Page 59 of Gambit
“I know. I’m telling you now. The rumours are going like wildfire, so I just wanted to not look too shady but tell you that Tarq and I are dealing with the fallout. It’s not pretty. Mum is a hardass.”
“Not surprising.” I give him a smile to tell him I mean no harm with the comment, only praise.
He snorts. “Yeah. But Dad has come around. He wants to meet you officially and try to repair your first impression of him.”
I stare into deep blue eyes for a moment before I let out a small laugh. “Does he now? Or is that you wanting him to clean up his first impression?”
“Maybe both,” he admits with a soft smile.
“Then, I’m in. I owe him for helping find me.”
“You don’t owe him anything. This is one favour that does not need to be indebted.”
“Well, if it does, I’m fine with that.”
“I know, and that’s one of many reasons why I love you.” He leans forward to drop a soft kiss on my lips. “Your dad will be proud of everything you’re doing here,” he murmurs.
His words are simple, but they hit home, filling me with a sense of pride that stems from deep within.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“I’ll let you get back to your studying.”
He rises and leaves me alone, quietly shutting the door behind him.
I dive back into my textbook, the pages full of numbers and theories that are essential but dry as fuck. I can’t help but think about Raphael’s parents’ split, about the turmoil he and Tarquin must be facing. But that’s what we do; we handle our shit and keep moving.
As night draws in, the silence in the room is suddenly too much. I miss the hum of activity, the sounds of fists hitting pads, and the grunts of exertion from the gym. I need to focus. There’s an empire to run and a degree to finish, and I’m fucking doing both.
“Food!” I hear Oliver call out, and I slam the book shut, leaping off the seat to head into the kitchen.
“God among men!” I say as I enter and smell the best food smell ever: lasagne.
“Hah!” Oliver states, jabbing his server at each of us. “You hear that, losers? A god among men.”
Laughing at the grumbles from the other guys, I slide into my chair to be presented with the most divine-looking food ever. Tucking in quickly, between bites, I say, “Fuck, this is good. Fuck. This must’ve taken ages.”
He leans down to kiss the top of my head before sitting down himself. “Only the best for my girl”
“Our girl,” Tarquin pipes up between mouthfuls. “I made the garlic bread.”
“You put it in the oven and made sure it didn’t burn,” Oliver points out.
“Fuck you. That was hard enough!”
Giggling at the banter, I go quiet as I eat my way through two portions, my thoughts sporadically drifting to the weight of responsibilities on my shoulders. But when I’m with them, even that weight seems more like a challenge than a burden.
The meal wraps up with everyone stuffed and content, the guys doing their best to outdo each other with tales of their day’s accomplishments or fuck-ups, whichever makes for a better story. I lean back in my chair, observing the dynamic among us. Despite being rooted in a world that’s often violent and unforgiving, there’s something profoundly liberating in these moments — our sanctuary within the chaos.
“Alright,” I say, pushing away from the table and drawing their attention. “Who’s on cleanup duty?”
Hands point at each other before James chuckles and stands. “I’ve got it this time. You lot are fucking hopeless.”
I smirk at his mock exasperation, but my gaze lingers on him as he clears dishes — the tension in his arms, the concentration even in this mundane task. He’s the meticulous one, the one tofind peace in order and routine, a rock when everything else is a storm.
“So, who is ready for a gift?” Oliver asks, rising and crossing over to the utility room where the washing machine is kept.
“Ooh, who’s it for?” I ask, clapping my hands.
