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“You don’t want to trade in Connor today,” Ryke tells his brother, chopping the bell peppers on the other side of the sink. “He’s moody as fuck. I passed him in the hallway, and before I even opened my mouth, he told me to go bark to my owner.”
Loren eats a pepperoni. We’re never going to finish this pizza. “Huh,” he says. “I thought Connor was your owner.”
Ryke tosses a bell pepper at him. God, no. I don’t want to find random bits of food strewn along the floorboards.
“I’m serious,” Lo says.
“Yeah, me fucking too. I don’t know what’s up with him…besides the shit storm.” The shit storm. That’s what we’ve officially begun calling this round of media invasiveness.
Loren points at my face. “Could be that his wife’s all battered and he wasn’t able to stop it from happening.”
I jab the rolling pin in Lo’s direction. “It’s not Connor’s fault. He knows this.” My husband thinks logically and he’d know that there was no conceivable way he could’ve changed the outcome. I consider it fate. He considers it a terrible circumstance, dictated by the people surrounding me.
“Regardless, he’s probably still pissed at the paparazzi,” Lo tells me.
I don’t doubt that. I caught him on the phone in passing, and he seemed vexed. I suppose he’s calling extra security and other avenues to lessen our risk when we step outside.
We both get cooped up indoors for too long. Not like Daisy and Ryke who seek adventure through terrifying activities. Remove working at an office, and I like shopping, getting manicures, fine dining, and any reason to dress elegantly. Connor is always on the go with me, and when we slow down, it’s usually to spend more time with our daughter, my sisters, Loren and Ryke.
Connor and I have managed to keep our lifestyles intact, even with the media, but it’s becoming harder for us now. Taking our daughter to the pediatrician shouldn’t be a petrifying experience. And that’s before we even step through the fucking doors.
Ryke licks his finger and then touches another green bell pepper.
My eyes widen in horror. “Ryke!”
“What?” He looks around. “What happened?” He notices my glare. “What the fuck did I do?”
“Wash your hands,” I say. He touches my little sister with those hands. Don’t think about where they travel to and from, Rose. I shudder.
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest like Loren would have. Since he’s being nice and actually washing his hands beneath the faucet, I decide to shed light on their discussion.
“Connor is moody because I’m ignoring him,” I explain.
Loren frowns. “Why are you ignoring him?”
I wipe the counter. “He lost a quiz.”
Ryke shuts the faucet, both of them quiet.
“Wait, that’s it?” Loren gapes. “You’re serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” I train my fiery eyes on him.
“You look like you have to take a shit.”
I growl. “You’re disgusting.”
“You’re confusing,” he retorts. “I thought you two were the mature ones out of the six of us, and here you are, playing the silent treatment like ten year olds.” He laughs. “I think I’ve aged up in power rankings.”
“Hardly,” I say. “You’re still on the bottom.”
He rests his elbows on the bar counter. “Technically…I am your boss.”
I knew he was going to throw this into the universe one day. “You promised you would never say that if I came on board with Calloway Couture Babies.”
“I also don’t keep three-fourths of my promises, Rose.” Obviously. He’s not my husband.
I let out a breath, dusting my hands off for the umpteenth time. “I only have to ignore Connor for twenty-four hours. He’ll survive.”
Ryke gives me a look. “We don’t think he’s going to fucking die from it. He’s just not himself.” He shrugs. “He usually spends five fucking minutes trying to get me to hold a conversation and banter back, not shut me down before I even speak.”
“Just text him,” Loren combats.
“Focus on your pepperoni, Loren,” I reply icily.
Ryke notices me scrubbing the counter again. “Let’s trade.” He sets down his knife and the pepper.
“I can do this just fine,” I argue.
“I’m not saying that you can’t, but at this rate, we’re not going to be eating dinner until tomorrow morning and I’m fucking hungry.”
It’s hard surrendering a task, even something as simple as this. I’m still clinging to things I can achieve, control and master when the paparazzi have made that difficult for me.
Ryke says, “I’m not stomping on your territory. Just let me roll the fucking dough.”
I hesitantly relinquish this job, cleaning my hands on a towel again. I’m not one of those people who can smear flour on an apron. Mine is too pretty for stains.
We switch places at the same time, and Lo says, “I have to ask you something.” I think he might be speaking to his brother, but when I look up, his eyes are set on me.
His sharp cheekbones become more defined, guards lifting as though this is serious.
“And…?” I wait for the bomb. Don’t let Lily be pregnant. Don’t let Lily be pregnant. I cannot imagine a pregnant sister in the media shit storm right now. I’ll have a coronary every time we leave the house, worried that someone will bump into her too hard or knock her down. I’m sure her mental state won’t be any better.
“The press keep questioning Willow at Superheroes & Scones,” he says. “They think she’s my cousin, so they’re going after anyone remotely close to you and Connor for answers.”
His half-sister is accessible, or at least more so than the rest of us who hide behind bodyguards and gates.
“Yesterday, she was followed back to her apartment,” Loren adds.
My jaw unhinges. That’s unacceptable. “By who?” I ask, ready to hunt them down with pitchforks. I may not be Willow’s closest friend, but she’s family by extension of Loren. I’d use every tool I have in my arsenal to protect her, just as I would him.
“You can put away your talons. I already tracked down the guy and threatened to have him arrested for stalking.”
“We,” Ryke clarifies. He was in on it too.
Lo nods. “I really don’t think it’s safe for her right now.”
There’s a clear solution. “We have three vacant guest rooms on the east wing. She can choose hers.” We bought an eight-bedroom mansion for a reason—we knew these rooms would fill up. Maybe more so by our chi
ldren, but when your long lost half-sister stops by, a room should always be available.
“Are you sure? You can think about it.” He’s being considerate because of my “battered” face and the stress of the media. Otherwise, I doubt he’d ask.
“She’s your family. What is there to think about?” I cut the core out of the pepper and scrape the seeds into the trash bin.
“Thanks,” he nods a couple times. “I’ll ask her to move in tomorrow. I’m pretty sure she’ll say yes this time.” She chose not to live with him in the beginning, but she should be more comfortable now that she’s gotten to know him and us.
I slice the pepper perfectly even. “I don’t know why Lily calls us the hot-tempered triad,” I tell them. “We’re all really civil right now, especially since we’re all armed.”
Ryke raises his empty hands. His biceps flex at the motion, wearing a sleeveless gray shirt.
“Your muscles are weapons,” I retort. It sounds dumb, even if it’s logical. He has a lean build from running and climbing, but his muscles are so defined that it’s hard to imagine an ounce of body fat.
“Jesus Christ, don’t compliment his muscles,” Lo says. “He’s unnatural.”
Connor comes close, but his brains are sexier than anything else he has.
“I’m a fucking athlete,” Ryke refutes. “And your wife made a lame name for us.”
“Hey”—Loren points his knife at Ryke this time—“don’t insult Lily.”
“Hot-tempered…whatever the fuck. I can’t even finish it.”
“Don’t be an ass,” I tell Ryke.
He extends his arms at me. “You were just fucking agreeing with me, were you not?”
“I changed my mind,” I say. “I’m allowed to do that.” I will always side with my sisters…unless they’re against my daughter. Then I will side with Jane, but she’s too young to be a part of these matches.
I’m excited for the day when she discovers her own voice. I won’t bar her from having opinions or choices—and I know it doesn’t seem important, but I can’t wait to see what kind of fashion she leans towards, to see if her tastes diverge from mine.
