“Thatcher! Thatcher!” a stocky guy with a Canon yells, short enough that his head stops well beneath my shoulders.
“Move.” I’m one second from shoving. Don’t touch him. I don’t want to risk getting arrested on my way to this dinner, and if he falls on his ass and claims assault, I’m going to be met with a lawsuit.
Follow protocol.
Security rules still exist—they don’t suddenly disappear because I’m off-duty or engaged to a client.
He doesn’t listen and just as I come up to the black Escalade, he stops moving right in front of the door. Blocking me.
I glower.
He holds up his camera. “How many years have you been with Jane Cobalt?!”
His question is like a cannon blast in my ears, opening up my focus to the others that have been yelled around me for the past minute.
“When is the wedding?!”
“How did you ask her?!”
“Is she pregnant?!”
I scowl harder at that one and focus on the shitbag blocking me. “I’m not going to ask you a second time. Move.”
The stout guy clicks five more times and sears my corneas. White light stabs my vision and before I can grab him, he darts out of the way.
I’m quick. Inside the Escalade and shutting the door. It takes me a good twenty minutes to lose the trail of paparazzi. I glance at the clock. On time. I planned for traffic, but I wish I were earlier. I don’t have much wiggle room in case something—
You’ve got to be fucking with me.
My eyes are narrowed on the fuel gauge. This can’t be happening. Someone on SFO left this SUV with a nearly empty tank. I slam a hand against the steering wheel and reroute to the nearest gas station. “Buncha fucking idiots.”
We have rules.
One being to always leave the cars fueled up in case of an emergency.
Right now, I’m in a motherfucking dump truck level of a crisis. I’m about to show up late to my first Wednesday Night Dinner, and there’s one thing I know about Connor Cobalt—he hates how I remind him of Ryke Meadows.
Who is perpetually fucking late to events. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve heard Ryke’s bodyguard on comms say something like, “We’re coming in an hour past.”
Being late might just obliterate the ground that I made with her parents.
I growl out my frustration and curse out loud for all three miles to the gas station. By the time I put the SUV in park, I’m barely accepting my fate.
Jane will vouch for me, and that’s the last thing I want. Defending me shouldn’t be what tonight is about. “I’m going to kill someone on Omega,” I mutter under my breath. “Except my brother. If this was on him, he’ll survive. Maybe.”
I’m talking to myself.
My jaw clenches, and I swear in my head. Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I think I’m nervous.
Fuck.
I hop out of the car and slam the door closed with a loud thump. The noise stirs something in the space between the pump and the trashcan, the movement caught in my peripheral.
I don’t have time for this.
But out of instinct, I check the shifting shadow, wanting clearer visual. Squatting down, I expect to locate a rat.
I rest my forearms on my knees and tilt my head. All I see is brown fur, a little thing curled in a ball next to the trash.
And then its head pops up, and my whole stomach drops.
What…?
Breath cages my lungs.
I’m staring at round, blue orbs for eyes. A tiny brown nose. Two perked ears. Long whiskers and dark-striped fur. I’ve been to enough cat shelters to know what I’ve found.
I’m staring at a tabby kitten. How could this happen? Out of all times and all days and all gas stations…
I look up at the star-blanketed sky.
I’m not as religious as others in my family, but I have faith. And call me nuts, but I feel like this kitten is Jane. Sent by someone who knew I’d need her. Come here to tell me that it’s going to be okay. Calm down. Breathe.
Maybe I’m just losing my fucking mind.
But I can’t walk away from this stray. She wouldn’t.
I hold out my palm, waiting for the kitten to approach me. “Hey, girl.”
She crouches on her tiny paws and tentatively creeps towards me. She barely hesitates before nudging her cheek into my knuckles. And I’m just gone. Right here. Right now. “Jane?” I ask like a fucking idiot.
Banks would be laughing his ass off if he saw me.
She keeps nuzzling my hand.
