Chapter Six

The rest of the day was a cluster.

As soon as Ransom came back, he kicked Lisa, Tom, and the kids out and dragged me to my room.

“You’re staying in today, Princess,” he said, no particular tone to his voice as he threw me in there without so much as an explanation.

Something had definitely gone wrong for him while he’d been out with Tom. I doubted it had anything to do with me. I’d been here all along, getting to know Tom’s family. Lisa was a cool chick for sure. She collected Toulouse-Lautrec prints and had one of the most extensive collections outside France. And she was big on sustainable, green living, just like me. We even exchanged numbers and emails. I could only imagine what kind of hell Ransom would have put me through had he suspected I was forming connections with people from his real life.

“I’m not your prisoner.” I kicked around haphazardly as he carried me to my room, more curious than upset, really. I dragged my feet over the stairs to make it hard for him. Unfortunately, he seemed completely unfazed by my weight and tucked me under his arm like I was no more a burden than the morning newspaper.

“Agreed,” he said, surprising me. “But I need to sort out some shit today. I’ll call Max to keep an eye on you. He’ll let you out of the room, but you have to stay home for the time being.”

“Why?” I demanded breathlessly, after he put me down on the floor in my room. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“But something did. Are you doing side hustles now?” I flat-eyed him, desperate to make him feel as small as he made me feel. If he got himself into trouble, and I wasn’t a part of it, it pretty much meant he was dragging me down with him.

He gave me a pitiful look. “Stop talking.”

“Stop breathing.”

“Your parents will be disappointed to learn you’ve made no progress in the shrew-taming department.”

“Good. Means I’m wearing you down. Maybe you’ll decide to quit soon. Or better yet—have a heart attack.”

He slammed the door in my face, then locked it. I found myself wishing he were dead. The heat and rage with which I hated him stunned me.

Which reminded me—today, I found a voice message from my mother on my phone. She was careful to leave it at four in the morning Pacific Time, when she knew I wasn’t going to pick up.

“I hope you are doing okay, and that you understand we only did what we had to do. We worry about you, Hallie. We’ll talk when you calm down.”

But when I called back, she didn’t pick up. Hera wasn’t kidding. They really had decided to cease all communication with me and get reports from Ransom.

Well, if the mountain won’t come to Mohammad…

It was time to pay the Thorne family a visit.

As if reading my mind, my sister’s name appeared on the phone screen in my hand. I felt slightly alarmed. Hera did not call me all that often. Maybe once a month to tell me how big of a screw-up I was. My existence seemed to embarrass her, but not enough to warrant an interaction with me. Sometimes I wondered, if my parents had known what kind of woman I’d grow up to be—would my mother still have chosen to keep her pregnancy with me?

I swept a finger over the screen and put my sister on speaker.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound neutral, but fully preparing myself for a verbal whiplash.

“Hey, are you feeling better?”

“No.”

“Great. That must mean you’re making progress. When are you coming here?” She sounded disinterested and a little annoyed. Like I somehow should have predicted she wanted to talk to me and called her myself to save her fingers the stress of dialing.

“Never, if it’s up to Mom and Dad,” I joked. Flinging myself onto my bed, I began browsing through online catalogs on my phone. I could never just speak on the phone without doing something else. It seemed like such a waste of time.

“Yeah, well, the rehearsal dinner is in a few weeks, and you’re invited. So.” She left her sentence hanging.

I liked how she said I was invited. Like your sister has to be invited to your wedding. I knew, in fact, there had been discussion of leaving me out. And though it didn’t surprise me, it hurt me a lot. Craig, her fiancé, and I didn’t exactly get along.

“We still have weeks until then.”

“You need to come for the dress measurements,” she countered flatly. “Plus, it’s been a long time since you paid Mom and Dad a visit.”

“Well, when do you want me in Dallas?”

“Next week.”

“Next week?” I felt my hands becoming clammy, and my feet going cold.

“Yes,” Hera said impatiently. “There’s a lot to discuss. Just book a ticket, will you?”

“I—I can’t,” I stuttered.

“You never miss measurements for a premiere or a new club opening,” Hera drawled.

Actually, I recycled dresses like crazy, but when had Hera ever taken the time to get to know me?

“Random—I mean, the bodyguard—took my credit cards. I don’t have a way to book tickets.”

