Page 137 of Desperate Actions

The bell rings again, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I open the door, and Benny is standing there, arms full of takeout bags.

“Ma’am,” he greets politely. “Shall I bring the food into the kitchen?”

“Oh, um, no thank you,” I say quickly, reaching for the bags.

Before I can grab them all, Clementine and Lucy are right there beside me, swooping in and taking some of the bags from Benny’s hands like a well-oiled unit.

“Thanks, man,” Clementine says casually, and Lucy nods in appreciation before we step back inside, making the entire thing way less awkward for me.

I close the door, exhaling as I lock it behind me.

Clementine nudges me lightly with her elbow. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, though it sounds half-hearted even to my own ears. I shift the weight of the bags in my arms before sighing. “I mean, I’ve just never been here alone before, and even though I know some of the security guards, I, uh, don’t really want them inside when I’m here alone.”

I wince. “Is that dumb?”

“What? No. Not at all,” Clementine says, her answer immediate and emphatic. “Connor doesn’t allow anyone in the house when I’m there alone. I bet Sammy is the same. In fact, you should ask him.”

I nod slowly, already feeling a little better.

She’s right. I should ask Sammy.

“She is right, you know,” Lucy chimes in. “Dad is very particular about our bodyguards. He never allows them inside unless he’s home.”

“Really?” I glance between them, relief washing over me. “Good. I don’t feel so weird about it now.”

Lucy smirks. “You’re not weird, Aella. You’re married to a Ramirez. Get used to wanting extra security.”

I snort, shaking my head, and we carry the food into the enormous dining room.

By the time we start opening up the bags and laying everything out, the smell is intoxicating. Warm, savory spices, fresh herbs, rich sauces—every scent mixing together into something incredible.

“Oh my God, I am so happy right now,” Clementine moans dramatically, tossing her head back like she’s about to have a religious experience. “I love food.”

Her wild red curls bounce behind her as she sniffs the fragrant air.

I chuckle, glancing at the way too many bags on the table. “I might have gotten carried away.”

Andrea mock-whispers, “Aella, two of the people here are pregnant. You’reluckyif we even get any food at all.”

A round of feigned indignance ripples through the room as the girls playfully argue over which of the pregnant ones—Micky or Clem—will eat the most before the rest of us even get a bite.

And just like that, I forget all about my worries.

For now, I let myself enjoy this.

The laughter, the food, the company of women who feel more like sisters than just friends.

This moment.

This night.

All of this makes it feel like my home now.

And I really need that.

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