I draw in a deeper, stronger breath. It’s her. No one can tell me otherwise. “Fuck it.” I gently pick up the kitten. “Let’s go to dinner, Little Jane.”
To prepare me, Jane told me three things about Wednesday Night Dinner.
The dress code is anything and everything and nothing. Costumes are acceptable. Being buck-naked is also acceptable. There are no rules.
Conversation is not a requirement. Talk as much as you want or don’t talk at all. There are no rules.
But there are rules. Only one. Come as you are. Be true to you. And all will fall into place.
I took everything Jane said to heart, so I’m not wearing a suit. I’m not wearing my black slacks and a black button-down like I’m on-duty.
I’m on time. Made every green light. Surprisingly, I’m here before either Connor or Rose. And I sit at her family’s dining room table as me.
Dark denim jeans and a red flannel shirt, a kitten currently alert but tentative in the breast pocket—yeah, that’s a new development.
“She’s absolutely, positively the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.” Audrey Cobalt swoons, her gaze fixated on the tabby kitten. Jane’s sister turned fourteen in January, and right now, she looks transported from one of those PBS historical shows my grandma is always watching. A bonnet with fresh roses in a ribbon plopped on her carrot-orange hair, which spills over a ruffled white dress.
I’m hawk-eyed. Attentive.
Perceptive of everyone, everything, but there is too much to absorb. My eyes are feasting on the lavish elaborate scene. This is made for the movies.
For theater.
For history.
For The Phantom of the Opera and ancient sword-wielding times.
Not exactly for a man like me, but I’m not turning around. I’m not back-tracking. And I’m not made to cower. Nerves retreat.
I’m steel in a room of guys and girls ironclad from birth.
Seven sets of eyes are pinned on me.
I’ve sat down for one minute. Just as ready for hell as the minute before, and I’ll be ready a thousand minutes after.
Roasted goose and gold candlesticks line the table. I’ve always seen the remnants of this dinner in leftover containers. Strange, seeing the food before it’s torn to pieces.
A unique aroma clings to the air: a mixture of gamey meat, rosemary, garlic, vanilla and tobacco. I do another quick sweep around the dining room. Only Jane and her siblings are here, the heads of the table empty, but I think the absence of their parents might be purposeful.
I focus on Charlie.
He’s kicked back on an ornate chair, expensive shoes on a gold dish. Like he has no care in the world—but he’s watching me watch him.
Fans would go ape shit if they saw Charlie Cobalt in this setting. Teenagers would sob and cry outside this house just for a peek of him shirtless while wearing a blue floral suit—tailor-made, probably in the high-thousands—and a black choker necklace.
Most bodyguards have seen his deep flaws, his hatred and pain.
I’ve seen more as I’ve been dating Jane. But I don’t think I’ll ever really know Charlie. I doubt many ever will.
He tilts his head to Audrey. “We have more pressing matters than a stupid cat.”
“Excuse you,” Jane snaps. “This kitten is not stupid. She is an adorable sweetheart. Do you see her just resting in his pocket? It was meant t
o be.”
My lip almost lifts. I have an arm around my fiancée’s chair. And she looks drop-dead gorgeous.
Like always.
Pastel pink breezy skirt, a cheetah-print blouse and baby blue fur coat. Cat ears studded in rhinestones are perched on her wavy brown hair.
She looks the same as usual, but also different. Jane glows. Head-to-toe effervescence. When she catches me staring, a smile spreads across her rosy cheeks—her freckles more noticeable without any makeup.
Since I arrived, she hasn’t seemed nervous. Not once.
Her faith in me is like a beacon of light guiding my ship to shore.
Charlie rises and leans over the table to peer at Jane. “If it was meant to be, why have you been checking it for flees for the past three minutes?”
Jane has been doing that. Pulling back the kitten’s fur just to ensure I didn’t bring a flee-ridden kitten into her mom’s home.
Great first dinner impression—having to make Rose Calloway flee bomb her entire house. Didn’t think about that.
Mainly because I thought Little Jane was a sign from the Real Jane. Rational thinking was chucked out the fucking window.
