Maximoff opens his mouth, but then takes a breath. Not protesting or denying, but his lips slowly downturn in deeper thought.
He’s staring at me with greater concern. Maybe, possibly, remembering that I’m closed off and out-of-business to the sort of love he’s found with Farrow.
Or perhaps he’s just remembering all the suitors outside.
Or he could be recalling how last night I quit my assistant position in Calloway Couture, and I hadn’t really even begun. I’m such bad publicity right now with the Cinderella ad, and I don’t want my drama to negatively impact my family’s companies.
So I can’t work for my mom’s fashion line or even Cobalt Inc.
It’s official: I’m back to being jobless, as well as passionless. But I’ll figure something out. One thing at a time.
Whatever is on Moffy’s mind, it’s troubling him. He looks like he wants to dive into deep waters and help me swim to shore.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “We’ve all been through much worse.”
“I don’t care how damn big or small this doomsday is—I don’t like that you’re experiencing one at all.”
I’d feel the same if our positions were reversed right now. Maximoff and Farrow have both been really attentive to my well-being this past week and especially this morning.
“Jaaaaaaane!!”
Our heads turn to the front door. Thankfully the suitors can’t breach the house.
I rest my chin on my knuckles and peek at the staircase. “Should we check on Luna?” My nearly nineteen-year-old cousin is a beautifully brazen, quirky oddball, and I love that she’s been living with us.
Maximoff follows my gaze. “My sister could sleep through a stampede of rhinos. I don’t think she’s dead.” He stiffens, brotherly concern sharpening his cheekbones. “We should go check—”
“You two,” Farrow cuts in, “she’s fine. You checked on her an hour ago.”
“That, we did.” I nod and wrap two palms around my mug.
She was sleeping peacefully. I’m almost positive she stayed up late last night FaceTiming Eliot and Tom, my brothers. Her best friends.
Our bedrooms are on the second-floor, and with both doors cracked, I could hear them talking passionately about my plight. Which includes all the suitors that have now parked their asses on our street.
My brothers think I should change the requirements of the ad. Make “twelve-inch dick” a prerequisite and weed out everyone, and while funny, it’d only cause more headaches and bad press.
Maximoff tries to roll out his stiff neck. “So you saw Thatcher?” He reroutes the topic back to me.
“Oui.” I sip my lukewarm coffee. “We just naturally ran into each other, but he was…a little…well, he was slightly naked.”
“Naked?” Farrow repeats, his brown brows spiking. “Moretti? The fucking hall monitor?”
Maximoff scrunches his face. “What the fuck is slightly naked?”
“Chest high. He was in a towel,” I clarify. “I think I must’ve caught him after a shower.”
Farrow stares up at the ceiling, then looks at me. “You sure you saw Thatcher and not Banks?”
My forehead crinkles in hurt. “Of course I’m sure it was Thatcher. I can tell them apart. Easily.”
Maximoff turns to Farrow. “How’d you even know she ran into Thatcher?”
I’m curious about this too.
He drops his foot off the cushion. “Man, she’s hot and bothered, and there’s only one bodyguard who makes her turn that red.”
Very true.
“But the towel is news to me,” he adds.
Maximoff and Farrow are the only two people I ever told that I’ve been attracted to Thatcher in the past…and the present.
I scratch behind Ophelia’s ears as the fluffy white cat prances by. “It’s nothing, really. Thatcher lives next door, and I went next door, so the probability of an intersection was high.”
I can’t read the room that well at the moment.
So I keep talking, what I shouldn’t do. “It’s not as though I’d ever act on my hot-and-bothered feelings. I don’t trust any dick near my vagina.” Not after Nate. “…although, that’s not completely true because I do trust Thatcher. Naturally. He’s my bodyguard, but he’s off-limits, unattainable, just a man who turns me on. That’s all.” I stop myself.
Thank God.
Maximoff and Farrow are staring at me with piercing concern.
Possibly because I’m speaking about someone they’re not fond of, and I don’t want any of what I just said to feel like betrayal. Like I’m not with them.
I’m with them.
Always.
“You both know my feelings, and they haven’t changed.” I meet their toughened gazes. “I spend so much time with Thatcher, and I want to believe that what he did back in May isn’t who he is. He still shows deep remorse when he’s not as guarded.” I pause. “It’s been four months since he hit you, Farrow, and I don’t think he’s even forgiven himself yet.”
Maximoff and Farrow exchange a strong look together that I can’t understand. Maybe they’ve discussed all-things Thatcher recently without me.
Farrow combs an inked hand through his hair. “I don’t love spending this much energy on a guy that I really don’t give a flying shit about.”
“That’s fair.” I sip my coffee, now cold.
“But,” Farrow says, running a thumb over his hoop lip piercing, “I’m not a petty fucker. He hasn’t even glared at me since your birthday.” Back in June. “And he’s not on my ass while we’re on-duty. Shit, he’s been relatively easy to work with, so something’s changed.” He looks to Maximoff, as though handing the baton over.
Moffy is too rigid to even drink his tea. “Your bodyguard cares about you, Janie. And it’s on a personal level.”
My eyes bug, and shock parts my lips. Of course I notice how considerate Thatcher is. But that’s me seeing my bodyguard hours and hours throughout a single day.
Maximoff and Farrow only witness moments, and I just never thought they’d see even a fraction of his kindness.
“How do you know it’s on a personal level?” I wonder, sweeping both of them for the signs. For the hints and clues that they must’ve read.
Farrow counts off his fingers, beginning with his thumb. “One, Thatcher made an ‘oath’ with you.” He also uses air quotes.
“Just to stay on your detail,” Maximoff adds.
“Correct.” I straighten up a little.
When I told them about the oath, they asked for details but never gave much of an opinion. Not until now, it seems.
“Two.” Farrow raises his pointer finger. “Back in Greece, you weren’t even on speaking terms. It would’ve been easier for that motherfucker to ask for a transfer and just protect someone else. Instead of doing that, he committed to you.”
A smile tugs at my lips, remembering the bonfire. How we took a short walk. How I shivered and he gave me his button-down without a single hesitation.
Maximoff homes in on Farrow’s inked fingers. “Pretty sure your second point is still the oath.”
“Pretty sure I couldn’t care less,” Farrow says easily while taking in all of Maximoff.
He feigns surprise. “I totally forgot you can’t count. I’m sorry, man.”
Farrow rolls his eyes into a short laugh. “Okay, smartass.” They eye each other a little longer, and I’m about to stand to reheat my coffee.
As soon as the rocking chair creaks, their heads swerve to me.
“This is about you, ” Maximoff emphasizes. “You time, not us time.” He gestures from his chest to Farrow. “Alright, we’re here for you.”
Farrow rubs his strong jawline, his muscles tensed.
I freeze.
Farrow and I have been deeply concerned about Maximoff feeling guilty about splitting his attention between us. He overthinks about the wrong and right timing and whether he’s being unfair.
In actuality, he’s beyond fair, beyond present for both of us, and Farrow and I just want him to relax and breathe.