Once Upon a Time in Italy - jvwels (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ONE — Roxanne Ruiz

Over the incessant chatter and the soft push and pull of the gentle waves along the shore of the beach, my Uncle Timo and my Aunt Katya try to convince me to bump around a volleyball with them—and to no avail, too.

“Five minutes,” Uncle Timo encourages.

“No—ten. Five is too little,” Aunt Katya says, holding the white volleyball under her arm.

They stand at the feet of the beach chaise I lay in, blocking the sun—something I just wanted to bask in ever since we landed in Italy last night. My muscles ache from ballet, and it’s the first time in a while that I’ve been given an extended break. Even though I love and breathe for dance, my muscles have been aching for rest, and so I want to listen to my body and do just that.

But as Aunt Katya and Uncle Timo argue back and forth about the amount of time I should spend with them, I realize something. And it’s that I have absolutely no room to complain. Not when they’re both acrobats in Vegas’s biggest circus, Aerial Ethereal, and have worked nonstop for their entire lives.

“Hey, guys?” I cut off their bickering and their heads swing to me. They watch me slowly get up from my beach chaise. “I’ll play.”

Aunt Katya grins, wrapping her long arm over my shoulders and tugging me close. The light glitter on her eyelids glint against the blaring sun, and her long hair is tied back into a ponytail. “For ten minutes?”

“Yeah, sure. Ten minutes. Maybe more.”

“You’re not too tired?” Uncle Timo asks.

“No, no. I’m great.”

We walk closer to the water, the damp sand burrowing between our toes, and then Uncle Timo turns around to call out, “Camila, Dimitri! Want in?”

I look over my shoulder. My parents are sharing a beach chaise, their limbs tangled together as if they were the only people on this beach. An umbrella is stabbed into the sand, and it shields them from the sun. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the intensity of my parent’s love. It radiates off of them everywhere we go. I can never escape it, and honestly, I don’t want to.

Because every smile, every hug, every time my father calls my mom “Princess,” it’s another stark reminder that love like that can exist.

It exists all around me. Uncle Timo and Uncle John. Uncle Nikolai and Aunt Thora. Uncle Luka and Aunt Baylee. They are all beacons of hope that a love as powerful as that is possible.

“In a bit!” my mom shouts back. My mom turns her head to my dad again and quietly whispers something to him, their faces inches apart. A slow smirk rises on his face, and before I can get any type of warning, he’s leaning in and licking her cheek.

Aunt Katya catches my grimace when I turn back around, and she laughs. “Here.” She tosses the volleyball at me, and I hit it back to her.

I realize fairly easily that Uncle Timo is jogging back toward our chairs and abandoning our bumping session. He stops at a chaise Uncle John lays on, his sunglasses over his never-ending scowl, and nudges his knee with his own. I don’t catch what they’re saying to each other, but I figure Uncle Timo is trying to convince his husband to join us.

The likelihood of that happening is close to zero.

“Hey, you’re getting pretty f*cking good!” My mom finally comes up to us, joining the circle, and Aunt Katya passes the ball to her effortlessly.

“It’s all those muscles from ballet,” Aunt Katya says, wiggling her brows.

Technically, I use my legs and my core most for dancing, and volleyball doesn’t really require arm muscles anyway—not unless you’re spiking over a net—but I don’t tell them that. I just grin and kiss the non-existent muscles on my biceps and say, “You know it.”

“How is that anyway?” My mom asks, setting the ball to me. “Are you doing well? Are the other dancers treating you right? The staff?”

I bump the ball to Aunt Katya. “It’s fine.” It could be better. It could be a lot better, but I don’t want to worry them, especially when I live across the country in New York with them in Vegas.

The dancers are great. Kind. The staff? Not so much. But as frustrating as that is, it’s not a deal breaker. I’m not sure anything could be. I left my life growing up at the Masquerade Hotel & Casino to follow my dreams—just like my Aunt Thora did.

A few lousy jokes and uncreative names won’t take away ballet from me. No way.