“Because she doesn’t want Mom to murder Thatcher.” Eliot pours himself a goblet of wine, a pipe between his lips while wearing a vintage-style coat with tails. He plucks the pipe from his mouth to add more clearly, “We all want our future-brother-in-law to survive tonight.”
My brows pull together. It can’t be that easy. I remember every card I’ve drawn. Every Truth or Dare I’ve completed, my response pissed off at least one Cobalt.
I never pleased all six of her siblings at one time.
It felt impossible.
“Speak for yourself,” Ben says to Eliot.
There it is. That was the reaction I expected.
Ben has a black eye from an ice hockey match that his team won. A blue environmental tee is tight on his toned build, with the slogan: don’t be a fossil fool.
“Still bitter, brother?” Eliot asks.
Ben lets out a heavy breath. “He ate rabbit hearts.” He’s talking like I’m not here. Which isn’t fucking good.
Tom twirls a knife. “We’re about to eat goose.”
Beckett looks to Ben next to him. “And you don’t hate us.”
I can’t tell if they’re defending me or just trying to steer their brother towards a better emotion. But I know Jane has said that Ben is usually fine when other people eat meat around him.
“It’s different. That situation felt different,” Ben emphasizes.
Jane lifts a finger. “I also ate rabbit hearts.”
“You wouldn’t have if Thatcher didn’t. He can perish in one of Mom’s great and terrible fires for all I care. Let him burn alive.”
I wait for the sting, but that blow never comes. His words aren’t a shot to the heart or head. I’m not even surprised that he’s still upset about this.
He’s sixteen. He’s a Cobalt. He’s dramatic, and I’m just honored to be here and understand how this family operates.
No holding back. No holding in.
Let it all out.
“Pippy,” Jane starts.
“He ate some rabbit hearts,” Charlie snaps. “Get the fuck over it, Ben.”
Ben stands up abruptly from his chair. I follow suit, careful not to startle the kitten, and I hold out a hand. “It’s fine.”
But Ben is looking at his empty plate. He’s grinding down on his teeth and trying to stop himself from crying.
“You can hate me,” I say with severity. “I don’t need you to like me right now. Or a year from now or ten years. Just when you’re ready, I hope you can give me a chance.”
Ben slowly takes a seat. And quietly, he says, “You’re here. This is your chance.”
Tonight.
Don’t fucking nuke it.
I lower back down, a hand to my breast pocket (to the kitten), and Jane leans into my shoulder. “He’s going to warm up to you.”
It’s weird to think that I know it’s okay if he doesn’t.
Charlie rests his ass on the edge of the table. Turned towards me, he hoists a single lion-decaled card between two fingers. “Here’s your last one.”
My last one.
That hits me hard. For a long time, I thought this game might be never-ending. That they’d keep filling up the deck every time it got low.
It’s over.
Almost.
He stretches and passes me the card.
I take it from Charlie and flip it over. Words stare back at me. I read them.
And reread them.
Five times to make sure I’m reading it right.
Tom grins sitting on the top of his chair, his black trench coat long enough to sweep the floor—a thousand-and-fucking-one patches sewn crudely in the fabric. He opens and closes a Zippo lighter.
He knows what this says. All her brothers and her sister do.
They were all in on the game. Not just Charlie.
I read out loud, “‘Tell us why you belong in the family without referencing Jane.’”
It might be the hardest thing this game has ever thrown my way.
Jane is the reason I am sitting at this table, but she’s not going to be the reason I fit into this family. I have to do that on my own.
Weighing my words, I glance between each of her siblings. All six are so different from the next. Years ago, I think I would’ve said I fit in better with the Hales, or even the Meadows, but there’s not a shred of doubt now.
I’m where I’m supposed to be. I just have to find a way to articulate it.
I’m quiet for a beat, and Beckett meets my gaze. Dark brown hair slicked back and in a casual white crewneck, he takes a drag of a cigarette between leather-gloved fingers.
