eyes. “It’s the bangs, right? Makes me look younger? It’s kind of hard to take me seriously?”
I laugh, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it. “Yeah. It is the bangs.”
“I knew it,” she laments. “I keep thinking I should let them grow out so people will take me more seriously, but I just hate my big, dumb forehead.”
“I’m sure it’s not—”
She lifts her bangs, showing me. “See?”
Mac chooses that instant to stride into the kitchen, chuckling when he sees what we’re doing on the other side of the island. “Is she showin’ you her forehead? Darlin’, I keep telling you, it’s a beautiful forehead. Sexy even, because it’s got your brain in it.”
“Boo!” She scoffs and reaches for the bowl in the middle of the island. She throws an apple at him, which he easily plucks out of the air before it can hit. “I know you love me and you’re trying to be sweet, but you sound condescending. No one has a sexy forehead. That’s not a thing.”
He takes a bite, kisses her cheek as he passes, and leans down to whisper something in her ear that makes her blush chin to hairline, disappearing right under those hotly contested bangs.
“I’m in the middle of something, but I’ll find you later, darling,” she says, a polished, northern pronunciation of every letter that almost feels like a mockery of his slow drawl when he calls her the same thing.
I consider the two of them, letting my mind drift back to Wesley. There are some similarities in how they act that I can’t help but notice. In fact, I’ve seen the way Mac looks at Eleanor reflected in not just my man, but also in the occasional softening of Dimitri’s scowl. The three of them are cut from the same cloth.
“Can I ask something else?” I say once Mac is clear of the room.
The secretive smile she’s wearing doesn’t falter. “Shoot.”
“The way Mac is with you, and how Dimitri is with Nicole… it’s sweet how protective they are, but doesn’t it sort of grate on you? Doesn’t it seem kind of…”
I trail off, considering how Wesley’s been since we got here. He’s so much more relaxed now that the danger isn’t imminent, but he’s also so focused. He’s got a mission, and I feel like he’s shutting me out.
“Controlling?” she suggests.
My shoulders round as she puts the word out there so I don’t have to. Clearly, she gets it. “Yes! Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Oh, Mac can totally be a controlling asshole. But it comes from a good place.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “So that makes it okay?”
She shrugs. “It does for me. I know better than to stick my nose into this particular argument, though, so I’ll just say this: you’re the only one who gets to decide if that makes it okay for you.”
I open my mouth to change the topic, then snap it shut, considering her. Eleanor knows Wesley—has known him longer and maybe knows himbetterin some ways since they’ve lived together this long. Maybe I can… share how I’m feeling with her. Maybe I can actually open up to a girlfriend and get advice.
It’s something I’ve never done. I’ve never bared myself to someone like that—never sought advice for my love life. Never had someone so close to the situation. Never felt like someone would understand, or care enough to listen.
And it certainly doesn’t hurt that she’s so wise.
“He’s just so possessive!” I blurt.
Eleanor snorts and dissolves into knowing laughter that’s so bright and happy, I have no choice but to join her. “Welcome to the Hitmen of Ulysses. For the admission price of your life being in mortal danger, you get a growly, possessive Neanderthal who loves you out loud, fucks like no one’s business, and might plant a tracker under your skin.”
My eyes widen at the specificity of that last one. “Did Mac—”
“No,” Eleanor giggles, totally unbothered. “Well, not yet, but he’s made too many comments for it to be a joke.”
