FORTY-EIGHT
KITTY
It was early when we returned to the city, but we had only one destination in mind—Lauren’s house.
The journey was deliciously smooth this time, the trappings of wealth drawing me in like little else could. I didn’t care that Stan seemed restless, pensive almost. He encouraged me to sit on his lap during the drive and his hand remained glued to mine throughout, so I knew he wasn’t phasing me out after that weird scene last night.
Avoidance had me muttering, “I think Lara, one of my best friends, dropped Taube off at Shady Pines. She’s a driver in?—”
Proving his distraction, he didn’t let me finish. “It’s likely. A friend of hers lives there.”
My lips parted in surprise. “Oh.”
With no extra information forthcoming, my plan to avoid that whole thing with his knife went up in smoke.
My cheeks burned with heat at the memory.
I had no idea what had come over me—the whole thing was a fever dream I’d be revisiting if I looked at his knife funny.
It was almost a facepalm moment, but we pulled into the driveway and the doors to the house opened before I couldoverthink it. Thank. God. Stan’s family immediately poured out and onto the steps.
Gladly locking away last night’s revelry for another time, when I was ninety, I took note of the family members on the stoop. Spouses and children alike—the youngest in Jennifer’s arms, a new one to be added to the mix once Rory gave birth.
I came from a large family and knew how perfection was impossible. Every photo we had of the full coterie of Frasiers, at least one boy pulled a face at the camera or Raisin was sobbing—she hated having her picture taken.
Yet the lot of them looked set for a feature inVogue. Even the children who wore tiny dresses that when I’d been a kid, my ma had shoved us into only when she’d wanted a group picture after communion to send back to our grandmother in Ireland.
Frilly and fancy, pure white, linen and lace—so impractical for infants, but that didn’t matter when you were rich as fuck, I supposed.
Still, their pristine perfection filled me with nerves despite the designer outfit Stan had packed as a backup. (I was here for his wardrobe choices too. I looked like a boss-ass bitch again in a sleek pantsuit that gave off girl mobster vibes. My man, Stan, had taste.)
Despite the confidence boost, I muttered, “Are you sure you want me here for this?”
His hand, locked in mine, fingers bridged, tightened. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s your… This is private, no?” His amused smirk had me scowling at him. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“What? Intrude on family matters when you’re family now?”
“You can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not?” His eyes bored literal holes into me. “You’re mine, Kitty. We discussed this.”
“No one likes a know-it-all,” I grumbled around a pout, but his words filled up my heart, making it swell with feeling.
He joined our lips together, sealing those words inside me, etching them into my soul.
I sank into him until he pulled back to whisper, “Family business requires thewholefamily to be present.”
Slowly, I nodded.
Triumph flashed over his expression before it cleared, turning blank as the engine came to a halt.
Luciu dragged open the door. “Well?!”
Stan sneered at him. “Excuse my older brother, Kitty. He’s forgotten his manners.”
I waved at Luciu, trying not to think about the last time I’d seen him.
