Chapter 39
MENAGE A MASKTOK
SEVEN
Iforgot how much Céline can drink.
How much all of us can when given the opportunity to.
Eli’s laugh echoes in the dining room as he and Céline take turns jumping in to regale Aurora about the time me and Atty showed up at Céline's door coated head to toe in pastry flour.
"I could hardly tell it was them!" she says between laughs.
"She made us sit there while she hosed us off in the back garden before she'd even let us all inside," I add.
"Wait, why were you covered in flour?"
Atticus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose even though I can still see his shoulders trembling from his own laughter at the memory.
"I thought the flour delivery truck would be the perfect hiding place for the smaller Monets we'd gotten our hands on.
Inside the massive sacks of flour, they'd be protected in transport, and with Elijah—fluent in French—at the wheel, he could sweet-talk us out of the city.
Turns out those sacks don't hold up well in a high-speed chase. "
Aurora almost spits out her wine, and clamps a hand over her mouth to hold it in. Once she's finally managed to swallow it, her eyes light up. "Oh my god, I remember hearing about that! They found the truck, right?"
I nod. "Yep, and they dubbed us the les bandits de la farine blanche."
"White flour bandits," Eli translates for Aurora.
"Did you see what they're calling us, now?" Atticus asks, flicking over the screen of his phone to find something before sliding it down the table for the rest of us to see.
On the screen is a fuzzy image of the three of us captured by a security camera outside of the Matisse in Nice. Fuck yeah. It's exactly how I pictured it.
Atty was in control of the cameras linked to the museum's security, but for any others—like this city-operated street cam outside—the masks were necessary.
And now I'm so fucking stoked I forced the guys to stop and smile for that camera real quick before we made our getaway. This turned out even fucking better than I hoped.
I'm going to frame this shit.
I read the headline attached, trying to see what people are saying. There are a bunch of links to TikTok and the word 'viral' pops up at least three times in the first paragraph.
"What's MaskTok?" I ask, and Aurora grabs the phone for a better look.
"No, you didn't!"
She zooms in on the photo, and I lean into her side as she takes in the Halloween masks and me making a peace sign for the camera.
"The Menage a MaskTok?!"
With the masks on, and with the angle, it should be hard to tell which one of us is which, but Aurora still points us out with ease.
"Ghostface is definitely you."
"Guilty," I admit.
"And this one with the light-up smile and crossed-out eyes—that's Elijah for sure."
He gives a little bow.
"Which means this creepy-looking skull mask is Atticus."
"I'll have you know that is military-grade tactical gear and is completely bulletproof."
"Doesn't make it any less creepy."
Aurora lifts her brows at him in challenge, and his nostrils flare.
There's only a little venom in her tone when she adds, "Don't worry, it suits you."
Céline's laughter fades a bit as she glances between Aurora and Atticus. "Do I sense some tension here?"
"Maybe a little." Aurora's voice is muffled as she mumbles into her wineglass. Unlike me, Eli, and Céline, she's still on her first one.
"What happened, then?" Céline presses, then turns to give a sharp look in Atticus's direction. "You didn't mention anything during your haircut?"
Atticus lifts the decanter to fill Céline's glass, and she picks up on the dramatic shift in the room.
"Oh my," she says. "I've hit a sore spot."
She shares a look with Aurora, who casts her gaze away as if she's the guilty one at the table.
Something is definitely going on there and I have to think it's to do with the fact that Ro has shut down every one of Eli's and my advances since she got here.
At first I assumed it was the stress getting to her, but now I'm not so sure.
Atticus sighs through his nose as he sets the decanter back on the table, but doesn't let go of it, his knuckles turning white where they grip around its delicate glass neck.
"I really messed up," he says, eyes lifting to Céline's. "I broke her trust. I thought she was something she wasn't. Isn't."
Céline's brows draw down and when she looks at Aurora again, it's like she's understanding something for the first time. Like she's sorry.
But Aurora isn't looking at her. She's swirling her wine and working her jaw.
"He thought I was Ambrose's mole," she explains.
Céline gasps and then twists in her seat to swat Atticus. "But of course she isn't!"
Atticus's jaw tightens. "I know. Like I said—I fucked up, Cee."
"What did you do?"
