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She shakes her head, lips pursed. “I know you believe that, Tytan. And I’m telling you, that’s a mistake because a significant other won’t take too kindly to that assessment, and what happens then? You have to bow out, as you should, out of respect for your spouse, and Ivanna is suddenly left unguarded?”
Oh fuck. She thinks we’ll eventually flake on Ivy. That stings.
“Anyone we bring into this family will need to honor the relationship we all share and fit within it,” Ty says, chugging the last sips of his Kraken Black Label Rum and Coke. “And they’ll need to be guarded in a similar fashion because this world we’re a part of is treacherous. It will always be a group effort.”
The first part of Ty’s statement holds merit simply due to the loyalty test any prospective partner will be forced to endure, proving their allegiance to us, our associates—or in our case, this unconventional family unit—and any business information. KORT won’t budge on that. It’s the only way to become an untouchable.
“Exactly. Ivy won’t ever be less of a priority to us,” Gage adds. “Anyone the guys bring in will simply become an addition.” The Big Guy can’t fathom marrying anyone, which is why that statement is limited to Ty and me.
I point my bottleneck at Ty and Gage, respect for the direction they’re taking this argument. “That’s a good way to put it. We’ll all be living under one roof, one big, happy family, like a multigenerational home.” I smirk, knowing Natasha’s calling bullshit. It isn’t, but I see the humorous side all the same. “With all of us around the same age and not blood-related.”
Ty cackles. “Yeah, like that.”
“Sounds like a damn hippie commune,” Gage growls, finishing off his bourbon. He’s over this debate.
Natasha laughs, freeing the rest of us to do so with her. “That doesn’t lessen my concern the way you think it should,” she says. “You’ll all need extra guards then. It’s not only Ivanna I’m worried about. You’re all important to me. My family now too. And you were all important to Tom. Do you really think he’d tell you not to hire more guards?”
“He’d tell you how fallible they are,” Wells answers, but she’s gotten to him, obvious from the worry divot in his brow line. The mention of Tom always does it. “Tom probably never told you, but his security guys didn’t detect us for two weeks when we were watching Ivanna. If we’d been one of the other teams searching for her, she’d be dead.” Wells sighs with a shiver, and my stomach recoils at the thought. “But he’d want as much security as possible while still letting Ivy have the most normal life.”
“That ship has sailed, Chief,” I interject. “Nothing about this life is normal.”
This conversation is driving home the truth of Frank’s concerns for Celeste. Danger will always follow us. But then again, who will protect her from it when she’s posing for frivolous photo ops with people wholly unaware of the gravity of her connections? Has he not considered that? How she’ll be left wide open. Unprotected.
Wells combs a hand through his hair, his dress shirt suddenly rumpled from wear and stress. “All the more reason to vet some guys for closer work.”
Natasha steps over to him, patting his cheek in thanks with maternal pride. Relieved.
But all I feel is panic sinking into my wrenched gut. And Ivy isn’t the girl I’m worried about.
CELESTE
My grandfather’s famous dazzling grin flashes on my phone screen. His photo is a candid shot, all charisma and charm. Thick hair that’s given over to the salt, concealing any remaining remnants of pepper. Eye crinkles, showcasing a life of boisterous smiles. Some of them genuine.
I groan but swipe the Answer button while I finish dressing in my two-toned camel-beige outfit—form-fitted top, slightly darker than my compression breeches. It’s as sexy as equestrian attire comes, slimming while accentuating my curves.
“Hello, Grandfather.”
“Celeste, dear. You sound well. Are you recovered from your lengthy trip and the holidays?” His gruff voice filters through the speaker, conveying a buoyant tone, but his reminder is threaded clearly into that question. It’s time.
My shoulders pull back instinctively, my body well acquainted with the poise expected. “Yes, sir. Thank you. I trust the new year is treating you and Grandmother well.”
“Quite. Your father has informed me you’re in New Orleans.”
Fully dressed, I pluck my eye makeup out of my cosmetics bag and apply my liner. “That’s correct. I’m visiting a friend.”
“Wonderful,” he chimes. “I have an assignment for you, although I have it on good authority that you’re well aware.”
Not yet. “Well, I—”
“Save the excuses, honey. You’re getting off easy here, mixing business with pleasure. There are two gentlemen eager to take out the coveted Miss Carver who have some engagements in the New Orleans area. It would mean so much to me.”
I don’t have it in me to begin this dating expedition when the only prize is landing a plastic man. The entire male species has been off my radar for months. Nearly all of them. I need to breathe. Accept. Prepare.
Play their game.
My eyes widen in the mirror as I sweep on my lash-lengthening black mascara. “That’s flattering, Grandfather. Perhaps on another trip. My days are already so packed.”
“So packed that you can’t return a call? You were raised with better etiquette than that,” he chides.
