“No,” his cousins say in unison.
I blink at them. “Why not?”
“You clearly haven’t been in Thatcher’s bathroom recently,” Lex says gravely.
“It’s like a Smurf exploded in there,” Adam adds. “I’m surprised you can’t smell it.”
“There’s paint on the ceiling,” Noah finishes. “The ceiling, Pierce. Your apartment will never survive Meatball.”
Thatcher buries his face in my chest, groaning. “I hate my family.”
“I love your family,” I counter, pressing a kiss to his hair. “But I do have one question.”
“What’s that?”
I look at the crowd still gathered in the doorway. “What exactly do you all want, besides this bizarre hazing ritual?”
“Family dinner,” River says. “Lusitana. Tonight. Jack and Carla are expecting everyone.”
“And by everyone,” Lior adds with a pointed look at me, “they mean you too, Pierce. You’re family now.”
The words hit me harder than expected. Family. A real one, messy and loud and full of people who barge into bedrooms unannounced. People who kidnap you with bags over your head and then welcome you with open arms.
“We’ll be there,” I say, my voice rough with emotion.
“Good.” Noah claps his hands. “Now get dressed. Dinner’s in two hours, and Thatcher takes forever in the bathroom.”
“I do not?—”
“The bath bomb incident,” the cousins chorus.
“It was supposed to be relaxing!” Thatcher protests.
“You used six at once and the tub overflowed with foam,” Lex points out.
“And stained yourself purple for a week,” Adam adds.
“They were small! I thought you needed more than one!”
As they file out, still bickering and laughing, Thatcher turns to me with an apologetic smile.
“Sorry about them. They’re a lot.”
“They’re perfect,” I say, pulling him close. “Just like you.”
“I love you,” he says, kissing me softly. “Now let’s grab a shower and get ready before they come back with reinforcements.”
As we untangle ourselves from the sheets, I catch sight of Thatcher’s half-painted bathroom through the open door. Blue paint streaks the walls in chaotic patterns, and yes, there’s definitely paint on the ceiling.
“On second thought,” I say, “maybe I should handle the redecorating.”
Thatcher throws a pillow at my head, but he’s laughing.
I catch the pillow and pull him close, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You know what I was thinking about earlier?”
“Mmm?”
“That night at the wedding. When I followed a stranger into a bathroom and let him take me apart completely.” I tilt his chin so I can see his eyes. “I spent months thinking it was the biggest mistake of my life. Unprofessional. Reckless. Completely out of character.”
