Sammy was still fluttering with aftershocks, the sensation glorious.
I wanted to lie in the sheets, I really did. This pocket was ours, even if it led to nowhere. Outside is freedom. She’s finally been granted it. How insane to smile over being given back your basic rights.
Her stomach grumbled—her laugh following right after. “Come on,” she said, sitting up. “Brunch sounds amazing right now.”
Resisting my desire to yank her into the shower and take her again, I let her clean up in peace. When we were changed into our clothes, I walked to the door. Sammy’s hand on my elbow froze me.
“Let me,” she said. Her fingers clutched the handle, testing it like she doubted it would open. When it did, her lips jerked at the corners. “It’s really not locked.”
It would have been awful if Costello hadn’t left it unlocked for us.
Together, we exited that room. I wondered what Sammy was thinking. Yes, we’d done this before, but that had been a temporary ruse.
This was . . . real.
Everyone was gathered in the bright, granite kitchen. My mother was shoveling eggs onto a plate for Hawthorne. She spotted me, not noticing Sammy with my body blocking the way. “Kain! Could you take any longer? There’s hardly anything left.”
Piles and piles of food on the counter disagreed.
Swinging her way, I gave my mother an emphatic kiss on her cheek. “You’d make more if I asked.”
“Tch.” She swatted me away, but her pretend offense didn’t disguise her pleased smile. My mother was no pushover, but her heart was dedicated to her children. Even with enough servants on our estate to handle meals, she still loved helping with brunch.
The light in her eyes stilled; she’d spotted Sammy.
For a moment, the chatter and energy slowed to a halt. Everyone was either staring at the girl beside me or at my father where he was slumped comfortably at the kitchen table. Hawthorne twirled a biscuit between his fingers, eyeballing me with the unspoken question of, “What the fuck is she doing out of her cage?”
Ignoring all of them, I wrapped my arm around Sammy’s waist and nudged her toward the food. “Go on, grab something.”
Clearing her throat too loudly, she started stacking a plate high with bacon and tiny quiches. “Wow! This sure does look great! Doesn’t it?” Her eyes snapped to Costello; he said nothing, her grin went tighter. “Ha-ha. So good you can’t even speak, I get it.”
Realizing that nothing was going to remove the discomfort besides an answer, I looked pointedly at Maverick. “He said it’s fine. Everyone stop gawking already.”
At once, the air shifted. My mother placed a new pitcher of orange juice on the table. Francesca was grinning, her hands clapping softly at her chest. No one wanted to call my father out for the insane move he’d pulled, but we were all thinking how good it was for it to be over with.
How could any of us sleep well knowing we had a prisoner in our home?
Sammy sat down next to Francesca, reaching for the carafe of coffee. Frannie gave her a small shove, then another, until finally Sammy laughed. “Okay, yes, I noticed you. Hi there.”
“Gawd, I’m just happy to see you up here eating with us!” Grasping her in a quick hug, my twin bent in, whispering into Sammy’s ear. They both laughed, and when Sammy looked my way, her green eyes lit up like jewels.
Passing Costello, I gave him a gentle shove. His half smile was as good as a toothy grin for the serious man. Dropping beside Sammy, I leaned close to kiss her on the cheek. Hawthorne pointed his fork. “None of that while I’m eating.”
I ignored him, too busy enjoying how red Sammy was getting.
Let everyone roll their eyes at me, I thought, my cock still half-hard from fucking Sammy minutes ago. I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks.
Everything was as close to perfect as it could possibly get.
Juice spilled over the table, soaking the patterned cloth.
“Frannie!” My mother gasped, mopping at it in a panic. “Be careful! This will stain and you know how hard it is to . . .” She trailed off, her eyes moving to where my sister’s were.
Where everyone’s were.
The woman in the archway was tall like my father, curvy like my mother. She was pale snow and midnight eyes, a smile that could go on for days, and—I knew from experience—a tongue that could cut you apart if you tried to mess with her.
She stood there as if she hadn’t been gone for ten years.
Lulabelle.
My older sister.
- CHAPTER TWENTY -
SAMMY
“Lula!” Frannie squealed, jumping onto the other woman. Where the twin was tan, Lula was light. Her dark eyes were more like Hawthorne’s, her long hair pulled into a loose tail that ran closer to caramel brown than the rich mahogany of her sister’s hair.
I barely recognized her from the family photo, but I was smart enough to realize who she had to be.
Holding her tightly, Lula said something into Fran’s ear. I couldn’t hear it, but it made Fran pull back, her eyes suddenly narrowed. “I know,” she said, “and I don’t care. Gawd, it was just a wedding, you had your reasons for not making it.”
It was plain as day that whatever Fran said, she was hurt by her sister not being here for her big day. Lula hesitated, then she just gave the girl another quick hug. Pulling free, she eyed the large kitchen. Her hand came up, waving casually at all of us. “Hey,” she said. “Long time no see.”
Maverick rushed forward, breaking the frozen moment. Crushing his daughter in his arms, he held her so long it should have been awkward. It wasn’t.
Her mother hadn’t moved, she—much like Costello—just stared from where she was.
Puffing out a bit of air, Kain said, “Don’t hog her, Dad.”
The large man deflated, patting the woman on the shoulders even as he disengaged. Standing aside, he let Kain and Hawthorne take turns embracing Lula.
Thorne motioned at her suitcase. “How long are you staying, Lulabelle?”
“I don’t know yet.” Her glance at Costello was so fast I almost missed it.
Dropping beside me again, Kain gripped one of my hands under the table. I clasped it in return, smiling at him. The tension was thick, and still, I understood so little of it.
I realized Lulabelle was staring at me. Leaning away from Kain, I waved a hand. “Hey. I’m Sammy.” I’m the girl who’s trapped here. I didn’t say it, of course, but I kind of wanted to.
Mama Badd stood up, shoving her chair backward from the table. “Well. Tonight we should have a nice celebration. We can bring in a florist, some live music . . . the works.”
“How?” Fran mumbled. “Daddy won’t let us bring anyone onto the estate, he thinks everyone is out to murder us.”
“Frannie!” her mother snapped.
I’d seen them all together once before. That photo where they were all smiling . . .
Where the future looked bright.