Rocking side to side, she peered at me thoughtfully. “I was hoping to talk to him alone. He’s not in there, though.”
Nodding almost absently, I said, “He’s probably with your dad still.”
“Mm. Probably.” Casting her eyes to one side, she spoke to herself. “Or he’s avoiding me.”
“Why would he do that?”
Her lips twisted up benevolently. “Do you have siblings?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t understand.” Studying me long and hard, Lulabelle walked down the curving staircase. “But you don’t have to. This is between family.”
Family family family. I was starting to think that word was becoming an excuse for their bad behavior. Left alone, I grazed my fingers over the high heels. I was marveling over how he’d hung on to the things.
Kain Badd was the fucking opposite of bad. He was kind, dedicated, and possibly—fingers crossed—hopelessly addicted to me.
Because I certainly was to him.
With a bounce in my step, I hid the shoes away under my old pajamas in the guest room Fran had helped me set up. I didn’t want anything to happen to those glittery shoes.
Strolling through the mansion, I walked headfirst into Kain just as he was rounding the corner. Stumbling backward, I was grateful that he helped keep me on my feet. I’d been eager to run into him—but I hadn’t meant it literally.
“Whoa there.” He chuckled, steadying me. “Someone is in a rush.”
“Well, you have to go-go-go . . . or something.” I floundered under his baffled stare, quickly rushing to change the subject. “Hey, your sister was looking for you.”
“Fran?”
“No, Lula.”
His hands curled into loose fists. “Ah.”
“What’s that mean, ‘Ah’?”
“Nothing.” He saw my stare, and though he looked to the side, I just shifted to keep my face in his line of sight. “Damn, you’re determined.”
“I’m just trying to understand you guys. There’s a lot happening that’s going over my head.”
“We’re a complicated family.”
“What family isn’t?”
Palming the nape of his neck, he sighed loudly. “It’s not the same. You’re not just talking about petty squabbles, you’re mixing old history, politics, hurt feelings, and a ton of tiny mistakes that no one as proud as these people will ever own up to.”
“You’re one of them,” I reminded him.
He shot me a cynical smile. “I’m aware. I’m probably prouder than all of them combined.”
“So what do we do? Just act like things are normal?”
“You,” he said, clamping onto my shoulders, “need to hang on tight. I promise that this morning was just a baby crocodile tooth when compared to the massively jagged mouth that is the drama of this family. Let’s go outside, they’re setting dinner up.”
He placed his hand possessively on my hip. Thrilling with the touch, I followed him through the home and out into the rose gardens. Night wasn’t far away, a long table had been set up under a few heated lamps to keep the shadows from ruining the meal.
On top of the white cloth, there were bottles of wine in metal buckets—far too many for eight people. Or maybe just enough, if things go as crazy as Kain suggested. Eyeballing the seats, I tried to weigh my options. What was the most tactical place to sit?
Kain decided for me. Pulling out a chair, he dropped me on the far end, away from the head of the table, where Maverick would sit. Sitting across from me, Kain poured a glass of rich, red wine.
“Aren’t we waiting for the others?” I asked.
His eyebrows went up as, on cue, voices began drifting into the garden. “Mom!” Fran groaned, allowing her mother to stop and fix the deep V of her dress. “It’s fine. Come on.”
“It’s fine for a street whore, not my daughter.”
“Please. You only care because Lula is here.”
“Watch your fucking tone, missy!”
Kain passed me the glass; I took a grateful sip.
From there the others trickled in. Mama Badd sat on a corner by Maverick, Lulabelle sat on the other. Francesca plopped beside her, and I was pleased to see Midas join us. I’d barely seen the man since the surprise ceremony.
Hawthorne pulled out a chair beside Kain, leaving a space beside me for . . .
“Uh, hi,” I said, looking up at Costello.
He pulled into place, his wolfish eyes darting to me for too long of a second. “Hey there.” I was relieved when he grabbed a glass of wine, freeing me from his intense energy. Of all the people in this family, I still struggled with him the most.
I’d watched him fight with Kain at his father’s orders. I’d watched him smile at a distance as Frannie got her wedding, all while knowing he’d originally been denied being a part of it. And that facial scar of his . . .
He was a mystery to me. I didn’t like unknowns.
Polished shoes clicked over the paved stones that led to our table on the grass. Seeing the servers, I endured a brief blast of fear. Great, did Jameson or Brick or whatever his name is give me PTSD over waiters? Going out to a restaurant was going to suck, if so. I decided that, when this was all over, I was going to mail that bastard a bill for my therapy.
As plates of tiny beet salads and candied walnuts were placed in front of us, Mama Badd said, “I’m really sorry, Lulabelle. I wish we could have done more. If we’d known you were coming—”
“No. It’s fine.” Looking down at the food, she poked it with a half smile. “I, uh, didn’t want you to make a big deal. Even this is a little much.”
“Please,” Francesca scoffed. “There isn’t even any live music. It’s a poor excuse for a celebration.”
Hawthorne tilted back a big gulp of wine. “I did my best, okay? I’m the only one who even bothered making a shopping trip.”
“The food is fine,” Lulabelle insisted.
Fran rolled her eyes several times. “The food is whatever. I’m talking about entertainment.”
“I said,” Lulabelle whispered, “that it’s fine.”
“It’s not!” Fran shouted, slamming her palms onto the table. The silverware shook with a miniquake.
“Frannie—”
“Don’t Frannie me, Costello!” She stabbed her eyes at her brother viciously. Beside me, I felt him twitch. “This is your fault!”
Kain and I shared a look. He started to half stand. “Fran, no, it’s no one’s fucking fault that we’re on lockdown. No one but the Deep Shots, anyway.”
She said, “You know I’m not talking about that! I’m talking about how he drove Lula away!”
Large and heavy, Maverick’s fist came down on his untouched plate. Beets splattered all over, a few sticking to Lula’s cheek. “That’s enough! Everyone needs to sit down and be quiet so we can have this damn celebration in peace!”
“Peace,” Hawthorne mused.
Mama Badd put her hand by her lips, like she could block her voice. “Fran, shut up and listen to your father.”
“I won’t! This family is a stupid mess, and no one wants to talk about the tall fucking elephant in the room!” Her polished nail flashed, indicating Costello.