Plus, I just want her next to me. “Come with me.”
“Your family wouldn’t mind?”
“Nah.” There will be so many people there—family, friends, and neighbors. “There will be a ton of food, and everyone is friendly.”
Too friendly, but I don’t let myself worry about that yet.
“They won’t think it’s weird?”
They’ll fucking love it when I show up with a female.
I clear my throat. “I’ll tell them the truth. You’re a client that needs 24/7 protection. They won’t pry, I promise.”
“And it’s not weird you’re bringing a client?”
“No,” I lie. My aunts might not ask her nosy questions, but they’ll sure as hell wonder why I’m suddenly bringing work home.
“How should I dress?”
“Casual. And I’m sorry to be an asshole, but we don’t have much time. I need to run by the store.” I’ve got my dad’s gift, but I can’t come empty handed. The plan is to arrive early to help set up.
I expect a fuss, but Isolde merely walks to her room. A short while later she comes out in jeans and another blue tank top. Without her hoodie on, she looks almost shy. Her eyes tilt up at me, questioningly.
I kiss her forehead. “I’m not crazy, but Adeline left all the clothes she brought over, didn’t she?”
The first night we fucked, while she was in the shower, I’d gone to her dresser and discovered all of her clothes were almost the exact same. Mainly soft and oversized clothes. There’s an alarming amount of new items now.
“I would wear shorts,” she says, glancing at the summer sun outside. “But. . .”
I grab her hand. “No one will make fun of you if you want to wear shorts.”
Luis would probably try to touch her scar again, the fucking pervert, but the one thing I can confidently say about my family is they don’t judge a person by their body.
She shakes her head, choosing to deal with one new thing at a time. She does, however, squeeze my hand as I lead her down the stairs, at least until we get outside.
Luis hops out of the car, opening the door for her. “You’ve got no idea how the Trevinos celebrate!”
“We’re trying not to scare her off,” I remind and then get into the driver’s seat, taking Isolde by surprise.
Luis doesn’t mind a bit, though. To my annoyance, he slides into the backseat, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, fuck yeah, you can chauffeur me around.”
“Come sit in the front seat.” I don’t like how he keeps wagging his eyebrows at Isolde.
“You never drive,” Isolde says.
It’s wrong, having Luis drive me to my dad’s. Especially with Isolde.
“Blue, you take the front.” The entire ride, Luis tells Isolde every thought and story and insight that pops into his head.
I feel her tiny little glances, her blue eyes studying me as Luis points out the old school we attended as we drive by. Or the bodega where we used to buy energy drinks. I remain remarkably calm when Luis tells her about a time he spotted me on a particular street corner kissing my first girlfriend.
“It’s not Yorkshire,” Luis says as we pull up, already unbuckling his seatbelt.
The backseat is now crowded with a shit ton of groceries and beer. Last minute items Luis’s mother, my dad’s sister, texted us about.
“But it’s home,” Luis finishes, opening his car door.
The house, in a much more affordable suburb full of working class families, is tidy. The small patch of grass in front of my childhood home is kept up. There’s garland wrapped around the small porch, and the door is open. No doubt a bunch of people are already here to help set up.
