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Shakespeare’s words: I would not wish any companion in the world but you.
Connor’s annotation: Nothing is truer.
His lips to my ear, he whispers, “‘Hear my soul speak.’” I feel his grin against my cheek.
Those four words are on this page too. He didn’t highlight them, but he drew an arrow to the line on top of a yellow sticky note.
It’s beautiful. My favorite play with his real thoughts combined.
My eyes lift from my book to Loren and Lily. They flip through them keenly, smiles expanding with each new page turned. I notice writing along the margin of the paper instead of sticky notes like mine.
“Yours is vintage,” Connor explains. “I didn’t want to write on the pages.” He knows me well.
“Thank you,” I breathe. Right then, Jane tugs on my hair. My head knocks into Connor’s from the sudden momentum. This is a sign.
He recovers before I do, and he places his hand on my forehead, which took the impact and wells with pain.
“This is what happens when I say something nice to you,” I tell Connor, the pressure of his hand stopping my forehead from throbbing. “The universe rebels.”
“You just equated our daughter to the entire universe, and I’m the conceited one?” He laughs once, inspecting the bump on my head. “You’re okay. Do you need ice?”
“Yes, for your ego.”
“My ego isn’t bruised. You must’ve really hit your head hard if you think it can be.” He winks. He winks—I huff, glare, and poke him with a finger, hoping my manicured nail digs into him.
He smiles more. “Yes?”
“Wait, what the hell did he get you?” Lo’s loud, edged voice cuts into my hot streak, his question directed to his older brother.
I now just notice the small, leather-bound journal in Ryke’s hands. Ryke really cheated last year. Connor wanted to learn more about everyone by reading our favorites, and Ryke handed him a blank journal—basically saying fuck you in a present.
I have no idea what Connor did to that journal. No one does but Ryke, and he barely flips through it. “It’s just the same thing I gave him.” Ryke clears his throat some, which means that Connor did write in it—but instead of sharing, he slides the journal into the back of his pants, like one would a handgun.
“Right where I love my gifts.” Connor smiles.
Ryke flips him off, putting his middle finger in front of the video camera lens.
“Your kids are going to love that someday,” Lo says.
Ryke gives him a look. “What kids?”
Daisy tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and then stands. “Anyone need coffee refills?” She collects her mug and mine.
“I’ll come with you,” Lily says, climbing to her feet and carrying Moffy. She disappears into the kitchen with Daisy, leaving me with the three guys.
Connor passes me the crossword. “C’est à votre tour.” Your turn.
“Dude,” Ryke snaps at his brother, propping the camera on the armrest. “I’d chuck a fucking pillow at you right now, but I don’t want to hit your kid.”
“Pillow fighting this early?” Connor banters.
He can’t slice through the frothing intensity. “I said someday,” Lo retorts. “Don’t get so bent out of shape over it.”
Ryke rubs his eyes wearily. “Sorry. It’s just everything—the surgery, I don’t fucking know.” He has to be nervous, regardless if the success rate is high or not. Once he comes out of surgery, the waiting game finished, he’ll be better. I have faith that he will be.
“You’re not dying,” Lo says adamantly. “Okay? You can’t die.”
“We all die sooner or later,” Connor muses.
I swat him with the newspaper, which is not as satisfying as poking him with my nail. He simply arches a brow. I scowl and return to the crossword.
The new word on the paper: Osculate
I…
I don’t know this word. I hesitate to reach for my phone and do a quick dictionary search in front of Connor. Osculate. I bet it’s slang for anal or maybe some kinky position that I’ve never heard of before.
Osculate, my brain repeats the word. Curiosity prevails and I procure my phone, bringing up a dictionary app. Out of my peripheral, Connor wears the most conceited, self-satisfied grin. He knows I’m confused.
“It better not mean anal,” I say tensely under my breath. I don’t think I’m ready for him to put anything in my ass.
“You’ll see.”
I almost recoil at his words. It’s worse than anal sex. What’s worse than that?
The definition pops on screen: 1. [mathematics] a curve or surface touching another curve or surface, having a common tangent point of contact.
What?
2. a kiss
I freeze. A kiss.
“The Latin word for kiss is Osculum,” he explains and then kisses the top of Jane’s head, his lips pulling higher, eyes right on me.
I do something out of the ordinary, unlike me, my heart blazing with fire. When he raises his head, I make the first move and kiss him on the lips, his surprise touching me for a split moment, not long enough for me to waver. His shock vanishes as he nips my lip and then kisses me harder, stronger—
Jane pulls my hair again, abruptly separating us. I try to remove her grasp and distract her with the lion, my neck heating at Connor’s silence.
“Say something,” I whisper to him.
He cups my face, lifting my gaze to his. His thumb strokes my cheek, his eyes soulfully blue. “I know I’ve married the right person when words turn you on as much as they do me.”
I read deeper into that, as I should.
Translation: I could only ever be with you, Rose.
[ 19 ]
ROSE COBALT
While I clean the wrapping paper after presents, I notice Lily suspiciously sneak upstairs, cautiously checking over her shoulder to see if anyone is watching her. Somehow she misses my beady, narrowed eyes.
I’ve been preoccupied this past week staging two scenes with Connor for Celebrity Crush—one of which was Connor kissing me against a brick wall, right outside of Lucky’s Diner.
We almost never kiss in public, so it was a front-page headline.
I worry I’ve been out of the loop concerning my sisters. Connor, dressed in khakis and a navy sweater, barely bats an eye as he passes her on the stairs, finished putting Jane in her crib for a nap.
“That wasn’t weird to you?” I ask him.
He doesn’t glance back at her. “Your sister is always weird to me,” he says. “She speaks in fragments and uses words like OTP and shipper.” Before my spine arches in defense, he adds, “I like weird. It’s better than normal.”
I drop the trash bag. “Well I think she’s up to something.” And I plan to find out. I march towards the staircase, realizing that he’s not following. I look back, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets. He’s acting suspicious too. “Are you joining me?”
“To investigate your sister based on her weirdness? I don’t think so.”
I point at him. “You’re going to wish you did.”
“I sincerely doubt that, darling.”
I choke on an irritated laugh and then perform a signature hair-flip. I stomp up the stairs, determination fueling my forceful stride. I feel Connor watching me, waiting for me to leave before he does. His caginess puts me on guard. Like I really need two Christmas mysteries.
I decide to stalk my sister first, trusting Connor more since I’m fucking him and he better believe my vagina will cast out his dick for a hint of betrayal.
Once I reach the top of the stairs, I immediately spot Lily standing outside my bedroom door, biting her nails.
She turns her head to the crack of the door and whisper-hisses, “Hurry up.”
If I had high heels on, she’d hear me. This is a clear case of fate. I’d shove this in Connor’s face, but of course he’s not here. I encroach her space quickly, and she jumps, almost falling against the w
all. She rights herself before she does.
“Rose!”
“Who’s in my room? Is it Loren?” I ask, edging past her easily and ramming the door open with my foot. Lily tries to grab onto my arm, but I am a one-woman bulldozer, steamrolling everything in my wake.
No one is in my room, but someone haphazardly threw my pillows on the bed, my vanity drawer left half-opened. A velvet blanket has been misplaced from the chaise to a nearby ottoman…also not in its proper spot by my Queen Anne chair.
