Chapter 12
twelve
HANNAH
“We don’t have to go.”
“Of course, we’re going.” I decided not to address yet another mention of the royal we. I couldn’t.
Beau and I were discussing the Halloween party as I steamed Clara’s dress. Yes, it might’ve been a little extra to steam a Halloween costume, but I wanted it to be perfect. This was the first and last Halloween I’d have with Clara. With Beau.
“Hannah, you were in a fucking car accident yesterday,” the man in question exclaimed roughly.
I finished with the steamer, switching it off and turning to Beau. Not before taking a calming breath. “I was in a fender bender,” I corrected him.
“Fender benders don’t involve totaled cars and fucking concussions,” he returned, his gaze on my head.
He’d been like that all day, watching me, gruff and overprotective.
After I’d had a bath last night—a bath he’d drawn me—I’d put on soft PJs and fallen into bed, exhausted. I didn’t even have the energy to say good night to Beau or Elliot, probably a good thing because I couldn’t handle the strange energy emanating from them both.
I’d woken at some time in the night, certain there was a shape in the chair across my room.
“Beau?” I’d murmured, hoping it was him since it was a man-sized shape, and I really didn’t want it to be some intruder.
“Go back to sleep,” came the voice.
It was rough but comforting. My body relaxed at the sound of it, the subtle smell of juniper wafting over me.
I was definitely dreaming.
When I woke in the morning, the chair was empty. I couldn’t be sure I’d dreamed it, since the clothes that had been lying on said chair in question were neatly folded on my dresser.
I didn’t think about that.
Luckily, Clara helped distract me. She had been up before me, too excited about Halloween to sleep.
She’d been appropriately concerned about the small cut on my head, having been filled in by Beau on the accident. Her tiny hands had trailed over it with an extraordinary gentleness that had made my eyes well. She laid a special kiss on it then had ensured I “take it easy” while she fussed over me.
Then there was Beau.
Cursing more than I’d ever heard. Constantly watching me, keeping track of when I could have my next dose of painkillers.
In my mind, I went over the man he was the night before. Furious, violent, intense. Not afraid to touch me. Before, he had been so careful not to even share the same air as me.
He had not reverted back entirely, but I could feel the distance between us like a gaping chasm.
Trying to figure out what was going on between us—if anything was even going on—was going to do nothing but make my head hurt. So I focused on Clara, got her in her costume, then put on mine so we could head to Nora’s party. That was after I’d won the argument with Beau about going at all.
“Wow!” Clara lit up when I finished the braids on her wig, twirling in the dress I’d made.
It was pretty impressive, if I did say so myself.
My sewing skills had been born out of necessity.
My mother didn’t bother with buying me clothes.
There often wasn’t money when I grew out of things, ripped them.
Thankfully, the grandmother I never met had left an old sewing machine in a storage closet.
I’d unearthed it then checked out books on sewing and patterns at the library.
I’d combed Goodwill for cheap clothes, curtains, fabrics, whatever I could find. At first, my clothes looked exactly what they were—homemade by a barely competent fifth grader. I got teased. So I got better. And better.
That’s how Cole and I became friends. He was obsessed with a shirt I’d made; he demanded I make him one. He hadn’t worried about what people would say about what he wore or how he acted. I was so amazed by him.
He’d told me I could’ve turned the sewing thing into a fashion career. I’d never been interested in fashion, though. Not beyond what it could do to make me fit in with everyone else. Cole had wanted to stand out. We were opposite, but we worked.
“Do you like it?” I asked, smoothing down my own dress.
I chewed my lip as I regarded my reflection.
I’d wanted to get as close to the original costumes as possible, but I was still unsure about the neckline.
It showed a fair amount of my ample chest. The rest of the velvet dress skimmed over my body like a second skin, technically covering me from wrist to ankle but leaving nothing to the imagination.
How I only realized then, five minutes before leaving, that Morticia might not have been the most appropriate Halloween costume for the nanny crushing on her boss was anyone’s guess.
I should’ve realized the moment that Beau agreed to dress up as the husband to my costume that it wasn’t appropriate.
But it was too late. I had the wig on, makeup, tits out. I wished for some of the courage I felt the last time I had champagne. I suddenly understood why people drank.
