Page 33 of The Retreat

“I’m going to go play in traffic.” Owen heads toward the elevator and pushes the button. I’m pretty sure he’s kidding.

Oliver is typing something on his phone, then airdrops me a calendar invite.

“Are you two making a visitation schedule?” Isaac asks from behind me. I quickly glance at him and hold in a chuckle at the glazed over expression on his face. The boy is clearly cum drunk, and I am so jealous I don’t know how my skin isn’t green.

“Where are you two living? You can’t keep him in a dorm,” Oliver asks.

“We haven’t found a place yet. We’re still looking. Not that you have any say in the matter.”

“What neighborhoods are you looking at?”

“Hell’s Kitchen.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“Be serious.” Oliver scoffs, and my phone starts going off with links to apartments.

“We can find our own apartment.” I make a point of deleting the links he’s sent me.

“You two need to separate.” Isaac puts his hands on his hips between us.

“Kitten.” Oliver’s tone is a clear warning, and I’m not going to lie, it’s hot as fuck.

Isaac sticks his lip out a little and lowers his head. “Cuddles, please?”

Oh, he’s playing his husband like a violin. Oliver clearly knows it but grabs the boy and leaves the living room.

There’s screeching of tires, and a car horns down at the street, and I run to the balcony, my heart pounding in my chest. I swear on everything holy I will scorch the earth if something happened to Owen!

I quickly scan the street and don’t see any signs of my wayward husband in the crash. As I’m searching the sidewalk, I find him strolling toward the building with a fucking iced coffee in his hand.

“Owen! Get your ass in here! Right! Now!” These men are going to give me an aneurysm.

I don’t know how he’s managed it, but every time I find a listing to show to Owen, Oliver pops up behind me and vetoes it. I’m ready to stab him in the kidney.

It’s been so many:

“That may be acceptable for a Covington, but a Godfrey would never be caught dead in there.”

“You want him in the Upper West Side? That might as well be the Bronx.”

“That’s too close to Mother, absolutely not.”

By the end of the week, I’m ready to snap.

“I swear to everything you hold dear, if you don’t fuck off, I’m moving him into a shoebox with a five-foot walk-up in Hell’s Kitchen.” I storm out of the living room and into the bedroom. “Owen, are you under the chaise again?”

“Mommy and Daddy are fighting.”

I should not find that amusing, but I do.

“You know, you could also tell him to fuck off and let you make your own decisions.”

He peeks a bright blue eye out from under the furniture to stare at me. “Because it’s working so well for you?”

“You’re his brother, his twin, he’ll listen to you.”

“That actually makes him worse, not better. When he cares about you, he’s like a rabid dog with a bone.”

I look at the time on my phone and realize I have a stupid feeding reminder for Owen. For fuck’s sake.

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