Chapter 18
Rhys
Istare down at the basil plant.
“I think she’s roped me into something, mate,” I mutter.
Basil just stares back and offers no advice. Useless bastard. Sure, they talk to her. Not me.
I glance at the calendar again. It looks like a deranged, glitter-smeared war map. Color-coded squares with stars for bullet points and stickers shaped like reindeer wearing sunglasses.
This is weaponized organization.
Fallon sits perched on the couch, watching me like she’s picturing me in an antler headband. God, those eyes of hers are bright and full of hope. It’s as if last night’s horror just bounced off her and ricocheted into a full-blown holiday battle plan.
“You want me at all of these events?” I gesture vaguely at the explosion of dates, times, and map coordinates.
“Yes,” she says firmly. “All of them.”
“Friendsgiving,” I read aloud, whatever the fuck that is. “Bryant Park Holiday Market. Lobby Tree Trimming.” I squint. “What is a cookie combat night?”
“I got fancy. It’s just a cookie exchange,” she corrects primly.
“Caroling?” I shriek. “Where? On the corner of 34th Street and 7th, behind a Macy’s Santa?”
“No, they don’t let you do that. Just singing on doorsteps here in the neighborhood.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal.
Like it’s 1975. “Just you?”
“And kids from the local school.”
“Okay, then…” I pause and stare at the last stretch of dates circled in glitter. “‘Home with Daddy.’ Four days? Including Christmas Day?”
“The whole weekend.” She bites her nail, her armor cracking.
A muscle in my jaw twitches. This feels like a death sentence wrapped in tinsel. I could say no. I should say no. She could’ve asked for money. Jewelry. A day at an expensive spa. A bloody car.
But all she wants…is me.
The thought makes my ribs tighten. No one’s ever wanted just…me.
The minute I tell Griffin and Shane that someone tried to kill me in my flat, and Fallon saw me gut him, they will haul her off to Connor’s torture tunnel for interrogation.
But I won’t let that happen.
I snap a photo of the calendar, shaking my head like that will stop this trainwreck. “I’m not sure I’ll survive the next thirty days,” I tell Basil.
The plant says nothing, smug as ever.
I make a mental note to cancel my flight to Ireland for my annual Christmas retreat in the Wicklow Woods. The only week I ever breathe.
Fallon beams at me like this is the happiest day of her life. She probably thinks we’re engaged now.
One dark, selfish part of me wonders how far I should take this fake relationship. Benefits would be nice. But no. I would never take advantage of her.
Fallon’s mood turns dark. “I should warn you. My father will need to size you up.”
“Size me up?” My voice cracks. “For what? A bloody coffin?”
She blinks, genuinely confused. “No. To see if you’re strong enough to keep me.”
A cold hollowness slides down my spine. Challenge accepted.