Chapter 15 #3
“She just called him a pampered aristocrat with delusions,” I mutter, smirking over my mug.
He laughs. “Lastest episode I watched, she tried to make a French dessert with no modern tools and nearly got chased out of the kitchen.”
“You really love this show.”
“I’m invested.” He grins. “Been waiting for new episodes every Thursday. We’re only on episode nine overall.”
General Flufferton stretches up and snags the corner of my sandwich, coming away with a string of cheese.
“General! That’s not yours!”
He ignores me completely, purring louder as he chews his prize.
Luke laughs. “I literally just gave him fresh salmon. The expensive stuff from the fish market.”
“Clearly, stolen cheese tastes better.” I guard the rest of my sandwich. “It’s the thievery that adds flavor.”
“Criminal cat. He’ll fit right in here.”
I take another bite, careful to keep it away from grabbing paws. “Speaking of which… if you could time-travel anywhere, where would you go?”
He rubs his chin, thinking, and I get distracted by his hands. Those fingers that were inside me earlier today. The scrape of stubble under his palm. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he considers.
“Prohibition Chicago,” he says finally. “1920s.”
“Seriously? With Al Capone and tommy guns?”
“Think about it. Everything was illegal, but everyone was doing it anyway. Speakeasies hidden behind barbershops. Jazz music. Everyone dressed sharp even though they were all criminals.” He shifts, and his knee brushes mine, sending electricity up my thigh.
“Plus, I’d have been perfect for it. Protection for bootleggers, security for illegal clubs.
Same shit I do now but with better music. ”
“And significantly more murder.”
“Details.” His grin is wicked. “Besides, I’ve survived worse than—” He catches himself. “I mean, I’m tough. I’d manage.”
“Sure you would, tough guy.” I roll my eyes but I’m smiling. “Let me guess—you’d romance some flapper and die in a shoot-out.”
“Nah. I’d find my dame and convince her to run away with me to Paris or something. Live the expatriate life. Write terrible poetry. Drink absinthe.”
“You write poetry?”
“Terribly. There’s a difference.”
“Show me sometime.”
“Never.” But he’s staring at me with heat in his eyes. “Your turn. Where would you go?”
“Ancient Egypt. Specifically, Cleopatra’s court.”
“Of course you’d pick the cat civilization.”
“They were gods there! Worshipped! Mummified when they died!” I gesture at General Flufferton. “He would have been treated like royalty.”
“He already is.”
“Plus those clothes, the gold, the makeup, the headdresses. And I’d finally solve the mystery of the pyramids.”
“There’s no mystery. It was thousands of workers and clever engineering.”
“But what if it wasn’t?” I finish my sandwich, licking cheese off my finger and definitely not noticing how Luke’s eyes track the movement. “What if there was something else? Lost technology or?—”
“Aliens. You think it was aliens.”
Before I can defend my position on ancient aliens, General Flufferton notices my empty plate. The betrayal in his green eyes is Oscar-worthy. He stands, stretches dramatically, and saunters over to Luke, climbing directly onto his chest with zero regard for organs or breathing.
“Jesus, fuck—” Luke wheezes as the huge cat settles on his sternum, nose to nose with him. “This is how I die. Suffocated by a judgmental cat.”
General Flufferton chirps, pressing his forehead against Luke’s chin in a headbutt that’s somehow both aggressive and affectionate.
“He’s testing you,” I inform him. “Seeing if you’re worthy of his affection.”
“By crushing my lungs?”
“It’s a rigorous screening process.” I giggle at the sight.
The cat starts purring so loudly that it sounds like a motor, kneading his paws into Luke’s chest.
“Okay, but aliens,” I continue, trying not to laugh at Luke’s face. “We can’t be alone in the universe. The math doesn’t work. Billions of galaxies, trillions of stars?—”
“Oh, I agree completely.” He manages to shift the cat slightly so he can breathe. “We’re probably some alien kid’s science project that got a C minus.”
“Gave them consciousness but they still destroyed their own planet. Mediocre effort.”
We’re laughing when the front door opens, cold air sweeping in along with Arrow and Holt. They stop in the entryway, taking in the scene, me curled up, Luke trapped under my cat, both of us grinning like idiots.
