Chapter 23
Harrison
Mrs. D. shrieks. “Oh, my stars. What on earth are you doing here?”
An excellent question.
One that crossed my mind, as well. Just with considerably less volume.
My feet move fast.
I see her.
Two doe eyes see me.
She’s standing in my house, carrying a white box and wearing my red-and-black plaid flannel. The one I left in the closet.
Only she’s wearing it like a dress.
Sleeves rolled to her elbows. The hem brushing her knees. Cinched at the waist with the most expensive tie I own. A gift from Mark that’s less an accessory and more a trophy.
The kind I never wear.
Ever.
Except for very specific occasions. Like Christmas at the Donovans’.
I picture unknotting it with my teeth.
Merry Christmas to me.
I shove that thought in the trunk and really take her in.
This woman is haphazardly put together. And yet, despite every law of logic and reason, she looks absolutely beautiful.
How? I have no idea.
Which mirrors the larger mystery of why she’s standing in my foyer.
Is she a stalker?
Unlikely. I usually have a sixth sense about this kind of shit, and all the ominous red flags are conspicuously absent.
She’s neither clingy nor reckless with the L-word.
That said, she is standing in my foyer wearing my clothes.
And considering she has every reason to be furious with me, possibly entertaining revenge fantasies that involve flannel shirt-wearing voodoo dolls, I need to play this very, very cool.
Mrs. D.’s elbow slams into my ribs.
Hard.
Her usual social butterfly self is suddenly at a loss for words, staring at Pix like a baby unicorn wandered out of the woods and straight into the house.
I clear my throat.
“What are you doing here, Pix?” I ask, because my kids have never been around a woman I’ve dated.
Not that I’ve really dated anyone.
She blinks, clearly startled. “I’m looking for Evan.”
“I think you mean Evans.”
She frowns, thinking it over. “I thought that was a typo. His name is really Evans?”
I step closer. Close enough to register the scent of her, clean and familiar and cutting off all the oxygen to my brain.
Another step, and my voice lowers to a growl.
“E-v-a-n-s.”
She blinks, confused. She looks at me, then Mrs. D. Then, after a beat, she licks her lips. “Is Evans here?”
Something in my gut tightens.
“What do you want with him?”
She hesitates, fingers curling into the strap of her bag. “I’m supposed to be staying with Evans. My brother arranged it.”
Uh-oh.
“What?”
“I’m Gabe’s sister. I’m a little late, but I texted him.”
A text I still haven’t had a chance to read.
She lifts the box. “And I brought donuts.”
Mrs. D. makes a small, strangled sound beside me. Somewhere between a gasp and a prayer.
Meanwhile, my mind flips through vivid images of my impending murder.
Gabe’s baby sister.
What the actual fuck?
The room tilts sideways as all hell breaks loose.
Footsteps thunder from down the hall.
“Oh my God,” Connor shouts. “Is that—”
Ollie barrels past him. “IT IS.”
“Ahh!” Snooki squeals like she’s just spotted a parade. She darts past the boys and latches on to Pix’s waist, clinging to her like a balloon she’s afraid might float away. “Princess Luna!”
“Princess… Luna?” I ask, because surely I misheard that this woman is royalty. Of the moon.
I’m immediately smacked in the gut from every direction.
“Dad,” Connor mutters. “You’re embarrassing us.”
Pix’s eyes meet mine. “Dad?” she echoes, one brow lifting as she takes in my trio of offspring.
My package deal.
The one that will always come before any relationship.
I pull my boys in close, hands braced on their shoulders. If you’re going to run for the hills, Pix, now would be the time.
Instead, she gives me exactly one unreadable look before turning all her attention to Snooki. She drops down so they’re eye to eye and wraps her in a hug like this is the most natural thing in the world.
“Hi,” she says softly. “And what’s your name, Princess?”
“Snooki,” she replies gleefully.
“I’m Connor,” my teenage linebacker adds, lifting a hand in a shy wave.
“Oliver Evans,” my goofball announces, bowing with a flourish. “At your service, Your Highness.”
Oh, for Christ’s sake. Maybe Her Highness would like to remind him to clean his room.
“I’m your biggest fan,” Mrs. D. says, finally breaking free of her starstruck chokehold. Hands pressed to her chest, she bounces on her toes like she might actually pee herself. “Come in,” she insists, ushering Pix forward before I can stop it.
Snooki climbs fully into Pix’s arms, settling there, and it’s too much.
Suddenly, I’m not at all sure how I feel about any of this.
Viviana. Ava. Whatever name she’s using. She’s a stranger.
Except she isn’t.
Her brother saved my life more than once.
Her mother fed us for a week with those tamales and made the house warm with flowers.
Pix is family.
Not by blood. But some ties are stronger than blood.
Which makes this a problem.
A very attractive, deeply inappropriate and forbidden problem.
Because being in her orbit for any length of time will shatter my self-control. It makes me forget the rules I live by.
Rules that exist for a reason.
Like, hey, don’t bang your best friend’s baby sister unless you have a death wish.
I watch as they all pour into the living room, and I’m dimly aware that my entire household has fallen under her spell.
Every last one of them.
Before I lose my final sanity cell, I puff out, “Can someone please explain to me who Princess Luna is?”
Ollie looks at me the way I’ve looked at him more times than I can count when he can’t identify a single middle US state. “Dad. Everyone knows Princess Luna.”
Connor is already shoving his phone at my chest. “It’s all over the socials. Ava Alvarez is Princess Luna.”
Article after article. Headlines. Photos.
A clip from an interview that dropped yesterday. Twelve million views and climbing.
Something in my chest sinks.
She lied about her name.
She’s also a megawatt celebrity. And Gabe’s baby sister. So, I’m not sure why this is the gut punch. Her lying about her name.
