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She studied me like I was deranged. “Of course I like him.” Her mouth gaped open. “You can’t possibly be jealous!”
I didn’t bother to deny it. I glared at her, holding up a finger. “If he steps so much as one inch out of line with you, I will know about it, he will be fired, and I’ll make sure that you never see him again.”
“He would never step out of line,” she defended.
“See that he doesn’t, or you lose him. Understood?”
“Understood. It’s just a stupid nickname.”
“You like it,” I accused. “I saw the way you smile at him when he says it.”
She didn’t bother to deny it. Instead she crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared me down.
“Am I invited to this non-birthday party you’re having?” I tried to smile engagingly as I asked the question. I was pretty certain by the widening of her eyes that it came out as more of a grimace.
She sighed, stepped to the side, and waved me in. “Why not? I’m warning you, though, you’ll probably be bored.”
She was wrong. I didn’t find it boring at all. Watching her with her close group of friends—because that’s what they were (regardless of the fact that my family paid half of them)—her friends, was unsettling to me, and far from boring.
It was a small group that consisted of Jovie, Chester, Vincent, and one new addition.
It was a rail thin boy who looked all of sixteen, with silver hair, up-tilted eyes, and an impish smile.
“This is Santi,” Noura introduced him.
The boy beamed at me. “Nice to meet you,” he said in a soft, musical voice. “I’m your wife’s new roommate.”
I blinked at him stupidly. “Excuse me? I think you’re going to have to repeat that last bit.”
Noura tried her best to do damage control. “He’s staying in Chester and Vincent’s apartment while he’s between places,” she said quietly, moving close so only I could hear. “Your father approved it, and Chester did a thorough background check. He’s a really nice guy. Please don’t be mean to him.” She said it all in a furious rush, her eyes on mine beseeching.
I didn’t begin to know how to say no to her when she looked at me like that. And that worried me. A lot.
“Can you give us a minute?” I asked the room, but I didn’t wait for an answer, pulling her into our bedroom and shutting the door.
I studied her intently. She fidgeted, looking anywhere but at me. I felt something move through me, a new and intense tenderness I was quite afraid I’d never felt anything close to before. It was worrisome. And addictive. “When did this new development occur?” I asked her quietly.
She stopped fidgeting and looked at me. Really looked, like she was trying to find answers as much as I was. “Two days ago.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Well enough to know he’s a sweet boy who just needs a little help.”
I sighed. I couldn’t turn the poor kid away, not when she looked at me like that, with a glimmer of hope in her eyes like she’d beg me if I pushed her too hard. “Do you have to adopt every misfit you meet?”
She smiled, looking down at her clasped hands. It was a warm smiled, turned both outward and inward.
The sight made me a touch dizzy. The power this girl had over me—if she tried to use it even a little—I shuddered at the thought.
“My mother used to do that too,” she remarked quietly.
I stared at her. This was new. She never talked about her parents or her family. She never talked about her background at all.
“Your mother used to adopt every misfit she met?” I asked carefully.
She chuckled and I felt myself smiling with her. “They aren’t misfits. They’re just . . . different. And my mom was like a magnet for interesting people. People with different views of the world, different things to say. I always loved that. She wasn’t friends with people because they were like her. She brought new things into her life with her friendships, not more of the same. It was one of my favorite things about her.”
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