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“We’ll get there with our next quarterly bonuses, honey,” Evan says, looking at his bride with so much newlywed love that it inspires me.
That’s definitely a better muse for book three. I got Ryker and Amber back together after their trouble, but I’ll need fresh drama, and then maybe I can find a way to have them renew their commitment to each other in some sweet, private way.
Fresh drama . . . maybe a kidnapping? Or what about a coma? Meh, a bit soap opera . . . but I’ll figure it out.
“Thank you, you guys. Eloping is an awesome idea,” I tell them as I tap my forehead, storing that idea away for later consideration. Connor glares at me, and I assure him, “For a story. I’ll explain later.”
Closing his eyes, he pinches the bridge of his nose for a long second before striding over to the bar. He pours a double shot of scotch and drinks it in one swallow without making a face despite the burn that must be searing his throat right now.
I sit on the other couch and point at the chair next to Robert, telling Debra she should sit too. “This is about to get good.” Slowly, she does, but she’s tenser than a virgin asshole lubed in lemon juice.
Connor turns around, leaning on the bar. When his eyes meet mine, I expect to see resolve, excitement, maybe even some gloating, considering he’s about to throw his family’s preconceived notions about him in the gutter and piss on them. But what I see is doubt, uncertainty, and an overwhelming amount of fear. We talked about this before asking for this dinner, and I know he’s worried that even the truth won’t be enough.
But I believe in happily ever afters, and I have enough faith for the both of us. Hell, if I can forgive him and he can forgive me, surely, his parents will understand if given a little time and the whole story.
“Connor,” I tell him, “hit ’em with the biggie first. I wanna see their faces when you tell them.”
He grits his teeth, and before my eyes, I see him gather his courage. Slowly, so slowly I hope to not be noticed, I pull my phone out. But Connor, always aware of everything, sees. “No filming it, Poppy.”
I want to argue, to explain that right now I’m more in awe of him than ever before, but that wouldn’t help Connor. So instead, I crack a grin. “Spoilsport. I think it’ll be funny . . . later. Much later.”
He growls, and I shrug an apology, putting my phone down on the coffee table so it stays in plain sight before placing my hands on my crossed legs and smiling innocently.
“I’ve been lying to you for a long time,” Connor starts.
Robert interrupts with a snort. “Is this supposed to be news?”
Debra places a staying hand on Robert’s arm, hissing his name.
“What? Like that’s headline worthy?” He moves his arm away from Debra to swipe it through the air like he’s reading a newspaper headline. “Connor’s a liar. If you remember, I was the one who had to go bail him out when he got picked up. And this whole ‘consultant’ shit? Like you believe that either.”
Debra pales, letting us all know that Robert’s telling the truth. Connor’s parents have assumed he’s been a crook this whole time.
Caylee interrupts her parents’ arguing, hoping to save this disaster before Leonardo DiCaprio signs up to play the lead in the movie adaptation. “Connor, I’m hoping there’s more to this big announcement?”
Anger swirls in the room, from Connor to his parents and back again. And I know that I need to help Caylee get this back on track.
“Tell them the rest.,” I encourage Connor. “Just do it.”
Connor snorts, much like his father just did. “They don’t even deserve to know.”
“Maybe not,” I concede, “but you deserve to tell them. And besides, Caylee should know the truth, if nothing else.”
Our conversation has at least shut Robert and Debra up as they look from Connor to me, realizing that there might actually be something they don’t know. Connor inhales deeply and looks at his sister, then me, and continues on.
“You’re right. Okay, here it is. I’ve been lying to you for a long time, and no, I’m not a consultant. I work for the FBI, mainly undercover. Or well, I was until last week when I essentially retired.”
The room goes so still and quiet that we could be filming one of those mannequin challenge videos. No one breathes or moves a muscle. Suddenly, Robert starts laughing. Debra tries to smile, not sure if this is some elaborate joke we’re playing.
Robert looks to me, his eyes bleary with disbelief and scotch. “Girl, you’d best get away from that one. He’s no good. Worse than I thought if that’s the line he’s telling you.”