But somehow, it is.
“You’re a celebrity,” I say flatly, handing Connor back his phone.
“I am,” she replies, chin lifting with enough defiance to remind me exactly how I talked about celebrities with disgust.
Good.
Stay the asshole.
That should keep me safely at arm’s length.
My phone buzzes.
A text from Batman.
The sooner the better
Nice reminder. It’s immediately followed by three more texts.
Travis is waiting.
Outside.
Still. Waiting.
Shit.
I guess I’ll be unpacking this disaster at my feet later.
I turn to Mrs. D. “I have to run. Can you watch the kids?”
She frowns. “Oh, I wish I could,” she says apologetically, eyes still fixed on Pix. “But I’ve got to get back. Not right away,” she adds quickly, her reassurance clearly meant for Pix and not me. “A big catering order. My personal recipe. I—”
“I can watch your children, Evans,” Pix says.
Cue her death glare.
Ah.
It’s obvious she thinks I gave her a fake name. Oh, the irony.
“Harrison Evans,” I correct quickly. “And I have other sitters I can call, so—”
“We want Princess Luna!” Snooki declares, clinging to her like a koala.
“Can she stay, Dad?” Ollie begs, hands pressed together tightly.
Can my inappropriate one-night stand stay? Loaded question of the century.
I look at Pix. At the way she shifts Snook higher on her hip like it’s perfectly natural.
I can’t let her leave. Not until we talk.
And also, because my children would never forgive me if I did.
“You don’t have somewhere else to be?” I ask tightly. “A late show? An interview? Oprah?”
“Who’s Oprah?” Connor asks.
I shoot him a glare. Blasphemy.
“I’ll have my PA rearrange my schedule,” Pix says sweetly, batting her eyes. “We celebrities are very good at that. But I’ll only stay the night. A hotel has already been arranged, actually.”
I grit my teeth.
A hotel.
Because she wants distance. Because whatever this is between us exists very firmly in the past.
Not that I can fault her for it. I’m not exactly down on one knee.
Still, it lands harder than it should.
All eyes turn to me.
I can’t be the villain. Not today. Not when I’ve been gone all night, and I’m about to ditch them again.
Connor starts angling for selfies.
“Stop,” I bark, pointing at him.
“Just one,” he argues, while Ollie and Snook shout over each other, clamoring for her attention.
They’re acting like we just brought home a puppy.
And I am not having this.
My whistle is sharp and loud, like the last cab in Manhattan is about to pull away without me.
All noise ceases.
“Listen up. If Princess Luna stays,” I say, still mildly shocked that those words came out of my mouth, “not one photo gets posted. No calls to friends. No sharing locations. She’s a guest, and she deserves respect and privacy. Understood?”
“Understood,” they all say instantly, disturbingly unified.
“Do not make me regret this,” I warn.
“We won’t,” Connor promises for all of them, as fist bumps and high-fives break out.
I glance at Pix. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? We don’t exactly have a concierge.”
Her smile turns dangerous. “I’ll make do.”
Everyone holds their breath, waiting for my verdict.
I can’t take this from them. Not when they haven’t looked this happy since…
I draw in a slow breath. “Why is our guest still holding her bag and a box?”
The room erupts, cheering.
Ollie and Connor swoop in immediately, grabbing both.
“Careful,” Pix says to Ollie. “That box has donuts.”
“Yes!”
He spins toward the kitchen, already halfway gone, when she adds, “Wait. Give one to your father.”
I don’t hate that she thought of me.
Ollie pauses, nods solemnly, then holds the box while I open it and grab one. Pix reaches into her pocket and produces a napkin, handing it over.
When I hesitate, she smiles. “It’s clean. The nice lady at the shop gave me a whole stack and threw in extra donuts when she heard I was headed to Bishop Mountain. All on the house. Apparently, we’re now lifelong friends.”
I take it. “That nice lady would be my sister. Hannah.”
Pink blooms across her cheeks.
“Oh,” she says, softer now.
Great. Now I need to know what she told Hannah to earn that reaction.
But I don’t have time.
“She can have my room,” Connor announces, already hustling her backpack down the hall.
Good. Someone should be using it.
“Make sure it’s tidy!” I holler after him. Then I lean into Pix’s free ear. “Where’s your suitcase?”
“At my hotel,” she says. “I was going to send for it if I was still welcome after being unavoidably delayed by a lumberjack.”
“You’re always welcome here, Pix.”
Her eyes widen. “I am?”
“Of course.” I take a wide step back. “You’re Gabe’s sister. And no need to send for it. I’ll grab your suitcase on my way back. Just text me the hotel.”
“Thanks.”
From down the hall, I hear Connor clunking around, followed by the whine of a vacuum, a crash, and an indignant, “I’m fine.”
“We have a guest room if you’d prefer,” I say.
“I’ll be fine.”
“You say that because you’ve never seen a teenage boy’s room.”
She smiles. “I grew up with Gabriel, remember? Trust me. I know.”
I hesitate a second too long, and she catches it.
I pocket a hand to avoid touching her. “I won’t be long.”
“Take all the time in the world, Harrison Evans,” she replies. “And it’ll give me a chance to extract dirt from your kids and snoop through your things.”
That smile again. Sweet and innocent and oh, so dangerous.
I narrow my eyes.
“Too soon?” she asks.
She’s definitely enjoying this way too much. And all I want to do is punish that sassy mouth of hers.
Having her in my house won’t exactly be helpful. Even if it is for just the night.
I pat Snooki’s head. “Be good.”
She clings tighter, beaming. “Promise.”
And then I leave.
With a donut in my hand.
A celebrity in my house.
And the distinct feeling that my life just took a very sharp left turn.