Page 28 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

“Little one?” Tatum’s father asks.

“Yes, sir. He’s very small.”

“I’m big where it counts,” Tatum grumbles under his breath. I cannot agree with him, because that would mean making them privy to our relationship, and Tatum does not want that, as much as it pains me to admit.

“But you are still very small everywhere else.” For emphasis, I lord over him, patting the top of his head. “See?” I turn to his parents and smile. “The little one.”

As Tatum’s father stares at me with a fascinated expression, his mother butts in.

“It wasn’t Tatum who told me about you,” Mrs. St. James says. “He’s a secretive Sally when it comes to matters of the heart. No, I had to hear the news from Scotty.” She stands on her toes and peeks over my shoulder toward the car. Lookingback, I see Scotty staring at us through the window with wide eyes.

We will be having a nice long chat later.

Tatum growls, startling both his parents and me. His face is the color of a tomato, and when he turns and glares at me, I brace myself for impact. I wouldn’t have thought he’d slap me in front of his mother, but if it helps make him feel more at ease, I’m happy to tell her it’s one of my kinks.

“And what else did Scottadict Arnold tell you?” He’s got his hands balled into fists, and he’s clenching so tightly, his knuckles have gone white.

“Everythingyoushould have told me, months ago.” She stares down at Tatum’s hands and scowls. “Baby, where’s your ring?”

“Pardon?” Tatum says, looking down at his hand. “What ring?”

Mrs. St. James rolls her eyes. “Your ring. Heavens to Betsy, you can’t just walk around without a ring. I mean, I’m a liberal woman, but there’s a sanctity to marriage, and you can’t just throw tradition out the window. If you don’t have one, we’ll have to get you one.” She pauses, chewing her cheek in contemplation. Her gaze drifts to her husband, then at his hand. “You can just give him yours.” Mr. St. James’s eyes narrow, and he folds his arms over his chest, looking away. When he refuses to answer, Mrs. St. James just shrugs. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure all that out later. We’ve got a week before the wedding, and you know my motto; it’ll all come out in the wash.” She squeezes Tatum’s arm. “As happy as I am to have you home, don’t think you’re off the hook.”

“Off the hook for what? I don’t understand what’s happening.” He looks to me for answers, but I’m still trying to piece together the puzzle myself.

Tatum’s mother tsk-tsks at her son. “Do you even have to ask?”

Mr. St. James nods, and he reaches for Tatum, squeezing hisshoulder. “We should have heard it from you, son. It’s not every day your only son gets engaged.”

“That’s all I’m saying,” Mrs. St. James agrees. “It would have been nice to be kept in the loop. Regardless, you’re here now, and that’s what counts. Don’t you worry about a thing, either. We’re going to plan the best dang wed?—”

“Mrs. St. James?” I interrupt, only to be interrupted myself.

“None of this Mrs. St. James foolishness. You’re practically family. Just call me Mom.”

“What the actual fuck?” Tatum shrieks. “He will not call you Mom. Never. And how the hell did you know about the engagement?”

Ah. Yes. Let the meltdown commence.

“Tatum Rodrick St. James, what in the world has gotten into you? Have you lost your ever-loving mind? Good Lord, it’s like you were raised by heathens.” She flings her hands in the air in frustration, and all at once, I see it—the man he is, the sassy brat he’s become—is all down to this woman. He’s learned all he knows from her. The way they twist their neck to the side, right before they shout. How they squint in similar fashion when anger clouds their vision. I could hug her for it, because Tatum’s sassy side is the side I love most. Unfortunately, I’m given no chance to do so, because Tatum whirls around on his heels and marches toward the car. Panic stirs within me, because I know if he’s going to attack Scotty, Brody will pull out a weapon, and we’ll have to explain all of this to Tatum’s mother. Our little found family is one I love completely, but weapon play and death threats are generally frowned upon by upstanding members of society.

“Inside,” I whisper as I step between Tatum and the car. “We will figure this out, but if you upset Brody, he will brandish a weapon, and we’ll have no way to explain it to Mom.”

His eyes bulge. “Donotcall her Mom. Never. I don’t care how many times she insists.” He points a finger at the car without breaking eye contact with me. “Now, you tell that shadyson of a bitch, by the time I’m done with him, he will beg for death’s sweet escape. I’m not playing. This is unacceptable.” Shoving his hands against my chest, he pushes me away and marches toward the house. “Unacceptable!”

In the car, Fiona is reading her Kindle, looking disinterested in everything that’s happening. Brody has Scotty on his lap, tenderly kissing the side of his face. Scotty, however, is staring at me with wide fearful eyes. Good. Let him be frightened. I flick my finger over my shoulder, motioning for them to join us in the house. Brody and Scotty step out of the car, and Scotty hides behind his fiancé like he’s been expecting this all along.

Fee shifts the car into Drive, but Scotty quickly shakes his head, screeching, “Feefee, wait!”

She turns her head slowly, blinking at him. “Feefee isn’t your thing. Only Tatum gets to call me that.”

“Fine, whatever. Just—You gotta come in, okay? Because Tatum’s going to be angrier than he’s ever been once his mom tells him what I did?—”

“He knows everything,” I say to Scotty. “Weknow everything, and we are not amused.”

Fee groans as she slams the gearshift into Park and turns off the ignition. Once she’s out of the car, she slams the door with all her might and makes her way around, heading toward the sidewalk. “I’m staying for ten minutes, tops. Once I’ve made sure cheeky boy is okay, I’m leaving this suburban hellhole, and I’m checking into the bed-and-breakfast. I agreed to drive everyone here, I didn’t sign up for family reunions.” She whips her hair over her shoulder, somehow managing to look both irate and angelic at the same time. She pulls a tube of lipstick from her pocket and spreads it on. I do not understand Tatum’s hatred for the maroon shade she wears, but I’m tempted to ask her to remove every trace because he is already in enough of a state. The lipstick might be the straw that breaks the little one’s back. Since that would only end in Fee telling me to go fuck myselfbefore speeding away without coming in, I resist, though it is a well-fought emotional battle.

I clap a hand against her shoulder and lean in. “His parents are quite stunning,” I say, trying to sweeten the deal. “Quite a bit of eye-candy to go around. His father has what Scotty might describe as ‘daddy vibes,’ and I’m pretty sure his mother?—”

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