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9
Feels Right
I’m relievedwhen Romero and Lando announce that they’re spending the night. Part of me wants to be alone, and have a good long cry. Mostly, though, I’ll feel a lot better with them around.
The twins and I get busy in the kitchen making all our favorite treats. Romero sits at the table in the adjacent dining area, making notes on a yellow legal pad he brought in from his car and offering to be our quality control taste tester.
“You just want to know which ones to hog for yourself,” Bree teaseshim.
He shoots her a grin. “Naturally.” I get that little flare of jealousy again, and then he catches sight of the look on my face and summons me with a crook of his finger.
It was annoying when that cop did it, but for Romero I obey, feeling petulant and foolish at the same time. When I reach him, he grabs hold of a fistful of my top, right between my breasts, and uses it to tug me down so I’m bent over him. It’s a graphic display of ownership that my sisters, a few feet away, can’t possiblymiss.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Hey.”
“You’re mygirl.”
I squirm, uncomfortable at being called out. “Okay.”
“Kissme.”
I give him big eyes. “Now?”
“Uh-huh.”
Making out in front of my sisters is not my idea of a good time, but his raised eyebrow is a warning that I’d better not make an issue of it. Dipping a little lower, I try to give him a quick peck on the mouth.
As soon as our lips make contact, his hand cradles my face. He’s not exerting any force; just his touch is enough to hold me there. There’s no tongue, nothing but the brief pressure of my mouth against his; but when he eases me back a few moments later, his eyes are flecked with amber and my lips are tingling.
I go back to work with my feelings all in a jumble. For some reason, that almost chaste kiss is more disconcerting than anything else we’ve done so far. He’s just … staking a claim, that’sall.
But somehow it feels like more thanthat.
* * *
We’ve gotan impressive array of goodies assembled when Romero takes a call on his phone. “Hey, Lando.” He listens, and the expression that grows on his face is not one I can begin to fathom.
“You talked to Mom? Right. Yeah, I know how she is.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “So, incoming … any minute now.” His grin is wry. “Brace yourself, brother.”
He ends the call and looks at us. We’ve all stopped work, alerted by the curious tone of his voice, and are eyeing him uncertainly. “So, um …” he starts, then trailsoff.
“We couldn’t exactly help overhearing your end of things,” I say. “What does ‘incoming’ mean?”
“It means my family is on theway.”
“Your family? Like, your parents?” That gives me a strange feeling; I’m not sure if it’s good orbad.
“Like, my whole family.”
“How many people are we talking about?” Breesays.
He gives an eloquent shrug. “It could be anywhere from a dozen people to a hundred.”
“A hundred!” Bree shouts. “That’s crazy! Why are all these people …” She flings her arms out in silent entreaty.
“Invading,” Romero says gently. “That would be the word you’re looking for. It’s … well, word got around about your situation, and it’s their way of showing support.”
