Page 83 of The Kiss of Deception

In the air, his palm awaits, lines in which future and fortune reside. I can’t read them, so I cover his hand, and squeeze without meaning to.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

Hours later, I’m overwhelmed, sifting through boxes and boxes, separating them according to floors and rooms and any category that can offer me some semblance of order.

As promised, Camila arrived earlier with Nicholas. Last I saw her, my bestie was somewhere in the kitchen pretending to dust the cabinets. In reality, she was sticking her nosy nose in every compartment, snooping or searching. I don’t know what she expects to find in an empty house.

Nicholas was off with his best-friend, pushing heavy furniture around to the tastes of the new homeowner—and mine.

The house is fully furnished, except for a couple of completely bare rooms, which Miles wants to redo and personalize according to our tastes. When he asked for ideas, I didn’t miss a beat.

“I’d like that one.” I pointed to the last door down the hall. “For my home office. If that’s fine.”

He smiled with his dimples and said, “Of course, love.”

Then he was off with my desk, the one Grandpa built for me when I started first grade, until his friend arrived—leaving me to organize the mess of his unlabeled boxes.

“Família! Heard you’ve been missing me.”

In strut kilometers of tattoos and the sweetest, dirty smirk known to mankind.

Hands planted on my waist, I hide the smile that blooms, selecting my best frown instead. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

With an arm around my shoulder, Rodrigo traps me in his embrace to muss my hair with his free hand. “I was told there would be food.”

“There’s no food.” Miles soundlessly materializes next to us, scowling at my friend—at the arm that surrounds me. I jump and stomp on my friend’s foot—unwillingly but perfectly timed. “We’re in the middle of a move.”

“What?” Camila’s steps come thundering, somehow overhearing us from fifteen rooms away. “What do you mean, no food? I might faint!”

To complete the party, Nicholas joins, at last, his glare settling on Miles, otherwise mute—shockingly.

“There is food.” I step out from under Rodrigo’s side-hug with calming hands in the air before tempers can flare. You’re angry when you’re hungry, and all that. “There will be food. We just have to buy it. Or order takeout.”

“What’s he doing here?” Miles demands, crossing his arms.

“Not sure.” I shrug. “But another pair of strong arms and broad shoulders an—”

“Love?” Miles interrupts, jaw so tight it pops. “Your point?”

“Just saying another pair of arms won’t hurt. In fact, it’ll make sure mine won’t be sore tomorrow.”

His teeth clench and unclench, and damn, the sharpness of that jawline could slit me open. “Well, then. I’m gonna head out. Buy the food.”

“Wait!” Camila hollers halfway out of the room, hurrying back and hopping on one foot as she puts her left cow-slipper on the wrong foot. “I’ll go, too. Someone has to supervise or he’ll buy only the healthy stu—”

“Camila, não.” Rodrigo’s word sounds awfully like no, she’s not allowed to go.

It sounds like unannounced thunder on a summer day, charging the air with stillness as we watch the standstill between the siblings.

Camila is unruffled, like this discussion is far from new, but I decide to intervene before the situation escalates. “Miles and Camila, you get the food. Rodrigo stays and puts those muscles to work.”

“Maybe he should go,” Miles retorts. I don’t think he means Rodrigo should go to the store.

These men-children are getting on my nerves.

“He stays.” My voice raises, ending the discussion. “Everyone stays, everyone helps, everyone eats.”

The sharp angle of Rodrigo's jawline is cutting, as he chews down the remark. “Damn,” he finally says. “Put a slipper in her hand and she’s ready to be a mother.”

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