“Like it?” Clara repeated. “I love it!” Her wide grin filled my heart and chased away my uncertainties.
When she wrapped a hug around my legs and upper torso, I leaned down to squeeze her back.
“Thank you, Banana.” All of my doubts melted away. I’d do anything for this little person. Even show too much of my tits to the man I desired, apparently.
“Daddy!” she gasped, letting me go to look in the doorway. “You look so handsome.”
Taking a breath, I whirled to see Beau.
He was cut in a striking swath of expertly tailored black fabric. The suit was molded to his body, making him look menacing, elegant.
The original character was more known for pinstripe or purple suits, but Beau looked every bit as otherworldly and handsome in the onyx collared suit with a purple tie and pocket square. He’d slicked back his hair close to his head, thankfully keeping the beard.
His eyes were on Clara first, twinkling as she did a twirl for him.
“Don’t I look perfect, Daddy?” she asked.
He leaned down, playfully tugging on one of her braids. “Perfect isn’t the right word, but it’ll have to do.”
Clara grinned, lucky enough not to be awed by the reverence her father showed for her because it was an everyday occurrence. “And look at Hannah! Can you believe she made all of this?”
Beau’s eyes lingered on his daughter, as if he didn’t want to look at me. But far be it for him to ignore his daughter’s request. Slowly, his eyes traveled the length of my figure-hugging dress and over my chest before locking on to my made-up eyes.
I was committed to the character, which meant a lot of makeup. More than I’d worn in my life. Clara had “helped” and had actually done a great job.
His expression was carefully blank, but I could see a storm in his eyes. I forced myself to smile, mindful of our audience.
Beau continued to stare at me before clearing his throat loudly, gaze darting away to focus on Clara.
“We need to go,” he stated gruffly. “We’ll be late.”
He turned and walked out of the room, Clara excitedly following. I too followed, steeling myself for what was to come.
Halloween was a night of pretending to be something we weren’t.
Pretending. That’s all I was doing with Beau, and even Clara.
We weren’t a family.
And that was the scariest of realizations.
Nora and Rowan went all out for their Halloween party. Clara was beyond delighted. It was the most children she’d been around … ever. It seemed like half the town was milling around the idyllic farmhouse on the ocean.
There were large decorations in the yard, lights bathing the house in oranges and purples. A freaking fog machine.
Clara marveled and squealed at every new wonder, almost jumping from the truck as we parked. She tugged on mine and Beau’s hands to bring us inside, making sure to first lower her mask over her mouth.
It matched her outfit, of course, while serving as another protective layer to preserve her delicate immune system. Her doctors had cleared her for the party, which was surprising if you wanted to treat her as a normal patient.
But Clara was not a normal patient. I already knew she was extraordinary in a multitude of ways. Her being damn near close to a medical phenomenon did not surprise me.
Though I knew her being here was giving her father more gray hairs, that he was grinding down his white, slightly crooked teeth as he took in the house, the throngs of people.
The small crowd worked in my favor to distract me from Beau’s presence, but it only increased my anxiety about us walking in together. In matching costumes.
No, I had not thought this through.
I snatched a glass of what I hoped was booze from a serving tray set on the giant kitchen island.
Before I could lift it to my mouth, a large hand wrapped around my wrist, my skin scalding at the contact.
I froze, looking up at Beau, who was now standing close to me, touching me.
“You sure you should be drinking?” he murmured. “With your head?”
I stared at him, trying to form coherent thoughts over the scorching sensation in my wrist.
I swallowed, looking up at him. I’d forgotten that I was in a mild car accident last night. Beau, apparently, hadn’t. “Um, no, I suppose I shouldn’t.”
When he let go of my wrist, I put the glass down, immediately feeling the loss of his contact. Like my bones might just melt away without him holding them together.
“I’ll get you a soda,” he informed me. It triggered me. Him deciding what I was going to drink without question, it reminded me of all the decisions Waylon would make for me. But this was born from concern, not control.
“What about Clara?” I was suddenly aware that we did not have a small shadow, the buffer between us that kept things civil. That kept things G-rated.
Beau didn’t lower his gaze. “She’s with her aunt Calliope. I’ll get you a soda.”