“Looks cozy,” Arrow observes, shrugging out of his leather jacket.
“What happened after we left?” Luke asks.
“Waited for them to clear out. Your cousin Sarah was holding court by her car for twenty minutes in the parking lot, probably still talking about the hallway incident,” Holt says.
My stomach drops. “Oh God.”
“Hey.” Arrow’s voice gentles. “How are you doing? That was intense.”
“I’m…” I pull my sleeves over my hands, a nervous habit. “I’m better now. Away from them. That was more than I expected.”
“Ambush,” Holt says simply. “Your mother planned that.”
“Yeah.” I sink deeper into the couch. “That’s her specialty.”
Arrow stretches, cracking his neck. “All right, I need to get out of these jeans before they become a second skin.”
Holt gives a short laugh. “Yeah, I should change too.”
They head upstairs, and Luke immediately tries to extract himself from under General Flufferton.
“Come on, buddy. Let me up.”
The cat digs his claws in just enough to make a point.
“I need to get snacks for your mom.”
General Flufferton instantly hops down and follows Luke to the kitchen, tail high, supervising as he raids the pantry.
“Luke, I just ate?—”
“Not enough. Never enough. You picked at that fancy dinner like a bird.”
He comes back with his arms full of three kinds of chips, chocolate bars, what resembles homemade cookies, cans of soda, bottles of water, and even a bowl of grapes.
“Did you rob a convenience store?”
“I didn’t know what you’d want.” He arranges everything on the coffee table like offerings. “I just want you happy. Fed. Comfortable.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest tight. General Flufferton weaves between his legs, purring his approval.
“You’re going to spoil me.”
“That’s the plan.”
Before I can respond to that loaded statement, Holt comes back downstairs and my brain empties completely.
Gray sweatpants that sit low on his hips, showing the V of muscle that disappears beneath the waistband.
A white tank top that does nothing to hide the strength of his chest, the intricate tattoos covering his arms. His dark hair is mussed, and the medical eye patch somehow makes him more attractive, like danger personified.
He grabs a beer from the kitchen and drops onto the couch on my other side, close enough that his thigh presses against mine. The heat of him seeps through my jeans immediately. My body responds to his closeness without permission, skin flushing, pulse jumping.
“Better not be watching ahead without me,” he says, nodding at the TV, where the pastry chef is now teaching palace maids about a certain dish.
“Starting from episode one for Cindy,” Luke assures him.
“Good.” Holt takes a long pull of his beer, and I watch his throat work, the way his lips wrap around the bottle.
“After sending me that nuclear cocktail, you deserve punishment,” Luke adds.
“That was payback for the concussion,” Holt protests.
“And then you made it worse by kissing her in front of the family spy!” Luke replies.
My face heats. “Sorry about that. Terrible timing.”
Holt’s hand lands on my thigh, heavy and warm. “Not sorry. If Luke wanted the fake boyfriend role so bad, he gets to deal with the complications.”
“You’re just pissed I got there first,” Luke shoots back.
“You got there because you gave me a head injury.”
“Okay!” I interrupt, burning with embarrassment. “Can we not discuss the… incident? How’s your eye?” I ask Holt. “Really?”
Holt’s mouth opens to speak, but?—
“Arr, matey, it be healin’ right fine!” Arrow’s voice carries from the stairs in the worst pirate accent I’ve ever heard. “Though me depth perception be shot to hell, yarr!”
“Stop,” Holt groans, but his lips twitch.
“What’s that? Can’t hear ye over the sound of me peg leg!” Arrow joins us, and my mouth goes dry for entirely different reasons.
His dark hair is wet from a shower, slicked back from his face, emphasizing those sharp cheekbones and dangerous eyes. He’s wearing black slacks and a thin white T-shirt that clings to his chest, bare feet silent on the hardwood. He appears relaxed but ready to spring into action at any moment.
“Ye scurvy dogs best be treatin’ me wench right!” He’s really committing to this terrible accent.
“Arrow, I swear to God—” Holt starts.
“Or I’ll make ye walk the plank into… uh… the pool!”
We’re all laughing now, even Holt, though he tries to hide it behind his beer.
“You’re all idiots,” Holt mutters. “But you—” He squeezes my thigh, and I nearly combust. “You, I don’t regret. That kiss was worth the chaos it caused Luke.”