“Oh.” The surprise in her voice gave me a glimmer of hope. Maybe she’d step in and tell Mom and Dad how horrible he’d been to me. “I’ll give you my credit card details.”

Her spurt of altruism surprised me to a point I almost felt touched, which I hated myself for. I lived on those crumbs of small gestures from my family.

“But don’t go crazy. Just buy what you need, or I’ll tell Mom and Dad.”

“Okay. Thank you.” I had no idea what else to say with some level of dignity.

“And please pack some respectable clothes, if you have any.”

By the chatter around her, about polish colors and different foot treatments, I could guess she was getting her manicure. Hera always got the same thing—a short, natural, gelled French manicure. “I mean, I know you’ll never cover those horrid tattoos, and I can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. But can you at least wear something that doesn’t scream dominatrix in a sex club?”

Sex club. Sometimes I suspected my twenty-nine-year-old sister was actually ninety-two.

“I serve at your pleasure,” I joked. “Consider it done. And I—”

I started to tell her that I was excited for her, but she’d already hung up on me, as I was midway through spewing sentimental words at her.

I used her card to purchase a plane ticket to Dallas, and booked myself a nice suite in the Fleetwood Mansions of Tortoise Creek. A cool one grand a night, but surely, my only sister would not want me sleeping in a dumpster while I visited my family.

Hera knew as well as I did that I refused to stay at my parents’ house. I didn’t feel welcome there, and for a good reason. My parents always berated me—about my clothes, my manners, my walk, my grades. But even if they hadn’t, I simply couldn’t feel safe. Not after what happened there the first time.

Or the second time.

Or the third.

Anyway. So here we were.

I heard Max walk through the door and exchange some words with Ransom and felt a deep sense of relief. I’d been feeling like a caged animal these last few days. Claustrophobia closed in on me.

I wondered if the meat in Ransom’s closet had already started decomposing. I hoped so. Maybe it would remind him of his rotten soul.

A few minutes after I heard one of my cars drive off—Ransom felt very comfortable using my things—the door to my room was unlocked.

“Decent?” he called and knocked.

“Sure.”

Max appeared in front of me. He tipped an imaginary hat down, all chivalry and sugar.

“Cinderella.”

“Prince Charming.” I stood taller, my tone several notches colder. Nice or not, Max was still a man and I needed to remember that. “You’re late, as always.”

“Want me to accompany you anywhere?” He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. Clearly, he was happy to see me, and it made me feel uneasy. I was not used to people genuinely liking me.

“Didn’t you hear?” I grimaced. “The tyrant forbade me to leave the house today.”

“That true?” He rubbed his upper lip. He was blushing. Again.

“Didn’t he say?” A lesser woman would exploit Max’s obvious disorientation next to her to her advantage.

“Must’ve forgotten. Man, I dropped the ball on that one.”

Rolling my eyes, I fell back into a heap of silky sheets. “I’m so over your boss.”

“He means well.” Max winced. “How ’bout a movie? I’m not supposed to be doing recreational stuff on duty, but…”

“Only if I get to choose.”

“You’re going to choose something super girly, huh?” He rubbed his chin.

“Hello. Hi. It’s me. Duh.”

But once we settled in the living room, we opted for the new James Bond installment. Max wanted to see the action and pretty women, and I wanted to see Daniel Craig existing, just in general. We shared a popcorn bowl and two cans of diet soda. I convinced myself to take a deep breath and enjoy the moment. Forget about Ransom. Which could have been easier, had Ransom not burst into the house an hour after the movie started, sweaty and shirtless.

The shirtless part was really tragic, because he looked so incomparably hot next to Daniel Craig. Long and lithe and muscular. The ridges of his six-pack were glistening with his sweat. He must’ve been running. I stared at him, open-mouthed. I didn’t even care that I was gawking. Surely, he was used to it.

“What’re you doing?” he demanded, parking his hands on his narrow waist. Even his fingernails were perfect. Square and clean and…focus, Hal. Focus.

“Staring at the worst human alive, willing him to burst into flames on the spot?” I batted my lashes angelically.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Ransom barked.

Oh.

Max stood up. His face looked like it was about to explode. “Sir.”

“Don’t sir me,” Ransom clipped. “You’re not supposed to shoot the shit with the ward.”

