Page 20 of Only Mine
“One hundred percent. Let’s not be late, though. Your papa said we need to take his car today.”
“Because my car seat is there,” Ivy explains, skipping down the stairs with her mermaid braid swinging. “It’s super complicated. Miss Nora always complained about it.”
The keys Saint left on the counter feel unnaturally heavy in my palm. Probably because they’re not just keys to a vehicle, they’re the gateway to a $100,000 Range Rover Autobiography with custom everything, according to the text he sent with detailed operating instructions. The thing looks like it could transport the president through a war zone while serving champagne.
“Okay, backpack check,” I kneel to Ivy’s level in the foyer. “Lunch?”
“Check!” She points at the bento box peeking from her rainbow bag.
“Water bottle?”
“Check!”
“Folder for school papers?”
She hesitates. “Oops.”
“Go grab it, quick like a bunny.”
While she scampers off, I review Saint’s car instructions again. The man sent a literal essay titledVehicle Operation Protocols.
Who does that?
Saint does. That’s who.
Outside, the black SUV gleams in the driveway like it’s just gotten back from a car wash. Hell, it probably drove itself there this morning.
Ivy returns with her folder. We veer into the guesthouse so I can quickly change into jeans and a cropped tee, then head to the car.
“Let’s go, shall we?” I lead Ivy down the driveway, keeping my grip on her small hand steady.
“Our car talks sometimes,” Ivy informs me. “And it has stars in the ceiling.”
“Fun,” I say. “It probably makes your dad coffee and gives stock tips, too.”
I press the key fob, and the Range Rover chirps a greeting that sounds like money. The door handles glide out from their flush position.
“Veryfancy,” I say to myself as we approach the rear. “Hop on in.”
I almost recoil when I spot what’s in the back. Ivy’s car seat resembles a miniature throne with more straps and buckles than a straight-jacket.
“Miss Nora said bad words every time she had to put me in,” Ivy confides, climbing up into her seat.
“I can see why.” I study the contraption, trying to match it with step fourteen of Saint’s text tutorial. “This thing looks like it could survive re-entry from space.”
Five minutes later, I’m still wrestling with a harness that could secure a bull rider.
“Is it supposed to have this many ... everything?” I say more to myself, tugging at a strap that seems to have no beginning or end.
“Papa says it’s the safest one in the world,” Ivy says proudly, wiggling in her half-buckled throne.
“Of course it is.” I blow a strand of hair from my face. “Your papa probably had it custom-made by a supervillain.”
The buckle clicks, then immediately unclicks when Ivy shifts.
“Sorry.” She giggles.
My nails find their way to my left shoulder before I canstop myself.Not now.I force my hands back to the car seat, hyperaware of my hyper frustration.
