Page 24 of Plain Sight

Jameson has a great time. Aside from Gabriel, he’s the brightest thing about the reception, shining until Mason ushers us off the dance floor and insists we make our exit.

That’s a blur of sparklers and people whistling and warm night air. August stands at the end of the line of people, taking the final photos of the night. He’s completely composed in his all-black photographer outfit, as if a kidnapping isn’t even close to being the craziest thing that he’s ever witnessed.

As Jameson is helping me into the car, I look over his shoulder. All our guests look tired and happy. The only people who look different from five seconds ago are August and Julien.

Julien stands to the side, slightly behind August, pinching the bridge of his nose with his head down. August has one hand on Julien’s shoulder and signs something with his free hand, low, where Julien must be able to see it.

It’s another few beats before Julien shakes his head and straightens, his shoulders rising and falling as he breathes.

Maybe August is the only one who’s fine with the kidnapping.

Not fine fine, just not shaken by it.

Then my view is blocked by Mason, who leans into the car with an apologetic expression.

“We’re all going back to my place. Sorry if you had other plans.”

“Who needs plans when you can have a family reunion?”

He laughs, then gets out of the way so Jameson can climb in.

At Mason’s penthouse, everyone is exhausted and slow-blinking. Charlotte rocks a sleeping baby Robin in her arms as she trails toward the bedroom. Mason follows her, scrolling on his phone.

“I think they left an extra team outside. Paranoid motherfuckers.”

“They’re not paranoid,” Gabriel sings from the opposite end of the room, where he’s standing with Elise, who rests her head on his shoulder, and Nate and Lydia, who lean unsteadily against each other. “We’re going to the guest apartment.”

“Pancakes,” Mason says. “Morning. Tomorrow morning.”

“Go to bed, old man,” calls Nate.

Mason waves him off with a fond, exasperated smile on his face.

We’re here because nobody wants us out of their sight, but I don’t want them out of my sight, either. My husband’s family. My family.

Our first stop is at Snowball’s cage in the kitchen. Jameson sticks his hand in and lets Snowball hop into his palm, then strokes his tiny head while he pecks at Jameson’s ring.

“Yeah. It’s new,” Jameson says. “Do you like it?”

Snowball tweets for what seems like a long time.

“Oh, please.” Jameson shakes his head. “I did ask for your input. You said this was fine before.”

More tweeting.

“Snowball,” Jameson sighs. “The wedding was a shitshow. I’m honestly glad you weren’t there. What if they’d gone after you?”

“I’m not glad.” I curl my hand over Snowball’s wings. “I should’ve carried you down the aisle in my bouquet.”

Jameson pouts at me, his eyes filled with betrayal. “Wow.”

“He feels left out,” I whisper.

“He feels tired,” Jameson whispers back. “It’s too late for a bird.”

He puts Snowball back into his cage, checks his seeds and water, and turns down the lights in the kitchen.

I’m asleep on my feet when Jameson helps me out of my dress and into the shower. He pulls the pins out of my hair and washes all the hairspray away and then he drags a chair into the bathroom and dries it, too.