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“We are not a group, Bee. There is no group. There is no anything.”
“That’s precisely what I’m trying to say,” she insists in weary exasperation. “We could be. We so could be if we were just honest with?—”
“I said no.”
She makes a bleating noise that anyone who knows Bee knows means you’re so fucking annoying and promptly rips the sheets right off the bed, pulling me to my feet along with them.
“Fucking hell.” I scowl down at her. “What’s gotten into you?”
“At least take her out today. That’s an order.”
I gawk at her incredulously. “You want me to take Wren? Out? Today?”
“Those are all the correct words in the correct order, yes. Congrats on your fantastic listening comprehension.”
She’s all fire and brimstone this morning, but I’m tired and in no mood for this shit. “Where? And why?”
“Anywhere they sell things. She needs new clothes, new things, new stuff for the baby. Honey as opposed to vinegar, remember?” Her eyes flash as she glares up at me. I’ve got half a foot on her and I still wonder sometimes if she’ll get the jump on me one of these days.
“And shopping is the way to do that?”
“It’s a freaking start!” she shouts, tossing my sheet onto the floor. “I’ll go tell her to get ready. You can leave in half an hour.”
“You’re not coming?”
She doesn’t slow down as she spins on her heel and charges to the door. “Sorry. Busy today.”
The door slamming shut is almost deafening. I know Bee well enough to know that she’s up to something; I just don’t know what.
And I don’t like that I don’t know.
When I walk into the kitchen twenty minutes later, Wren is sitting at the center island with a cup of tea and a plate of saltine crackers. I pause and frown down at the meager offerings.
“That’s all you’re eating?”
“Morning sickness,” she explains miserably, walking her plate and mug to the island.
I watch her as she goes. She’s wearing jeans and a loose-fitting white smock with thin straps over her shoulders. You can’t even tell she’s pregnant at all. Not that I’m looking at her stomach. I keep getting distracted by the way her ass looks in those jeans.
She sets her cutlery down in the sink and turns the faucet on like white noise to break up the awkward tension surging between us. “Bee tells me that you have some personal errands to run today and I’m supposed to assist,” she mumbles. I scowl with irritation and Wren hesitates. “Because I’m the, you know, head of your Personal Management team.”
I’m impressed that she manages to get through that title without rolling her eyes. “Let’s just go,” I sigh impatiently. “The sooner we start, the sooner we finish.”
I stay on my phone as we take the elevator to the ground floor. Pavel is waiting for us just outside the building, standing at lazy attention in front of my silver BMW. There’s a black Escalade parked right behind it with Anton behind the wheel.
“Where are Jasper and Bronn?” asks Pav as we approach, puffing on his vape.
“We’re having a changing of the guard.”
He exhales a cloud of apple-scented smoke in my direction, which I wave away with a grimace. “There you go again with all the royalty rhetoric. Don’t you find it all a little bit… oh, I dunno… self-aggrandizing?”
I hold the passenger side door open for Wren. “If the shoe fits.”
She screws up her face in distaste, but gets in silently. I shut the door and turn to Pavel. “I’ll take the wheel. You and Anton follow us and keep a lookout.”
He throws me a sloppy sailor’s salute. “Aye, aye, captain.”
The moment I’m behind the driver’s seat, Wren shoots me a furtive glance. “So… what are these personal errands you need to run?”
