Chapter 33

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First off, there can't be a third-act break because no one's together. (Calm down.)

Second off, there can be plenty of third-act betrayal.

Dun dun dun.

Rowan

Unknown: Hey, Boss. This is Chip and Lace. Briar's going through it right now because she's in love with you. As her closest friends, we've been monitoring your behaviors, and – congratulations – we like you.

Unknown: Scientific studies suggest that just knowing someone is in love with you can make you fall in love with them. Basically, if you weren't in love with Briar before, now you are. (Congratulations x2.) And, also, if you aren't planning to tell her anytime soon, reread this message.

Unknown: Wink wink. Nudge nudge.

Unknown: Btw. She's also in denial, so that should be fun to deal with. Good luck.

Emojis. Many, seemingly random, emojis.

Brushing my teeth with a spare toothbrush in the guest room down the hall from my room, I reread the message I got yesterday, right after Briar stopped pacing outside by the pavilion. For over an hour.

I did wonder what she was talking on the phone about for so long. Every time I dragged my attention away from work to look outside, she seemed to be focused on another lap, phone still crushed to her ear.

Never in a million years would I have thought she was spending so long discussing me.

The corner of my mouth tips up as I stuff my phone in my pocket and rinse out my mouth.

The black market ball starts this afternoon.

We'll make contact with our target and get whatever we need to unravel the Maxim Project before tonight. Before tonight, we attain their motive, their location, everything. Before tomorrow, we retrieve our hostages. Shortly after I'm done dealing with my parents, I'll invite Briar's over.

So we can discuss wedding plans.

The ring I bought last night winks at me from the nightstand when I leave the bathroom, and I snap the box closed before tucking it in my other pocket, with my burner. Parting two blinds, I peer out at the front driveway, where Briar's car remains untouched since last I saw it when I came home from the jewelers.

This is probably too far. Definitely, rather.

I skim my thumb under my lip as I release the blinds.

Oh well.

Toying with clever ways to propose, I exit my room in the same instant Briar exits hers. Looking dazed and beautifully disheveled, she combs her fingers through her hair. Mercifully, she's wearing actual clothes today. One of her Target outfits. A loose gray top and an ash gray pair of jeans. She's barefoot.

And precious.

I want to wrap her up and press her into my couch again, the wall, my bed. Any of the various surfaces she can't seem to stop herself from sitting on. I want to drop to one knee right now and ask her to be my wife.

But leading with desperation isn't exactly her MO, and I am trying my best to beat her at what she considers to be her own game.

She notices me, and her lips part, so I turn toward the stairs.

"Wait." Silent footsteps catch up to me, and her hand latches onto my shirt. "Rowan."

"Yes, love?"

Her fist twists my shirt, stretching it out. "Don't you dare."

"I take it my bed smells like you?"

Her forehead lands against my back. "Sure."

"I appreciate your services. What can I help you with this morning?"

Somehow, her sigh flows through the cotton of my shirt and hits my back. "I guess you're still acting weird. I just wanted to know what you meant last night. You think you're real cute and mysterious, but you're just treating me like an idiot when you could mean literally anything. I can't read your mind."

"Were you up all night trying to anyway?" I look over my shoulder at her when she rests her cheek against me, eyes downcast.

"Can't you just tell me what you meant? Stop being an—" She swears. Weariness consumes her, and she really has no business being so beautiful.

"You want me to tell you? And rob myself of living rent-free in your brain?" I plow on, and she trips after me. "Absolutely not."

Her presence bumps down every step as she tags along behind me. On the lower floors, laughter, discussions, and warmth already pervade. Jokes over coffee. Plans over bagels. Business as usual. Except, until very recently, none of this was usual.

Does Briar really think the good she's done for me and my family boils down to nothing because she has motives beyond helping us? Does she really think that using her powers for good makes her undeserving of the admiration that follows?

Last I checked, when you work hard to be the kind of person people want to be around, that work is nothing more or less than the depiction of your character.

People who manipulate other people to make their lives easier display a different kind of character entirely.

Briar needed Veleno to help corner the Maxim Project.

She did not need to help me feel like I could finally breathe for the first time in thirty-eight years.

Logic demands I recognize all the good she's done in my life. Logic demands I recognize that people don't blush on cue.

I've seen her wasted, begging for someone to take her misery away.

Sometimes when she looks at me I feel like I'm her only hope.

Often, when I look at her, I feel the same way.

What hurt her so badly she thinks she needs to keep the entire world at bay by pretending she's made up of make believe? How does she convince herself that moments like right now are just another part of her elaborate ploys?

Whatever caused her to lose herself, I hope she'll let me help find her again soon.

Reaching the kitchen, I secure an orange from one of the fruit baskets on the marble counter. Peeling it, I hand a slice back to my tag-a-long.

She shifts slightly, stares at the meager offering, then pouts. "That's playing dirty."

"Why? Are you allergic to oranges?"

"No…" She takes the slice and lifts it to her lips.

All around us, staff bustle, adhering to the four-month meal plan I put together around the time family members started to come by in the mornings. The color-coded schedule plasters the far wall, and the scent of porridge and bacon wafts into the air.

I pull off another slice.

"If you tell me what you meant, I'll kiss you," Briar murmurs.

"I can kiss you whenever I want."

"That's called assault."

"Only if you're unwilling." I give her another piece. "Would you be unwilling?"

Resting nearly her full weight against my chest, she settles at my side to nibble her orange. "Of course."

I kiss her forehead. "Pity. Aggravated assault is already on my list of crimes."

"Sexual assault isn't." Her gaze cuts toward me. "Right?"

"Gotta catch 'em all."

She frees a deep sigh. "Rowan, you shouldn't joke about that."

I really shouldn't. It's all I've been fighting against for months. And, yet… "Briar. Are you calling my humor criminal?"

Her eyes close as she presses her lips together. "That was terrible."

"Should be illegal, really." Curling my finger beneath her chin, I dip down for a kiss, taste citrus on her tongue, and hum. "Guess I'm not filling that Bingo spot today."

"You better never fill that Bingo spot," she mutters, holding up her hand.

I give her the last orange slice. "Not even if it's my last one, and we're playing coverall?"

"I don't think that warrants a response, pet."

"Not your pet, princess." Tossing the peel in the trash, I yawn and survey my happy family kitchen in what was never my happy family home. Life can change so quickly—even in the darkest shadows. "We have our meeting soon. Then we need to catch our jet to Pittsburgh. Is there anything else we need to do before we're thousands of feet in the air?"

"Go tux shopping."

"Antonio has already cleared the men who will be coming with us for backup. No one will get on or off the property surrounding the venue without someone who reports back to us knowing."

"So we have some time to go tux shopping?"

"Why are you so obsessed with getting me in a tux?"

Her head rocks back against my shoulder. "I'm very invested in seeing you cosplay as a penguin. Obviously."

"What kind of penguin?"

Her brow arches. "Does it matter?"

"Some mate for life. Others don't. So, yes, it matters."

Lifting an arm, she pokes me in the skull. "Why do you have random penguin facts up here, Rowan? Why are these things that you know? Explain yourself to me. In detail. With bullet points. Starting with an answer to what you meant last night."

I grab her hand. "I would, really, but we're going to be late to our meeting."

"No, we aren't," she says, but I'm already pulling her out the door.