Page 90 of Cross + Catherine: The Companion

Cross rolled his eyes upward. “You don’t have to like it, Naz.”

“She’s not even going to have a chaperone!”

“She doesn’t need one.”

“And what if they—”

“Shut up, Naz,” Cross interjected with a smile. “You do not get to decide when your sister can date, or whom she can date, for that matter. We have talked about this again and again. What I told you has not changed.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Nope.”

“But—”

“Don’t even start,” Cross warned.

His too-smart-for-his-own-good son glowered. Laughter from the other men at the table colored up the kitchen once more.

The sound of heels clicking against hardwood floors quieted them all. Soon, sixteen-year-old Cece strolled into the room looking every inch the princess that was nearly a queen. Catherine followed close behind their daughter.

Cross smiled at Cece when she came to a stop at his chair—the head of the table in his own home, always. He expected his girl to be done up in a dress with full hair and makeup as she usually did.

Instead, she was just as beautiful in skinny jeans, a blouse, with her hair in loose waves, and just a little bit of red to color her lips.

“Well?” Cece asked.

Cross reached for his daughter, and pulled her in close enough to kiss her forehead. “You look beautiful. Have a good time.”

Cece beamed. “Thanks, Daddy.”

A horn honked outside the Newport home.

“Go,” Cross said. “I think you—” And me, he added silently. “—have probably made him wait long enough.”

“Okay.”

Cece gave him a kiss to his cheek, and then headed toward the kitchen entryway where her mother was still waiting. She just made it to there when Cross called over his shoulder, “And do make sure Juan hasn’t forgotten my little chat with him.”

His daughter sighed. “Yes, Daddy.”

Cece was not out of the house more than two seconds before Naz huffed, and stood from his chair. Naz, too, left the kitchen without a word.

Catherine took her son’s spot at the table. “He’s really not happy with this whole Cece going out on dates, is he?”

“Well, at least he managed not to say something to Cece,” Calisto said.

Cross glanced at his father. “Wait for it.”

“What?”

He knew his son well.

Too well.

Once, Cross had been Naz … in a way.

Cross held up a single hand, and started counting down fingers silently like they were seconds.