My mom answers, “We were reading the tabloids. Some think you’ve been with her for a while. Coulda told me about her sooner, but it must’ve been hard for you with work.” I hear her warm, slightly teasing smile.
To kiss a client in public—she knows I’d never do it. So she thinks what’s going on with Jane is serious.
I rub my mouth. “It just happened,” I say, voice deep.
Banks and I agreed that our family shouldn’t know that Jane and I are fake dating. To them, this is real. If the media were to contact our family or if their friends pry about Jane, it’s too much to ask them to lie on my behalf.
“We wanna meet this girl!” my grandma says. “Bring her here! Nicola and I will cook up a big pot of braggiol’. Banks can come along too. It’ll be real nice to see my boys again.”
Lately, we haven’t had as much time to stop by and see them. “I don’t want the media hassling you three, grandma.”
“Don’t youse worry about us now,” she says. “How’s your brother doin’?”
“Menzamenz,” I tell her. Half and half. Banks had a small migraine this morning. Didn’t last long. “Has anyone been at the house?”
My mom cuts back in, “A journalist kept knocking on the door, but I shut the blinds. Your uncles already came over and scared him off.”
Good.
One journalist is more than I’d want, but I’m aware of what Farrow’s stepsister dealt with—and this is nothing in comparison. Banks and I have been expecting some media to find our mom’s address and phone number.
We’ve been preparing for worse than that, and we’re putting 24/7 security on their house tonight. Everything is set up to protect our family in South Philly.
After another short exchange, we say our goodbyes, and as I return to Akara, I notice he’s off the phone too.
“How are they?” Banks asks me, tossing and catching a lime.
“Fine. One journalist so far.”
He bobs his head. “They’ll be alright.”
I nod too.
I turn to Akara. “What’s the word on Grandmother Calloway?” The last we’ve heard from her, she cancelled her afternoon tea. She didn’t even call or text Jane. Just let her assistant email her. Letting her know that under the circumstances with the current headlines, an afternoon tea with potential suitors would be inappropriate.
Akara looks to me. “Not a sound.” He pushes his black hair back, fitting on a baseball cap backwards.
Banks motions to the Omega lead. “I hear she’s crawling back underneath the dirt from which she came.”
Akara grabs the liquor bottle. “Hey, she even saw her shadow.”
I check over at the archway on instinct, then look back to them. “Looks like we’re due for a long winter, gents.”
Akara smiles. “If only she were actually a groundhog, man.”
We all know she’ll be back at some point.
No one spends that much effort on a fucking ad without being invested in the cause. And in this case, it happens to be setting Jane up with some upper crust, gold-brick-shitting asshole.
“Do we have eyes on their grandmother?” I ask, opening the fridge.
“Twenty-four-seven,” Akara confirms. “You can thank Jane’s dad for that.”
Connor Cobalt.
I don’t interact with him often, and I’m not sure if this op will change that. Unlike my family, her parents know this is all for show.
I grab a couple beer bottles. “Do you two even know how to make caipirinha?”
Banks throws the lime at me. “I thought you did.”
I catch the lime and chuck it back.
He grabs it easily.
“No,” I answer.
Akara shakes his head and then calls, “Hey, Quinn!”
Quinn pops in the archway. He’s rolling up the cuffs to his floral short-sleeve button-down. Recently he’s been wearing a lot of florals shirts. Today: green palm leaves with yellow flowers.
His brother already gave him shit for being LA trendy. Whatever that means.
All I know is that when Akara moved in, he and Quinn refused to let me and my brother bunk up. Banks and I offered. Of course. We’re twins. It’s the easiest shuffle.
But Akara said we shared a room most of our lives, and they both didn’t want us having to do it again. So like Luna and Sulli, Quinn and Akara now share a room.
It’s a big deal to me and my brother. Not many people would choose to have a roommate and sleep on a bunk bed for us.
In the kitchen, Quinn notices the empty pitcher. “You need help?” He wanted to make the Brazilian drink today because Luna said she’s never had one before.
Most of us in security have had them. Just never made them ourselves.
“Yes we do,” Akara says smoothly and shifts to let him in, and I give Quinn space, squeezing past everyone and leaving the kitchen.
Instinctively I scope out the living room for Jane. Finding her in mere seconds. She lounges on a stool next to Maximoff and Farrow, chip bags spread out over the high tabletop.
She pops one in her mouth. Smiling at something Farrow says to Maximoff.
“Twitter is going nuts,” Luna announces from the leather couch.
I see her in my peripheral. Laptop balancing on her knees, red marker underlines her eyes like she was in a flag football match. Knowing Luna, she probably just did it because she wanted to.
“Holy fuck.” Sulli reads from over her shoulder. “It’s trending. That’s what that means, right?” She points to the screen.
“Yep yep, definitely trending,” Luna says.
I shove off towards Jane.
Whispers and chatter from the table and couch seem to hush as I approach her. Until I’m right in front of Jane, and the room is awkwardly silent.
Here, among security and her family, we’re back to being bodyguard and client. No dating. Her face can’t be up against my face. Be professional.
I hand her the extra beer I grabbed.
Her lips rise. “Thank you.”
Maximoff and Farrow aren’t staking glares into me. They’re just eyeing me closely.
I focus on Jane. She runs her thumb over the rim of the bottle, and her eyes search mine. “About you being more in the public,” she says, “I wanted to let you know that whatever crops up on the internet about your life, I don’t plan to read it. I’d rather hear whatever you’re willing to share with me, but if you’d rather I just look, if that’s easier for you—”
“You don’t have to look,” I interject. “I don’t think the public will find much anyway.”
There is one thing…one thing that I’d rather she never find out through a fucking online search engine or internet troll.
One thing that I can’t figure out a good time to say. It’s so far gone. Over fifteen years ago, but once I drop it, the air usually snaps and the mood darkens.
I hate going there.
Hell, I don’t know how to go there most of the time.
“So it’s a plan then,” Jane notes.
I nod and remember what I needed to tell her. “The team wants us to wait to publicly confirm that we’re together.”
No posts.
No interviews.
No banners in the fucking sky.
Nothing.
We just have to appear like we’re getting sloppier about hiding our “secret” relationship. Media will do the heavy lifting.
“Sounds brilliant.” She sips her beer, then licks her lips. “Do we have our next objective as a couple?”
We do.
19
JANE COBALT
Security devises a plan that has tumbled my heart throughout my whole body like an erratic, too-eager-for-my-own-good pinball.
Thatcher and I are embarking on a weekend getaway at a local Bed & Breakfast. Our fake couple antics are starting strong. Just packing my travel suitcase, I felt like I was on an adrenaline high.
As I roll my luggage along the pretty floral carpet, I drink in the q
uaint Bed & Breakfast and cozy atmosphere, and I glance more than once at Thatcher.
He towers beside me like an archangel. His radio attached to his slacks, mic on the collar of his black long-sleeve tee, and I’m more aware this isn’t a real romantic vacation.
He’s still my bodyguard, and this is simply just a ruse. A strategy.
I have to keep my wits about me.
In the foyer, a brass chandelier hangs overhead and sunlight streams through stained-glass windows. A fifty-something innkeeper waits for us behind a polished mahogany desk.
I read her nametag as we approach. “Hi, Gretchen,” I greet with a smile.