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Taking a deep breath, I step farther in. The guys’ eyes shine with pride as the first thing I do is head upstairs. My bedroom is spotless, exactly as I left it before the break-in, except with new bedding, yet I feel wrong being in here. I head downstairs to my studio. Everything there is clean and safe and I begin to relax.
This is my home.
Mine.
* * *
I spend the rest of the day on the phone with Jack, going over plans and finalizing things for the album. The cover launches in a few days, and I can’t wait for my fans’ reactions. This is the first music I’m putting out since I came back, and although I’m nervous, I’ve never felt prouder of my work. It’s me, it’s raw, and as long as I’m happy with it, that’s enough.
The guys are busy. They pick up Raff Jr. and I know he’s happy to be home, and despite their protests, they missed him too. They speak to the police and my managers, and they report in and check on me all the time. I tell them I don’t want to know anything. I trust them to look after me and do their job, so I let them do it. Instead, I focus on the million and one things I need to do, and before I know it, it’s one in the morning.
Sighing, I drag myself upstairs, and after showering, I stare at my bed. I climb inside, wincing, but as I lie here, staring at the ceiling, it feels wrong and cold.
It’s too empty.
Needing the safety I found in their arms, I climb from my bed and head downstairs to find them. I step into the first room I find, which just so happens to be Cillian’s. He’s sitting up in bed with Raff Jr. curled at his feet, the quilt pooled around his bare waist as he watches TV, but when he sees me, he smiles brightly, lifting the covers and welcoming me. I rush in, diving inside, and he wraps me in his arms. He kisses my head as I snuggle into his side, finally able to breathe . . . finally feeling safe.
“I’ve got you. You can sleep, babe,” he tells me, always knowing exactly what’s wrong without me having to voice it.
Looking up, I meet his bright eyes, his hair flashing with brilliant colors from the TV. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“You’d be fine. You’re so goddamn strong, but luckily, you will never have to know. I don’t plan on going anywhere, ever,” he whispers.
“Promise?” I search his gaze, knowing my tone is soft and vulnerable.
“I promise,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss me. “Now sleep. It’s been a long day, and you need your rest.”
Nodding, I curl into his side with a smile, looking at the TV to see the news there. Just as I’m drifting off to the sound and the hum of his heart, my name catches my attention. Cil isn’t fast enough to turn the channel, so I hear what they have to say about me.
One sentence rings in my ears.
Attention seeking bitch.
They think I’m a bitch?
Fine, I’ll be a bitch.
FORTY-FIVE
Idressed with one purpose in mind today—a giant fuck you to the people on the interview last night and the person who thought they could take this away from me. When I head outside, I make sure to leave the car parked on the street as I wave. Taking center stage is a giant, sparkling, bedazzled diamond hair clip saying, “Bitch.”
It’s petty, but I don’t give a fuck.
“Where to, Miss Harrow?” Raff smirks as we pull away, his hand snaking under my dress and stroking my bare thigh.
“The office,” I murmur, opening my legs to give him better access.
He leans closer, his breath hot and heavy on my ear. “And after, do we get you all to ourselves tonight? No interviews or parties?”
“Oh, I see how it is. You are using orgasms and sex to get me to divulge my secrets and schedule.” I laugh. “Tricky man, but very clever.”
“Well?” he responds huskily, sliding his hand higher to cup my pussy.
“Cruel, Raff, real cruel.” I groan, grinding into his hand. Cameras flash outside, but I know they can’t see anything, and even if they could, fuck them. I don’t care. “We have a party tonight, someone’s album release after-party, but other than that, I’m yours.”
“Good girl,” he praises. “Just for that, you get to come.”
“I fucking better.”
