Page 13 of Triple Pucked
So, every time that he says those words for me, they’re branded onto my heart.
And this time, there is a depth of sincerity — a weight of new beginnings — that catches me off-guard.
I stroke the soft hair at the base of Eden’s neck, smiling. “I love you too, my phoenix.”
Eden’s eyes hold a type of awe like they always do when I use my nickname for him: My phoenix.
He sets me down, gently. I hiss at the coldness of the marble.
Shay’s eyes twinkle with mischief, as he rushes to his brother and grabs him by the hand.
He pulls Eden toward the stairs. “Come on, let’s go explore. I’m claiming the best bedroom for our Robyn, probably one with a chandelier, walk-in wardrobe the size of our parent’s house in Guildford, and a four-poster bed with golden handcuffs hanging from the headboard.”
“You’re right about there being handcuffs.” D’Angelo’s eyes are frosty. “But we’re all sharing one bedroom.”
Shay hesitates on the bottom step. “We’re going to sleep together every night…?”
D’Angelo adjusts his tie. “I have at least twenty bedrooms. I’ve never counted them. Why don’t you do that for me? Then you can choose the takeaway that we order in tonight for dinner. If any of you need space, you can claim one of those spare bedrooms and spend a night there. It’s your choice. But I have decorated one bedroom for us to share together for the first time. As I said, this is no longer my house. It belongs to all of us.”
My heart swells with happiness.
Shay looks uncertain and unconvinced. “Yeah, as if trash like me could ever truly own somewhere like this. I’m just happy that you’re letting my brother and me share this with Robyn and you. You’re the best.”
My heart aches.
Does Shay still believe that Eden and him are outsiders on borrowed time in my perfect relationship with D’Angelo?
Shay tugs Eden after him up the stairs with a whoop.
I throw myself toward D’Angelo, catching him by the tie and yanking him toward me.
He lets out a startled cry.
Our noses touch.
“One bed?” I question.
“It is your favorite romance trope.”
True.
“Didn’t this place belong to the governor?” I ask.
“Historically. I made him an offer that he couldn’t refuse.”
“Now you sound like the hockey mafia.”
“Is that another trope you love?”
Suddenly, I notice the neat stack of suitcases, which are propped against the far wall, including a polka dotted one.
My suitcases.
“You packed for us,” I say in shock.
“Eden did.” D’Angelo smirks. “He’s better at it.”
“Presumptuous.”