Arrow grabs another pack of chips and drops onto the couch between me and Luke, bouncing us all. I’m now pressed in with him and Holt, hyperaware of every point of contact. Arrow’s arm goes across the back of the couch behind me, not quite touching but close enough that I sense the heat.
“So,” Arrow says, voice back to normal. “We’re really hosting a wedding here?”
Guilt crashes through me. “I’m so sorry. She just she sprung it on us and?—”
“Not your fault,” Luke says firmly.
“Still. You can say no. Tell her the house isn’t available or?—”
“We’re doing it.” Luke’s voice brooks no argument. “Besides, that woman needs to see exactly what she’s messing with.”
“What do you mean?”
Luke looks at the others, some silent communication passing between them, then tells them everything. The ultimatum. The threat to drag me home. The demand to prove that our relationship is real by Halloween.
“She said what?” Arrow’s voice goes deadly quiet.
“She can’t—” Holt starts.
“She can. She will.” I twist my sleeves anxiously. “You don’t know her. She has connections, money, this vindictive streak that—” I stop, swallow hard. “I’m so sorry for dragging you all into this disaster. Now you see why I ran. Why I changed my name. They destroy everything.”
“Cindy.” Luke moves closer. “Look at me.”
I do, reluctantly.
“We’re not going anywhere.”
“This isn’t pretend,” Holt says quietly. “Not for us.”
My heart stops. “What?”
“You’re our scent match.” Arrow’s voice is matter-of-fact. “All three of us react to you. You react to us. That’s not fake.”
“But—”
“Give us a chance to court you,” Holt interrupts. “Properly. The way you deserve.”
“We’ll take you on real dates,” Arrow adds. “Show your mother what actual romance looks like. Not that arranged bullshit she tried to force on you.”
“Anything you need,” Luke says. “We’ve got about two weeks to prove this is real because it is real.”
I stare at them, these three dangerous, beautiful men who are offering… everything. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious,” Luke confirms.
“All three of you want to… date me?”
“We want more than that,” Holt says quietly. “But we’ll start with dates if that’s what you’re comfortable with.”
My eyes burn with unshed tears. The hope in their faces, the sincerity, the way they’re all leaning toward me, is overwhelming.
“I don’t—I can’t—” I take a shaky breath. “What if she wins? What if she proves it’s fake somehow?”
“How can she prove something false?” Arrow asks.
“She’s smart. Manipulative. She’ll find a way to twist things?—”
“Then we don’t give her anything to twist.” Luke’s hand finds mine. “We show her the truth. That you’re ours.”
“That we’re yours,” Holt corrects.
“That this is real,” Arrow finishes.
I stare at them, these men who barely know me but are ready to fight my mother for me.
“Halloween wedding,” Luke muses. “Your mom’s gonna hate every second of what we create.”
“Hell yeah. We’ll make it the gothest fucking wedding ever.” Arrow grins. “Really lean into the Halloween theme.”
“Skeleton centerpieces,” Luke suggests.
“Black roses,” Holt adds.
“Costume requirement,” Arrow finishes.
I laugh despite everything. “Monica would actually love that.”
“Then that’s what she gets.” Luke squeezes my hand. “Your mom has to smile through it all since she asked for our help.”
The conversation continues, plans getting more ridiculous, and I find myself relaxing incrementally. But underneath the laughter and planning, dread curls in my stomach.
My family is poison. They seep into everything good and taint it, twist it, break it down until nothing is left but resentment and pain. These men who smell like they belong to me, who leave me desiring them, who study me like I’m precious, they don’t understand what they’re signing up for.
My mother will dig. She’ll manipulate. She’ll find every weakness and exploit it. And when she does, when she proves this is all fake—even though it’s becoming terrifyingly real—she’ll destroy them just for the sport of it.
“Your mom is about to learn not to fuck with what’s ours,” Holt says, the other two nodding.
The possessive growl in his voice warms me up. General Flufferton chooses that moment to walk across all our laps, demanding his attention, and the tension breaks into laughter.
But as I sit here, surrounded by these men who’ve decided I’m worth fighting for, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m leading them into a war they can’t win.
My mother always wins.
Always.