"It's fine," Aurora says in a harsh whisper, her cheekbones flaring. "We don't need to rehash it."
"No, it's not fine," Atticus blurts in a rough tone, and I don't know exactly what's happening right now, but Atticus admitting he fucked up and is sorry in front of an audience was not on this year's bingo card…
Ro shifts in her seat, and even though Céline was the one asking, Atticus is speaking directly to Aurora when he continues.
"I hurt you. I accused you of things I had no right to accuse you of."
Consider me floored.
I’ve known Atticus for over a decade. I’ve seen him kill men without blinking. I’ve seen him plan heists with the precision of a surgeon about to do open-heart surgery.
But I have never seen him apologize like this.
Not with his voice cracking and his entire fucking heart bleeding out over the dining room table for everyone to see.
Ro doesn’t know what she’s witnessing.
But I do.
Atticus isn’t apologizing because he wants her to forgive him.
He’s reopening the wound and begging her to let him stitch it up the right way this time. He’s apologizing because he’s broken, and she’s the only one who can put him back together.
"Leave it," Aurora says, getting clearly agitated. "It doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done."
"It does matter, Aurora."
Ro flinches, like it hurts to hear him be sorry, but why would it?
If she were still angry, like she pretends to be, she'd be snapping at him. That's her go-to. But she isn't snapping, and she isn't accepting his apology, either. She's almost cowering from it.
Maybe this shouldn’t happen now.
"Hey, bro, I think maybe we dro—"
"No, I need to say this, and she needs to hear it. You all do.
"I'm sorry." Atticus almost shouts it. "You gave me every opportunity to get my head screwed on straight that morning.
You tried to make me see reason, but I fucking spiraled anyway.
And god, I can still hear the wobble in your voice when I pinned you to the wall, and you told me to stop…
and I…" He swallows back a gag. "And I didn't."
Heat pools in my stomach.
"And then I called you a liar and a…a backstabbing whore, and…" He wipes a palm over his mouth as if it might stop him talking. "It was so fucked."
We've already heard it all, but hearing it again reminds me why I stayed so fucking angry at him for so long. If he wasn't clearly taking strides to make this right…
My fist clenches on the table and I make a conscious effort to uncurl it.
This is huge, I tell myself. Atty may not see it, but she's changing him, too. He's always saying how good she is for Eli, and for me—but no one has been able to have this much effect on Atty ever. Save for maybe Flo when she was still alive.
Céline's expression hardens as she watches Atticus. "This is why you've been so quiet."
Atty's lips flatten into a firm line.
"I'm disappointed in you," Céline says, and he actually winces at her words, but she isn't finished. "You must stop thinking everyone is your enemy. We've talked about this—"
"I know," he interrupts.
"No, you don't, because you still have not learned…" She trails off with a sigh. "But I can see now that you are learning."
She turns to Aurora. "I won't make excuses for him," she says. "But if you knew him as I do, you would know that everything he does is for the good of those he cares for. And even if the tête de n?ud is too stubborn to see it, you're good for him. Don't give up on him."
"That's not fair," Aurora murmurs.
"Perhaps not, but I felt compelled to say it anyway."
She turns back to Atticus. "And you—I hope you see the damage that can be caused by your incessant need to control everything. This girl should be treated with nothing but the utmost respect, especially with what she's trying to help you boys accomplish."
Atticus's eyes darken. "I know."
"Good."
She pushes up from the table, wobbling a little. "I think that's enough wine for me. You think about what I said, Atticus."
He nods gravely as she makes her way from the dining room toward the stairs.
"Well, that's one way to ruin a perfectly good evening," I say in a strained whisper, sipping my wine.
"You're not," Atticus says to Aurora. "You aren't any of those awful things I said you were. You never were. Not even for a second."
"Maybe we put this to bed for the night?" Eli presses, but I can tell by the haunted look on Atticus's face that he isn't done.
"I—I'm fucked up, Trouble. I'm not a good person. Not like Sev and Eli. Not like you."
"I think I'm done for the night, too," Aurora says, rising to leave. I move to stop her, or maybe to go with her, but she slips from my fingers and rushes from the room.
Atticus sags in his seat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.
"I had to say it," he whispers toward the table. "Just one more time. She needs to know that I am not going to give up."