“I can get my own soda,” I argued. “Go be with your family.”
“I’m getting you a soda.” Beau’s azure eyes drilled into me. “You go over with Calliope and Clara.”
My eyes widened at the order, forcing myself not to make the implication that I didn’t in any way belong here. Belonged at the party. With his family.
Beau leaned closer still, and my pulse spiked. “Don’t make me tell you again, Hannah.”
I let out a shallow gasp at his words, the husk in them not at all similar to the tone he spoke to me in as Clara’s father. As my boss.
The tone was that of a man speaking to a woman.
Unable to do anything else, I followed his order.
Beau and I were not alone for hours after that.
Not with all of the Jupiter Crew present.
Not with Clara wanting to run around everywhere.
Beau kept close to her because he was protective.
Plus, I knew crowds were his worst nightmare.
I’d found myself with the large group of Jupiter women who kept me engaged in easy conversation.
My gaze kept darting toward Beau of its own accord, and a couple of times we’d locked eyes, an electric spark shooting through me.
It was only after we’d piled Clara onto the hayride with all of the other children and a couple of fathers that we were alone again. I was surprised that Beau didn’t charge his way on to ensure his daughter wasn’t alone. I knew he wanted to, from the tic in his jaw, his tense posture.
The other parents who had helped their children onto the ride had dispersed back inside, presumably to enjoy some adult time and adult drinks while the children were under the care of Rowan and his badass crew of dads.
Again, I wondered why Beau wasn’t part of that crew and was secretly glad.
“You’re letting her go that far from you, without your watchful gaze?” I teased Beau.
“I sewed an AirTag into the hem of her dress,” he replied, still staring.
I choked out a laugh. “You can sew?”
He nodded. “Enough to do that, at least. Nowhere near your level.” As soon as the hayride disappeared from view, he turned to face me. “Your talents are impressive, Hannah. Clara’s costume is perfect. Your dress…” His eyes ran over the velvet fabric, my skin prickling as he did.
My heart became a wallop in my ears.
“You look…” He cleared his throat. The space in his sentence had its own zip code. It stilled my heart. My breathing.
His mouth flattened as he took a small but purposeful step back. “Adequate,” he muttered. “You look perfectly adequate.”
I stared at him, my legs turning to jelly.
His words were at odds with the electrifying stare I felt directly between my legs.
I straightened my spine, tilting my chin up.
“Well, thank you, Beau. Perfectly adequate was exactly what I was going for.” I forced a smile, my eyes doing a slow crawl over his perfectly tailored suit, groomed beard, stormy eyes, and smooth hair.
“You look …. perfectly adequate yourself.” My tone was teasing, but my knees trembled in response to our closeness and the power of Beau’s gaze.
We lingered, staring at each other, me wondering if there was something underneath all of this. Something I could grasp on to.
“Hannah?”
I jumped, turning to look at Lori who was getting out of a car. She blatantly ignored the man opening the door for her—Finn, the police chief.
His eyes were glued to her as she walked the short distance from the car to where Beau and I were standing.
Beau pointedly stepped back from me before Lori pulled me into a hug.
The gesture was maybe too familiar given we didn’t know each other well.
But we’d been in a minor car crash, we’d shared secrets.
We knew each other well enough. We were friends.
So the hug felt natural. It was a relief to have a true friend here.
“Are you okay?” I asked her, scanning her body.
She nodded. “Totally fine.” Her gaze darted down to her belly for a second. “We’re both fine. I don’t need to be babysat.” She said the last sentence louder, her head tilting to the man who had started speaking in hushed tones to Beau.
She looked mad—her cheeks pink, nostrils flaring. Finn’s eyes never left her for long.
I swallowed a smile. “I suspect there’s a story there.”
She frowned at me. “There is no story there, and there never will be.” She sounded certain.
I raised a brow in question.
“Is there a story there?” she asked directly, not so subtly gesturing to Beau.
Heat filled my cheeks. “Touché,” I replied with a wry grin.
“Let’s go get food I might be able to stomach.” She linked her arm with mine. “And forget all complications with a Y chromosome.”
As we started walking toward the house, I swore I could feel Beau’s gaze drilling into me.
Pretending, I reminded myself. I was just pretending.