“Max—”
“Fine. I’d like to see your dress first.”
“What?” She blinked at him in horror. “It’s bad luck.”
“Same. I can’t tell you. It’s a surprise,” he countered with a smirk, tugging a lock of her hair.
She scowled.
Mrs. Logan laughed, and Mr. Logan merely shook his head.
I frowned and stared at my food. Max was so fucking lucky to have a family like this.
Me? I had a family, but we were all commodities, things to be brokered as Grandmother saw fit, from Mother down to me.
“Jack, you’re still coming to the festival tomorrow, right?”
I lifted my gaze to Ila. “Yes. I haven’t been to an open-air one, so I’m looking forward to it. But I need to find a hotel to check into for the weekend.”
“No,” Mr. Logan said. “You’re Max’s friend. You’ll stay with us.”
I stilled, not expecting that. “Thank you, but I don’t want to impose.”
“It’s n-n…no imposition,” Mrs. Logan said with a slur again. “You are also friends with Ray, yes?”
I nodded. It wasn’t like I could reveal that I was out of my head for her youngest daughter.
“Besides, what fun is it to stay by yourself?” Ila asked, smiling.
We had a fifteen-bedroom mansion at Atherton. None were casually invited to stay over, probably because no one wanted to stay in the icebox. Though, I doubted Sean Logan suffered fools gladly.
“Might as well agree,” Max drawled, back to playing with Ila’s hair.
“Thank you,” I told her parents.
“Ila, show Jack the guestroom upstairs after lunch—”
“I’ll do that, Maya,” Max said and glanced at me, his eyes gleaming in amusement. Undoubtedly, he enjoyed watching me thrown for a loop, landing on my ass, and now scrambling to find my footing at the Logans’ easy acceptance.
Me, a stranger. And I didn’t visit people’s homes, only Max’s when we were younger.
Ila got up and hurried out, only to return with a small plastic box marked with a black L on it. She opened it and tipped several pills into her mother’s palm.
Mrs. L took them in two lots, swallowing it all down with water.
“C’mon, Maya, love,” Sean Logan said, rising to his feet, his expression soft. “I’ll see you to the living room.”
Mrs. L grasped the edge of the table, steadying herself, then said, “I can manage.”
“If you insist,” he teased gently but hovered nearby while she slowly made her way to the armchair in the other room.
I watched them for a moment. I couldn’t recall my parents ever being this way, having this kind of togetherness.
“You good?” Max asked quietly, distracting me.
I glanced at him and nodded.
For the first time in forever, some of the stress and pressure in me eased a little. It suddenly made sense why Max, the hardest nut of the three of us—okay, maybe second hardest, War would wearthatcrown—enjoyed being here. The hour I’d spent in this house pointed to the same thing.