“I know,” Max hurried to say. “I know. I’m sorry, it’s just that she said she was not permitted to leave the house—”

“She isn’t,” Ransom cut in dryly. “You were briefed about this.”

“Yes,” Max said gravely. “Yes, I was. My apologies. I just think she’s still adapting to the new situation and wanted to keep her company. I figured if I could keep an eye on her while…”

“Also keeping an eye on a Bond girl?” Ransom finished the sentence for him. “I should demote you to the office stapler for this.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” I threw my hands in the air. “Stop being such a huge baby, Ransom. Half the time you don’t even look at me, too busy on your computer. Don’t lecture others about professionalism.”

The men whipped their heads to stare at me. Both looked shocked. Neither looked happy. I’d just dropped a truth bomb squarely on its target.

“Max,” Ransom said, his intense, darkened gaze set firmly on me. “Get out. I’ll talk to you this evening.”

“Yes, sir.”

Max scurried away, but not before saying goodbye to me. I liked that he stayed sweet and apologetic, even when Ransom was on his ass. I tried to stand a little taller, extending my spine as much as I could and tilting my chin up. I wasn’t going to cower in front of this bully.

He got in my face, scowling. His eyes were a peculiar shade of green today. Like an eternal forest. A sick thought entered my mind. How proud and cocky Mrs. Lockwood must be to have a son as gorgeous and accomplished as Ransom. I wondered how many girls he’d dated. How many he brought home. How many he took in the back of his beat-up truck I spontaneously decided that he’d owned as a teenager.

“Your phone’s ringing,” he said, making me break our stare-off to look down at the coffee table, where my phone was sitting.

“It’s Wes Morgan.” I cringed, remembering that awful night that led to Ransom becoming a part of my life for the next six months. “I promised him a photo-op if he gave me a ride home.”

It sounded supremely stupid, now that I listened to it with my own ears. It seemed a million years away from where I was today, from this new reality of mine.

“Chivalry isn’t dead,” he deadpanned.

“It wasn’t completely his fault—”

“It was. He called the paps.”

“Anyway, I don’t want to handle it.” I sighed.

“I will, then.”

Ransom studied me quietly, waiting for an okay. I felt triggered by how hot he was. How was I supposed to stand my ground when he looked like a book boyfriend?

Still staring at me with a death glare, Ransom swiped the phone from the granite coffee table between us and put the call on speaker.

Oh, God.

Oh, no.

Oh, why.

“Heyyyy, gorgeous.” Wes popped his gum loudly on the other line. “How about that photo-op? Feel like a trip to the zoo together? We can kiss by the bird cages.”

“The only trip you’ll be making is to the cemetery if you ever call this number again.”

Ransom was so stoic, so collected, his tone sent a chill up my spine. I had no doubt he meant those words. I also had no doubt Wes was dumb enough not to understand the graveness of the situation.

A brief pause on the other line was followed by Wes’ demands. “Who’s this? Do you know who I am?”

“Unfortunately,” Ransom said conversationally, leaning a hip against the credenza. “A meathead with a receding hairline and a reality show. Got a whole dossier on your ass. A hundred and thirty pages long, if you feel like a quick summer read. That’s how I also know you cannot possibly let your reality gig die while you owe 250k in unpaid plastic surgery.”

I knew those biceps weren’t real!

“Holy shit!” Wes exclaimed. “H—h—how? I mean, who—”

“Now, and let me introduce myself,” Ransom continued. “I’m your biggest nightmare. I eat men like you for breakfast. And I’ve been appointed to help Miss Thorne rehabilitate her reputation—a reputation which you tarnished—meaning she’ll be staying far away from you. You are not to contact her ever again, understand?”

God save the girl who was going to become this man’s daughter. Might as well tattoo the word UNDATABLE on her forehead.

In other news: I was impressed by Ransom’s research on Wes.

“Geez, man. Okay. Okay,” Wes whined. “Can I at least—”

“No.” Ransom hung up, handing me my phone back. “Case dismissed.”

I took it, staring at him in pure horror. “I noticed. You should try your hand at politics. Such finesse.”

He turned around, about to go up the stairs, probably to take a shower. I cleared my throat, bracing myself for the conversation we were about to have.

“I’m traveling to Texas.” I dropped the bomb, making him stop in place, his back to me.