“You have to answer,” Beckett says kindly. No hint of animosity or resentment in his voice. Even after he came home to find his role replaced in Cinderella by Leo Valavanis. But according to Jane, the company is starting to audition parts for next season’s production of Romeo & Juliet.
Beckett is in contention for Romeo. And so is Leo.
You have to answer.
I nod strongly. “I know.” And I drop my arm from Jane’s chair, and with zero doubt, zero hesitation, I stand.
Not afraid to tower.
Not afraid of anything.
“I belong here,” I start. And then I look at her on instinct.
Jane smiles up at me with sky-high confidence.
My chest rises, and I look around at her family who I hope will one day be mine. “I belong here,” I say again, “because I love deeply and I’m learning to feel deeply too, and I make no apologies for who I am.”
Jane is beaming, glassy-eyed with hands to her lips.
I continue, “And at the end of the day, the people I care about are the ones I would die for. No questions asked. I’m standing at the battle line.” Say more. Say what you feel, and I just go. “You’re a family of warriors—I’m a warrior too. We just have different weapons. You use words. I use a gun. And ever since I was a young kid, I wanted to be that Spartan hero for someone. I belong here. Not anywhere else.”
Not because of Jane. But because when it comes down to it, I’m a fucking lion.
I’m a shark.
For the first time, I really believe I’m the same as them.
Not saying a word, Charlie stretches forward and plucks the card from my hand. He extends his arm across the table. Passing the thing to Eliot, who holds the card over Tom’s lighter.
A flame incinerates the paper.
I thought I’d want their applause or approval at the end of this. But standing here, I realize, I don’t need that recognition or their validation. I feel good about who I am and what I completed.
“That’s it?” I ask Charlie.
He nods. “Congratulations. Some of us still hate you. Some of us like you. Others don’t give a shit. And yet, you’re still here.”
I’m still here.
My mouth curves upward, and I nod once. The game was never designed for me to win them over like I thought.
It was designed for them to push my limits. To tap into unapologetic confidence. To survive a battle.
I’m still here.
I’m back in my seat next to Jane, and she gathers my hand in hers. “You’re amazing, you realize.”
I kiss her knuckles before wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and I lean in to whisper, “I love you, Jane Eleanor Cobalt.”
I hear her sharp breath. She’s about to reply, but Tom points at me with a steak knife. “What’s its name anyway?” He means the kitten.
I watch the tabby stretch a paw mid-sleep. “Jane usually picks the person who’ll name her cats.”
She rests her chin on her knuckles. “Our cats.”
Our cats.
I hang onto that declaration.
Looks like I’m a father of six—now seven—cats. This is bigger than Jane asking me to marry her. These cats are her babies, and she’s sharing them with me.
Happiness isn’t in the same stratosphere to the raw emotion that’s balled up inside my chest. I block out the mental image of my brother ribbing me about being a cat dad.
Jane rubs the top of the kitten’s head with her thumb. “And you found each other. You should pick her name.”
I already have a name for her, and everyone here will give me shit for it. So I just say, “LJ.”
“LJ?” Jane frowns for a second.
“I love it.” Audrey adjusts her bonnet.
“You don’t even know what it stands for, Audrey.” Eliot grins, deviously. “It could be something horrible like Lube—”
Jane cuts him off in French, and I recognize a couple words. The ones that mean little devil.
I make a call and decide to rip this Band-Aid fast.
“LJ is short for Little Jane.”
Silence layers across the table before Tom and Eliot explode into laughter. Ben and Audrey pound the table with their fists, and almost everyone drums the ground with their feet. Charlie clinks his glass with the back of a knife.
Living breathing noise rumbling around us.
“They love it,” Jane explains to me. “As do I.”
I’m constantly in awe of her, and now, I’m in awe of her family. More orderly but disordered sound reverberates and floods the room when Rose and Connor arrive hand-in-hand.
Sinful Like Us (Like Us Series: Billionaires & Bodyguards Book 5) Page 40
