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I chuckle at that. “I think Gucci makes one.”
“Oh, you simply must have it. Nothing but the best for my love.” Her eyes go wide and her mouth slack—panic combined with fear. Rowan had no intention of saying it, perhaps ever to anyone. It was a misstep, a slip of the tongue in a moment of humor. I want to make this easier for her, but I’m not sure if she’s going to lean into it or try to take it back.
Her face turns stony. I suppose there’s my answer.
“Shit. There’s no point trying to run from it; it’ll catch me.” Rowan takes my face into her hands, rubs my cheekbones with her thumbs. “I love you, Jules. I didn’t even know what that word meant before I met you.”
The sincerity in her voice hits me harder than the words. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard someone say it and really mean it, as though they’ve never been so certain of anything. “I love you, too.”
I think she’s going to kiss me. Instead, she envelops me in the tightest, warmest embrace, and it feels like I’ve found home.
Rowan sends me into the lounge to “sit down and enjoy a coffee” while she checks out with the concierge. I do as I’m told, mostly because I need caffeine, but also because, well, Yes, ma’am. I’m savoring the rich dark roast and the split view of the harbor and the street just as Teague’s electric blue Mercedes comes to a screeching halt outside the hotel’s main entrance. It’s so ostentatious, I couldn’t miss it, even if the grand foyer weren’t made entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows. The problem with windows is they offer no cover; all it would take for the whole world to catch fire is Rowan turning around and my cousin catching sight of her. I send a hurried text.
Teague’s here. Gotta go. Stay there.
I watch her retrieve her phone from her back pocket. Her posture changes as she reads the screen, spine straight and taut as a violin string. She texts back.
Good looking out. See you soon.
She leans against the high counter, and I head for the exit.
The doorman nods at me, grabs the long gold handle, and opens the door. I hit the pavement before Teague is out of the driver’s seat. He usually opens the passenger side door for me like he’s a chauffeur. It’s kind of gross how hard he licks my dad’s boots. “You got here fast. Just happened to be waiting for my father’s beck and call?”
He slips his sunglasses up his forehead and nails me with a glare. “Are you hungover, little cousin, or did someone piss in your cornflakes this morning?”
I can’t suppress my snickering. He’s not good for much, but his comebacks are spectacular. “Neither. I’m not looking forward to going home, is all.”
“I know. Hang in, you’ll be back at school soon.”
Don’t remind me. “Yeah.”
He guns the car onto Atlantic Ave toward Beacon Hill and my parents’ house.
I manage to cling to the remnants of my good mood by my fingertips as Teague and I ascend the steps of the wide front porch, past the white marble Roman columns, and through the frosted glass front door. But I lose my grip on it the second I set sights on my dad. He didn’t shave this morning and he wastes no time wagging his stubbly chin at me. “There she is! My daughter, the slippery eel, staying out all hours, no appreciation for the lengths I go through to keep her safe.”
I close my eyes, take a breath, open them. “Dad.”
“Don’t you Dad me. You told me you were going to go out and have a nice time with your friends, then come home. But what did you do? You didn’t come home and you conned Gino into leaving you alone, as if I wouldn’t find out. I have half a mind to shoot him!”
“Dad!”
“And you.” He looks past me and points a rigid finger at my cousin.
“Come on, Uncle Pat. She gave me the eyes!”
“I know all about those eyes, you little shit! And you should, too. You were damn-near raised in this house; you should be immune to them by now.”
“Now, now, Patrick.” My mother’s soft voice streams into the foyer from atop the winding double staircase. She seems to glide down it. Effortless. Effervescent. Now and again, I can see the woman she must have been before she married a gangster. She wasn’t always a nervous wreck; my father made her that way.
She rests a gentle hand on Dad’s shoulder. “How could Teague be immune to her when you’re not?” She smiles at him, and it is magic. I see his anger melt away like ice cream in August. He’s a bigger sucker for her than he is for me.
“Try to talk some sense into your daughter, please. Teague and I have business to discuss.” He motions at my cousin to follow him into his office. I couldn’t be more relieved they’re both gone.
“Jules,” my mother says. I know what’s coming next. “Have you eaten yet?” It’s the Italian in her. Food equals comfort, and her cooking always does.
“No.”
“I’ll make you some breakfast. Come sit with me in the kitchen.”