He turned around slowly, looking at me with mild curiosity. Was it just me or did he actually look relieved? Whatever was on his face, it was an emotion. The Robot had an emotion. And it wasn’t a bad one, either.

“We are?” he asked laconically.

“I am,” I corrected him. “There’s some stuff ahead of my sister’s wedding I need to tend to. She’d rip my head off if I missed the dress fitting. I already booked a ticket and a hotel and everything.”

“With what credit card?”

“Hers.”

His eyes darkened. The man wasn’t used to being outsmarted.

“I’ll need the dates and flight arrangements. We’re going to be rooming together. Separate beds.”

“Over my dead body!”

He shrugged. “Not my favorite sleeping arrangement, but whatever works for you.”

He took the stairs up. I trailed behind him, pleading my case.

“Random, you can’t be serious.”

“Deadass, as you influencers say.”

“People will talk.” I went for the weakest excuse possible.

“People aren’t that interested in you,” he countered.

“Are you kidding? The media is obsessed with me. I’m a hot mess. I swear, it’ll be all over the news, and super counterproductive to us trying to clean up my act.”

He gave me a what of it glance.

“You’ll never be able to show your face in public again!” I squirmed, attempting to snatch the hem of his running shorts.

“Never cared too much about the public.”

“But don’t you care—”

“No.”

“Random—”

“It’s Mr. Lockwood to you.” He stopped at the top of the stairs, whirling toward me like a storm. “Listen carefully here, Brat. My job is to protect you. I cannot do that from two doors down the hallway in a hotel. This trip is going to have maximum security. I am going to get hooked with local agents who’ll sweep the hotel, prepare exit routes, and install cameras and motion sensors, which will be wired to an operation room in a neighboring suite. You’re under my supervision, under my care, which means that you’ll be operating under my sole jurisdiction. Not sharing a room together is not an option.”

“Random,” I insisted. He’d called me Brat. “Am I in any kind of danger? This all seems so…excessive.”

“Possibly,” he said, and for the first time, he sounded honest. “You’re the daughter of one of the most prominent presidents in American history. And thanks to your social media antics, every single idiot with an electronic device knows where you live.”

“All right.” I sighed. “If you think it’s necessary.”

“I do.”

We stayed frozen on the spot, a step away from the second floor.

Ransom frowned. “What’s the catch? It’s not like you to follow simple instructions without kicking and screaming.”

“There isn’t one,” I said, bypassing him and making my way to my home gym at the end of the hallway.

Maybe I was in danger. If I was, I definitely didn’t want to get hurt just because I was trying to prove a point to this jerk. Plus, it had to be said—watching Ransom in various stages of undress while sharing a suite with him would not be the worst of punishments. How had Ransom’s rampant sexiness been able to stir a little reaction in me?

I’d been dormant for so long…what if I could really get turned on?

Was it him, or timing? Was I ready to meet someone, date…? If I wasn’t horrible to him, maybe he’d actually let me live my life and I could get out there and see if I had chemistry with someone else. He didn’t seem to be anywhere closer to quitting this job early. Perhaps learning how to live with this beast for six months wasn’t the end of the world, after all.

“If you’re up to something…” He narrowed his eyes.

I waved him off. “So skeptical. People are capable of altruism, you know?”

“Highly debatable.”

“Well, debate yourself because I’m going to hit the gym and blow off some steam.”

I disappeared into my home gym, bypassed the elliptical, treadmill, and weight rack, and went straight to the mini fridge, where I kept a supply of bottled water and my favorite gelato. I took out a Kit Kat flavored ice cream and a spoon. Some situations required more than a smoothie.

And living with the grumpiest ghoul in middle earth was one of them.

I was deep into my ice cream eating session when I decided to FaceTime Keller since he was away. Every quarter, Keller Airbnb’d a place in Palm Springs to work on his tan and try variations of new green juices that would later be introduced as Main Squeeze’s seasonal Boost Camp drinks.

Keller was just telling me about his surprising new combination of celery, kale, turmeric, and spearmint, when Ransom stormed into the gym. This time—escalation—he was only wearing a towel. A flimsy little thing, hanging from his waist teasingly. His dark hair was wet and tousled to messy perfection. Steam radiated from his body. This was the part where I would normally scream and try to stab him with a random object. Oddly, though, I was not scared.

I wasn’t the only one who caught sight of that.

