My father, who had the self-awareness to say nothing, set my duffle near the entry.
Bliss looked at him. “You bought this?”
“No,” he said. “This one is a rental.”
Her brows lifted. “Like, for a few months?”
“Yes.”
“But you bought yours?” she asked, pointing vaguely upward, because apparently the concept of my parents existing one floor above us in a penthouse had started doing emotional damage to her common sense. “Like… forever?”
As serious as she was trying to look, the whole thing lost impact because she loved my parents. Somehow, in three weeks, Bliss Bennett had melted the ice off my mother’s ass and removed the stick from my father’s by sheer force of blonde chaos and emotional sincerity.
“Yes,” my father said. “Or until you and Cade decide what you want to do with it. Your apartment is the rental. The penthouse is ours for now, but we planned to gift it to you both once Cade is fully on his feet and Elenore feels confident enough for us to return to New York.”
Bliss went completely still.
I did not.
Mostly because standing still was beginning to feel physically ambitious, and my body had started sending several strongly worded emails about sitting down.
“What?” she whispered.
My mother, who had been pretending not to hover near the door, stepped closer with one hand pressed lightly against her own chest. “We want to be close while he heals. And after everything, we want him to have somewhere secure. Somewhere private.” Her eyes shifted to Bliss, soft in a way I still wasn’t used to seeing. “Somewhere both of you feel safe.”
That was not on my bingo card.
My mother being openly maternal and nurturing while my dad doted on my girl.
Miracles everywhere.
Bliss blinked at her, and I could see the exact second her irritation at rich people nonsense got tackled by the fact that Elenore Mercer had just used the word safe like it mattered to her too.
She turned to me. “Did you know about this?”
I huffed a laugh and tugged lightly on my father’s arm, aiming us toward the nearby chair before my healing organs started a formal rebellion. “I suspected, Pip.”
“You suspected we would just be given a penthouse?”
My father and I both looked at her like she was the crazy one.
Bliss threw one hand out. “Don’t do that. Don’t look at me like I’m being unreasonable. Normal people do not casually gift skyline apartments because their son got stabbed and acquired a clingy girlfriend with trauma issues and likes to cuddle.”
“You’re not acquired,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “That is the part of the sentence you’re focusing on?”
“You moved in.”
“To keep you alive.”
“Still moved in.”
“I will smother you with one of these suspiciously expensive pillows.”
My father cleared his throat, and I could have sworn his mouth twitched. “Speaking of pillows, Bliss, feel free to order whatever you need to make the space more you and Cade. Furniture, linens, decor. Whatever you prefer.”
Bliss stared at him.
