But the insistent call for me to get downstairs is hard to ignore, especially when Easton is now outside my door, pounding on the wood. “Come on, Ella. I’m hungry and Dad won’t let us leave for the restaurant until you come down.”
“I’m coming.” I fling myself out of the bed and shove my feet into the deck shoes, which are becoming my favorite pair of footwear. They are so fricking comfortable. I wonder for a second if wearing boat shoes outside of a boat is a huge faux pas but then decide I don’t really care.
When I reach the second floor landing, all the Royals are waiting for me down below, wearing varying degrees of smiles, from a sly one on Reed’s face to a huge, ear-to-ear one on Callum.
“Can one of you stare at the ceiling?” I grumble. “You’re making me self-conscious.”
Callum makes an impatient gesture. “Come outside and we’ll all stare at what’s in the driveway.”
Against my will, I feel a swell of excitement. My car—or at least the car that Callum got for me to drive—must have arrived. I try not to run down the stairs but Easton is tired of waiting. He takes the stairs two at a time and then drags me down to the foyer and the rest of the Royals push me outside.
In the center of the driveway, at the foot of the wide tiled steps, sits a two-seater convertible. The interior is covered in cream leather and dark shiny wood. The chrome on the steering wheel gleams so brightly that I almost have to shade my eyes.
But none of that is as shocking as the color. Not pink. Not red. But a true royal blue—the same blue that adorned the plane that flew me here, the same one on Callum’s business cards.
My eyes fly to Callum and he nods. “Had it painted in our California factory. It’s Royal blue and the formula is patented by Atlantic Aviation.”
Reed presses a hand at the small of my back and I stumble forward down to the car. It’s so beautiful and clean and new that I’m afraid to even drive it.
“You ready to go for a ride?”
“No, not really,” I confess.
They all laugh, not at me, but in genuine, good-hearted amusement. My heart lurches. Is this really my family? The thought makes the few barriers I had left crumble away.
Callum hands me the keys along with a piece of paper. “This is the title to the car. No matter what happens, this is yours.”
Meaning that if I decide to leave, for whatever reason, he expects me to take this car with me. Which is nuts because I’m scared to even sit in it.
“Come on, let’s take this baby for a spin.” Reed opens the passenger door and slides in.
With all of them watching expectantly, I have no other choice but to walk around to the driver’s side. Reed explains how to move my seat forward, tilt the wheel down and operate the radio—the most important feature.
And then with a literal press of a button, the engine roars to life and we’re off.
“I hate driving,” I admit as I steer the car down the quiet two-lane road that leads to the Royal residence. My fingers are clutching the wheel hard and I can’t seem to bring myself to drive more than twenty-five miles an hour. The homes along this tree-lined boulevard are either gated or the driveway is so long you can’t see anything but a blacktop lane swallowed up by trees and bougainvillea.
The car is small enough that Reed can easily stretch his arm to rest it on the back of my seat. He threads his fingers through the ends of my hair. “It’s a good thing you have me then, because I like driving.”
“Do I?” I ask quietly, almost glad that I have to stare at the road instead of into his blue eyes. “Have you, that is?”
“Yeah, I think you do.”
And for the rest of the ride, it feels like I’m flying.
“Looks like you enjoyed yourself,” Callum greets us when we return.
“Best ride ever,” I declare. And then because I’m giddy with happiness, I throw myself into his arms. “You’ve been too good to me, Callum. Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
Callum’s stunned by my outburst of emotion but hugs me back quickly. The boys separate us, complaining about their empty stomachs and we all go out to a steak place down the road where the Royals eat enough for five families.
When we get home, I run upstairs to add the drive to my mental catalog of wonderful things that have happened in my life. I place it right after blow job.
That night, so late even the mice have tucked their babies in, Reed slides into my bed.
“I was having the best dream,” I mumble as he curls his body around my back.
“What was it?” he says roughly.
“That you showed up in my bedroom and held me all night long.”
“I like that dream,” he whispers in my ear and then he does just that—holds me until I fall asleep.
He’s gone again when I wake up, but the smell of him is on my sheets.
Downstairs, I find him leaning against the kitchen table.
“Don’t you have practice?” I ask lightly, not willing to believe that he still wants to drive me to work.
“Can’t have you on the road this early in a new vehicle. You need to break it in some more before you handle it while you’re half asleep.”