Page 7 of Wrecked With You

His mouth twitches and even in the dim ambient light I can actually see the hint of color rising up his neck.

“Oh my God. You did propose. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”

“Not yet. But soon. I have the ring in my pocket.”

“Your pocket,” I repeat. “Here? Now?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Until it’s on her finger, I’m not letting it out of my sight. And even then, I’m not letting it get too far away.”

I feel my heart melt a little, which is not a common feeling for me. Yes, I’ve been known to tear up during the occasional sappy film when my sister forces me to watch them, but on the whole, relationships and the mess that goes with them really aren’t my thing.

Sure, I’ve had a few friends with benefits over the years, but that’s sex and laughs and a good time. Nothing serious. Because what’s the point? I’ve got Eliza. I’ve got my circle. And that’s plenty. The world’s a harsh enough place as it is, and the more you get close, the more you get vulnerable.

Still, I’m happy for Eliza. She’s practically floated through life ever since she and Quince got together again after a particularly bad parting many years ago.

He’s since redeemed himself a hundred-fold. And since he had a significant hand in saving my life and the princess, I have to admit I’m predisposed to liking the guy again.

Most important, I know he loves her.

“The mission,” he presses.

I hesitate, then nod. He came tonight to help me, no questions asked. And, yes, I might have suggested that Stark was okay with it, but I know damn well he didn’t believe it. Not when the briefing consisted of the two of us discussing mission specs in my Jeep outside a Taco Bell.

And, yeah, I sort of forgot to mention the part about my plan to kill Cane.

Bottom line, he deserves to know. And I should probably get used to the fact that Quincy Radcliffe is family, too.

Family. What a weird fucking word. When I was little, I thought it meant blood and birth and genealogical shit. DNA and genes.

But that’s bullshit. Blood isn’t family. Not the kind of family that counts.

“Our father was planning to sell us,” I tell him, surprised that the furious noise in my head translated to a whisper in the dark.

I see the pain cross his face, but there’s no surprise. I already know that Eliza has told him our story. And while she never knew that particular vile plan of daddy dearest, I guess it’s not a shock when you know about the rest of the evil that clung to that man.

“I never told Eliza, but I’ll understand if you tell her now. I know you two don’t like having secrets, and I probably should have told her long ago.”

He shakes his head. “She didn’t need to know, and you were doing what you’ve done your whole life. Taking care of her.” He reaches out and casually brushes my hand. “It doesn’t change a thing, but I want you to know it matters to me.”

I nod, then realize I’m looking down because there are tears in my eyes, which makes no sense whatsoever. Or maybe it does. Because he loves who I love, and that’s a good thing.

“So Cane was the buyer?”

I shake my head. “No, that was someone else. An entitled prick with fingers in industries both legitimate and not. But he’s dead.”

“And Cane was the next best thing.”

I nod. “He brokered the deal. He brokered a lot of deals. Still does.”

He nods slowly. “You should have told me before.”

“Would you have come with me?”

“Of course.”

I shrug. “Then what’s the difference?”

He rubs his temples. “Emma…” He trails off, then rubs his temples again. “Of course I would have helped. You know what I’ve done. Who I’ve worked for.”