Page 140 of Sinful Like Us
I inhale. “I am.”
He starts to stand—and quickly, I hold out a hand. “Please, don’t. You’re busy.” He has a laptop on his muscular legs, and the laundry room had the best reception before we lost all signal from the storm.
Thatcher’s been tasked with pressingrefreshon a webpage. SFO has taken turns trying to send an email to our families. A futile effort really, considering we don’t have internet. But he’s not a man who’d disobey these kind of orders, and I don’t want him to start for me.
Thatcher reluctantly stays seated. “Talk to me then.”
I blow out a loud breath, puffing my cheeks. “I’m afraid what happensafter.”
“After?”
“After my brothers and cousins realize that we’re most likely going to be stuck in Scotland for Christmas. After we actually are. Because it means this is the second Christmas we’re not in Philly.”
Last year, we were all on a tour bus.
I continue, “The second Christmas we miss Xander’s birthday, the second Christmas I’ve taken fromyou.”
Thatcher sends me a stern look. “You’ve taken nothingfrom me, Jane.”
“Christmas Eve is your grandma’s favorite holiday, and who knows how many you’ll have left with her—and yes, I didn’t know how she fawns over Christmas while we were on tour.” I speak hastily. “But I know that now, and I know how much she wants you there, and now you won’t be. Not alone or with me.” I do the best I can to keep eye-contact.
His intense gaze isn’t defeating me.
It wraps me.
Tightly.
Protectively, and oh God, I wish I never told him to sit back down. Because I also love that he’s willing to break orders for me.
Constantly.
Even now.
He nods a few times. “I won’t lie to you.”
“Good,” I say pointedly.
“Good,” he repeats, “because you need to hear that you’re right. We’re probably not making it home for Christmas, but you didn’t taketimeaway from me or anyone else. We’re just spending a holiday with other people. And if my grandma doesn’t make the next Christmas…” He pauses, his jaw muscle twitching. “I have enough memories of us together to last a lifetime.” He softens his gaze. “I could just as likely die tomorrow. And I’d want to spend my final moments next to you.”
My body caves, then rises. His declaration pricks tears, but the thought of him dying nearly doubles me over. I straighten up. “If I were to die, I’d want you beside me too. And also Banks.”
“Banks?” His furrow-browed confusion is cute.
“You’d need your brother after I died, and I’d want someone there for you.”
His affection for me flows out so apparently. He padlocks nothing, and hislove, so powerful and frightening, begins to eliminate the anxious toxins around us.
Thatcher glances briefly at the laptop, then me. “I’m revising what I said.”
A smile spreads across my face. “Let’s hear it, then.”
“If I were to die tomorrow, I’d also want Maximoff there.”
For me.
If a heart could sigh happily, mine just did. The pressure that’s taken residence on my body begins to gradually subside.
I smile more and quirk a brow. “Are you copying me, Mr. Moretti?”