“Bodyguard with benefits? Really?” Keller cooed from my phone screen, his eyes almost bulging out. “Me likey. And a little jelly.”

I gagged loudly enough for the Pope to hear in the Vatican. “It’s close protection officer. He gets touchy when you call him a bodyguard.”

“Close protection officer? Makes him sound like a condom,” Keller laughed.

At this point, Ransom decided he’d had enough of this conversation, grabbed my phone, and tossed it to the other side of the room. It fell on my lululemon yoga mattress.

Turning to face him, I made sure my expression was as blank as possible. “Care to tell me what crawled up your ass? Whatever it is, please do not try to make me pull it out of you.”

Silently, Ransom lifted his hand to reveal a piece of meat between his fingers. It looked darker than when I’d left it in his closet, and had two maggots hanging out of it, squirming, about to fall to the floor.

I cupped my mouth, fighting my gag reflex for real now.

“What the hell, Random?” I jumped up from my spot and ran out of the room and along the corridor to escape the smell. He charged after me, his stride long and purposeful. I took the stairs down. So did he.

“Get away from me!” I yelped, ignoring the fact that I had, in fact, tarnished his entire designer wardrobe with rotten meat just to get back at him. He’d had it coming. He had been horrible to me. I didn’t have many principles. But vegetarianism was one of them.

“Not until you clean up the mess you’ve created.”

Unlike the salt incident, this time he reacted to my prank. I’d finally pushed him over the edge. He was insane if he thought I was going to clean that up.

“In your dreams.” I used the kitchen island as a barrier.

“Well, my dreams are about to become your reality.” He tossed the piece of meat between us, on the marbled surface. It was missing the two worms, and now I couldn’t help but think they were somewhere in the house. Shudder.

“No.” I braced the kitchen island, splaying my fingers over it, my stance ready to pounce and get into a fistfight with him. “What are you going to do about it? Hit me?”

“Touching you is not on my agenda, so stop worrying about something that’d never happen.”

It was good news. Very good news.

So why was I slightly disappointed when he said that? Oh, that’s right. Because I did know what his hands felt like on me. And they felt good. More than good. Great. And that was when he simply carried me from place to place.

“I will report back to your parents,” he said without missing a beat. “And, as expected, your phone must be confiscated once again. That didn’t take long. I’ll go grab it.”

He turned around and went upstairs, not giving me a chance to cool off, to explain nicely that I couldn’t touch meat. It made me vomit. And that it wasn’t just about murdering innocent animals, but also about the environment.

I couldn’t believe he was taking my phone again. I also couldn’t believe I was dumb enough to follow Keller’s plan without considering the consequences. That biting feeling of aloneness slammed into me again.

It was then, in a complete moment of madness and desperation, that I decided to do the undoable. To run away. I didn’t have a plan. Nor did I have car keys. Or a phone. But I’d had enough. Ransom was pushing me too far, barging into my life, taking my credit cards, my cars, demanding things I didn’t know how to give him. I wasn’t even sure what it was he wanted from me. My entire existence seemed to aggravate him.

Jamming my feet into my sliders, I swung the entryway door open and trudged outside. To freedom. To independence. To…what the hell was that, sticking to the bottom of my shoe?

I bent down to pick it up. Ugh. It looked like an unsolicited leaflet or something. Seriously, did anyone actually fall for these things? Their only purpose seemed to unnecessarily kill trees.

Crumpling it in my fist, I started making my way out of my gated neighborhood. A rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins. With it, came fear. I had no idea what to do. A part of me assumed I was just going to give Ransom a little scare, sit in the park for a few hours, then come back and renegotiate the terms of my imprisonment with him. I also needed to find a trashcan to throw away the leaflet. I couldn’t believe that this was my life now. A week ago, I was hanging on the rooftop of a skyscraper, drinking vintage champagne with movie stars.

I was about a hundred feet away from the gate surrounding my neighborhood when my Nissan LEAF appeared in my periphery, zipping past sprawling villas and eye-popping pools. Ransom had gotten dressed, and even managed a close shave before coming to pick me up.

“Get in.” He slowed the car to match my stride.

I stared ahead, determined not to give him what he wanted.

“I already told you, you’re not allowed to leave the house without supervision. I can’t protect you without your cooperation.”

