“Fine.” She doesn't look at me, just stares at the coffee maker like it holds the secrets of the universe.
I cage her in with my arms on either side of her body. “I'm picking up Connor from JFK this morning. Thought you might want to come.”
“I didn’t realize I’d get a leave of absence from my gilded penthouse cage.” Her head whips around, eyes bright with excitement before she catches herself. “But why would you want me there?”
“Maybe because he's your brother and you've missed him.”
“Or maybe because you want to control the narrative from minute one.”
Smart fucking girl. Too smart for her own good sometimes.
“Can't it be both?” I let my mouth hover near her ear. “You smell like my sheets, wife.”
She elbows me in the ribs, hard. “Back the fuck off.”
“Never.” I step closer instead, pressing her fully against the counter. “Did you dream about me last night?”
“I dreamed about stabbing you with kitchen knives.”
“Kinky. I like it when you get violent.”
The coffee maker beeps and she ducks under my arm to escape, but I catch her wrist.
“You're coming with me to get Connor.”
“I don't take orders from you.” She snarls the words but we both know she wouldn’t turn down the opportunity.
“You do when it comes to your brother's safety.” I let that sink in for a second. “He's under my protection now. That means my rules.”
Her jaw clenches, but she nods. Victory tastes sweet as fuck.
Two hours later we're at JFK, standing in arrivals like a normal married couple instead of two people locked in psychological warfare.
People spill into the baggage claim area and I know him as soon as I see him, mainly because of the resemblance to his sister. Connor Blake looks exactly like what I expected.
He’s young, clean-cut, and carries himself with the confidence of someone who's never had to truly fight for anything.
Every inch the golden boy his sister sacrificed everything to protect.
“Tier!” He drops his bag and sweeps her into a hug that lifts her off the ground.
Watching them together, seeing her face light up with genuine joy for the first time since I've known her, does something strange to my chest. She's beautiful when she's happy. Fucking radiant.
And I want to be the one putting that expression on her face.
“Connor, this is my husband, Bronx,” she says in a tight voice whenthey break apart.
I extend my hand and he shakes it with a firm grip, looking me straight in the eye. “Thank you for this. For protecting Tierney and giving me somewhere safe to stay.”
“Family takes care of family,” I reply, meaning it more than I expected to. And I don’t miss the appreciative look on Tierney’s face when she meets my eyes.
During the drive back to Manhattan, Connor peppers us with questions about New York, about the apartment, about how we're settling into married life.
Tierney deflects most of the ones about us, clearly not interested in rehashing our newlywed experience, but I catch her watching me in the rearview mirror when she thinks I'm not looking.
“You’ll be staying in an apartment three floors down from us,” I say. “It’s easier to keep you close. We have security staked out at the building so it’s safer than a hotel. You’ll have your privacy but Tierney will only be upstairs. The place is fully furnished, stocked with food, and has a killer view of Central Park, too.”
When we get back to the building, I pull into my spot in the garage and we take the elevator up to Connor’s new apartment.
