I lean in close, my breath grazing his ear. "You're mean," I murmur, voice barely above a whisper as I swallow down the whimper threatening to escape-though from the way his smirk deepens, I know he hears it.
That devilish grin spreads across his fa...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"How did you change her mind?" I ask because Vivian said that It's too late for Emilia to start then I leave to go check on her and suddenly I'm signing papers for her and getting list of things she needs for ballet and contemporary. And these classes include stretching and stretching and my more stretching for my two year old. He doesn't respond.
But after I picked her up after the meeting she was so excited had this pure smile on her face. She was overjoyed.
"I want to cover half the cost, Colten. Would you please just tell me?" I say, shifting Emilianna higher on my hip. She's happily spooning yogurt into her mouth, some of it making it in, most of it ending up on her chin. Typical. We are walking to the car he opens the door for me and Emilianna door so I can buckle her up and I get in the car.
"Where are we going?" I ask "I'm gonna feed you you're becoming very annoying right now and I think it's the hunger." I flinch and raise my hand pinching his thigh.
snap, then pinch his arm too, the one slung casually over the back of my seat. It's warm, covered in tattoos—black ink crawling up his skin like it belongs there. Like he was born to wear it.
My eyes catch the one with my name etched near his collarbone.
He has my name carved into his body.
And I've got his embedded in every scar on my soul.
I let out a slow breath and lean my head against his arm. He's too tall, too solid, like he was built to shield me from things—sunlight, the moon, the monsters outside. Maybe even the ones in me.
Even if he is one of those monsters.
I trust him. Enough.
And I'm reminded that he has my name in his body. And I've got his in my soul. He glances at me again, smirking like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. "You're soft when you're not fighting me."
"I'm never soft," I reply, but the weight of my head stays on his arm.
Emilianna starts humming to herself behind us. I peek back—she's got yogurt on her nose now.
"You think she'll be like you or me?" I ask, voice quieter.
"You. I fucking hope and prey you."
And somehow, in this car, on this unnamed road to who-knows-where, with yogurt-stained chaos in the backseat and bruises blooming under my fingertips on his arm—we feel a little like a family.
A messy, dysfunctional, maybe slightly criminal family. But ours.
He pulls up to a restaurant I've only ever seen from the outside—fancy, with tall glass windows and a name that sounds like it should come with a dress code. The kind of place I used to walk past, wondering what kind of people dined behind those polished doors.