“Cooperation!” I exploded, coming to a halt. I turned around to face him, feeling my eyes wildly dancing in their sockets. “Are you kidding me? You take everything I have and own, everything that represents me, you treat me like a spoiled child, you call me Brat, and also a bitch once—yes, I heard your conversation with Tom—and you don’t even tell me what kind of so-called danger I’m in. And you want my cooperation? I’m completely in the dark.” I flung my arms sideways. “I have no idea what’s going on, and you don’t seem to care. You’re doing a miserable job.”

He stopped the car. Got out. Rounded the car. I stayed rooted in place. He couldn’t kidnap me in broad daylight, could he? I supposed technically, he could. There was not a soul in sight.

But he didn’t. Instead, he stopped a few feet from me.

“You’re right.”

“No! Don’t give me that. I am entitled to my…wait, what did you just say?” My face twisted in confusion.

“I said you’re right. I could have given you more context to what was happening, and I chose not to. We can still rectify that. Privately. In your house.”

This was my time to bargain. I needed to pick my battles smartly.

“First things first, I do not want meat in my fridge.” I raised my hand. “This is absolutely non-negotiable. It makes me physically sick to see.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t answer, which I took as confirmation that he heard and intended to comply.

The air between us stilled, as if the world was holding its breath to hear the verdict.

“I will not put meat in your fridge,” he said finally.

“Thank you.” I wrung my fingers together. The paper dropped from my hand.

“What’s that?” Ransom asked, already bending down to pick it up.

“Some leaflet I was about to throw in the recycling can.”

He smoothed the white paper—who knew? Maybe Ransom was one of the suckers who could be convinced to join a sauna Zumba class?—but when I noticed the color drain from his face, I realized this was no ordinary leaflet.

“We have to go. Now.” Ransom grabbed my hand, tugging me to the car.

It scared me. I’d never seen him express emotions other than boredom or anger. I climbed into the passenger’s seat of my car. He drove us up the road, back to my house, glancing at the rearview mirror. A lot. Like he was expecting to see someone.

“What was in the leaflet? An ad for penis enlargement? Are you all geared up to book a consultation meeting?” Naturally, I thought this would be a good time to break the ice with a terrible joke.

Ransom did not look amused. He did, however, look like he was going to break the steering wheel, the way he held it in a chokehold.

Finally, he spoke.

“Your parents hired me to monitor your whereabouts and to ensure your safety. This was their chief goal. However, there is a side goal, and that is to bring you to relative independence and teach you the value of money. They would also like to see you taking more responsibility over your life, and find a profession that requires more commitment than posting pictures on TikTok.”

“Instagram,” I corrected him. “I wish I could break into TikTok.”

“Whatever.” He slid the vehicle into my garage.

“So, basically, you’re my parole officer.”

He killed the engine, got out of the car, rounded it, and opened the door for me. I had a feeling it was a safety measure, not a statement of gallantry.

“Correct.”

Ransom turned, making his way to the house, the crumpled leaflet still in his hand.

“And what happens if I fail?” I trailed behind him, fascinated. He seemed to have had a very long conversation with my parents, something I couldn’t say for myself in the last three years.

I was experiencing a moment of epiphany. Or maybe—God forbid—self-awareness. What if my family had been avoiding me in a bid to make me do better? Should I try? I mean, Hera did invite me to her rehearsal. And paid for everything. I should be trying, too, shouldn’t I?

“Not my problem, not my fight. I guess they’ll find another, less expensive way to make your life miserable until they bend you into shape.”

“They don’t seriously expect me to work, do they? An actual real job, I mean.”

“Is your blood too blue for manual work?” His pointed expression was a punctuation mark.

“No,” I weighed my words carefully, “but I’m useless. I’m not good at anything.” I couldn’t believe I’d let these words get out of my mouth. I was usually so private about my shortcomings.

“Most people aren’t,” he said. “Averageness is humanity’s greatest common ground. You’ll find your way.”

“Great pep talk, dude. You should be a motivational speaker.”

“What, and neglect my new aspiration to become a politician?” he quipped.

When we got back inside, he double-locked all the doors, checked the windows, and splayed an impressive (and terrifying) collection of guns on my counter, which he began to clean.

Without lifting his eyes from the guns, he said, “Pack up, Princess. We’re going to be in Texas for a while.”