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“I don’t like to be judgmental, but…” Ciaran started before he grabbed water from the fridge and chugged it. He drank enough ocean water that I didn’t blame him for wanting to get rid of the taste. “The three of you are delusional.”
“Aw, thank you.” Joan squeezed Ciaran’s shoulders. “Delusional people make for the most interesting conversations, don’t ya think? And won’t you look at that, Matty,” she said to me with some sort of familial pride, “Ciaran’s helping himself to the fridge.” She pinched Ciaran’s cheeks like an elderly aunt might do, if elderly aunts were twenty-two years old. “Already making yourself at home. Love it.”
“I need the nourishment before Prince Matthias has his manservant whip me,” Ciaran said as he helped himself to a slice of coffee cake that Franky had left on the counter.
Filipe snickered and Joan barked out a laugh. “I like your baby brother.”
“We’re not brothers,” I said the same time Ciaran said, “He’s not my brother.”
Joan and Filipe shared a look.
“Maybe they’ll warm toward each other,” Filipe added with a shrug.
Joan combed Ciaran’s wet hair from his face. “You really are a cutie. Look at those adorable freckles. And these shoulders,” she marveled, her hands cupping his shoulders. Ciaran’s smooth, muscular chest was bare since he had wrapped the towel around his waist. “I was expecting an acne-faced pre-teen, but you’re like an athletic stud.” She meowed at him, but it contained zero sexual undertones. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Thought you were seventeen,” I interjected.
Ciaran shook his head. “Today’s my birthday.”
“Happy birthday!” Joan gushed.
“Thanks.” Ciaran didn’t look too pleased about it.
“Still a little too close to jailbait in my book,” Filipe said, and tsked, a hint of suggestion in his tone.
I saw that Ciaran’s eyes went wide. He wasn’t slow on the uptake.
While Joan was a harmless flirt, Filipe, on the other hand, could turn on the charm in the blink of an eye. He’d be stony all day, like an emotionless statue, but then smile at someone, and they’d be puddles at his feet. My friend had movie-star good looks. Like a moth to a flame, I’d felt that pull myself.
My mood was getting darker and darker. I’d seen them put the moves on countless people, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to watch Filipe or Joan flirt with Ciaran right now. At any rate, he didn’t seem to be uncomfortable, as if he was used to people fawning over him.
“As much as I’m enjoying your verbal ménage à trois,” I said, “the brat and I need to get ready for the party.”
Ciaran went pink and I gave him an over-the-top smile.
“Give me your hand, Ciaran,” Joan said, yanking Ciaran’s hand before he even had a chance to move. She found a pen on the counter. “Here’s our numbers. If Prince Matthias or his manservant get out of line, text us, and we’ll rescue you, day or night. We promise not to get you into too much trouble.”
“I have a feeling I’ll be calling you in like five minutes.”
Joan kissed Ciaran on the cheek. “See you later, cutie.”
After that, she kissed me lightly on the lips. “Bye, Matty.”
“Text us tonight after the party,” Filipe said, though I knew he meant after I’d received the artifact from LAX. During the week, we’d made arrangements to pick up another priceless item tonight, and I’d sneak out after Dad’s gala.
With that, Filipe and Joan walked through the living room, and Joan yelled out, “Couch cushions look intact, Matty. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
I chuckled. Ciaran looked curious but he didn’t ask about Joan’s comment.
The front door closed and then, all of a sudden, I was alone with Ciaran. For some reason, my breathing became a bit more labored.
“Is that normal? The kissing everyone?” A shadow of confusion flitted over Ciaran’s face.
“For Joan, yes.”
“So I shouldn’t take it as anything other than she was being nice to me?”