But the standards of NYCB that I’m dangerously trailing behind? It might.

“Are you still friends with Beckett and Leo?” Aunt Katya asks, just as Uncle Timo comes back—no Uncle John with him.

“Are we talking about Roxanne’s famous friend, Beckett Cobalt?” Uncle Timo grins. My mom hits the ball to him, and he effortlessly picks it up. It flies into the air for me, and I hit it to Aunt Katya again.

“Yeah,” my mom answers. “I still want to meet him!”

“He’ll like that,” I tell her honestly. “He’s nice.” It’s true—he is nice. At least when he isn’t around Leo.

Everything I know about Beckett Cobalt comes down to the kind of person he is to me and the dancers around me. Sure, his whole family is known to the entire world, but that doesn’t define who he is—nor does the things people say about him online do either.

Beckett Cobalt is kind. Calm. He’s an amazing dancer who deserves every bit of praise the company and the world gives him. And he’s exactly the kind of friend people who dance alongside him would want. Not because of his fame, but because of his heart.

I may not know the depth of his love, but at least I’ve seen snippets of it before. As a friend, as a brother, as a son—even as a dancer.

And that rivalry thing with Leo—I’m not even too sure that hatred even runs that deep. If anything, it hovers just beneath the surface.

But maybe that’s just my blatant optimism talking.

See, I measure love with pain. And if it would absolutely pain you to lose someone, that pain is just proof that you loved them enough to begin with.

That’s how I see Beckett and Leo. When you argue with someone for so long, it’d be quite empty without them once they’re finally gone.

They don’t know it yet, but they need each other. And I’ll happily be both of their friends separately until they finally see it.

“sh*t, Roxy, sorry!” Uncle Timo accidentally hits the ball too far back, and it soars just above my head.

I hastily back up to try and grab it before it hits the ground, but with the uneven sand and my notoriously clumsy limbs, I trip over myself and collide—collide—with the unlucky tourist or local who managed to be walking past us at the conveniently wrong time.

My back bumps against a hard chest, and I loudly curse at the bite of cold liquid spilling down my back—and all over this stranger's chest.

I quickly spin around, catching my footing. “I’m so sorry!”

My hand flies to my mouth, desperate to contain a gasp, when I realize just who exactly is standing before me. Just who exactly I’d bumped into. And just who exactly I’d made spill his drink all over him.

Charlie f*cking Cobalt.

His sunglasses are pushed up on his head and tangled with the messy strands of his sandy brown hair. I barely look at his face. My eyes fly right to his torso, where the ridges of his lean muscles stare back at me, and the taunting trickle of water glides down each beautiful indent toward the waistband of his gray swim trunks.

Water.

Thank god.

Still staring at his body.

My face heats.

“Sorry,” I say again, my voice muffled behind my hand. I drop my hand right away.

“No worries,” he slowly says, staring into me—like he’s wondering if I’m real or not, and actually here in Italy. And not New York. But then I think—no—Charlie is way too smart to be thinking something like that.

He raises a hand to his hair and slides the sunglasses off his head, using his other hand to run it through his messy hair. The muscles in his arms flex, and my eyes flit there next.

Oh. Wow.

No. Bad. You are not allowed to oogle your friend’s brother, Roxanne.

“It’s just water,” he adds, glancing down at his chest and abdomen briefly, before his gaze lands on me again. He barely acknowledges my family’s curious gazes from behind me, and yet he still asks, “Family vacation?”

“Kind of.” I am here with my family. Just not all of them—though, just thinking about the chaos of all of my aunts and uncles and cousins here on this beach simultaneously gives me a headache and fills my heart to the brim. My eyes flit over his features. Over his yellow-green eyes that hold more curiosity than I’ve ever seen when they’re on me, and then I say, “Solo vacation?” noting that he is alone—save for his bodyguard, who stands just behind him, dressed down to the same attire. Swim trunks low on his hips and a rolled bandana on his head, the curls of his dark hair falling past it. Blending.

“Kind of,” Charlie answers, a slow smirk rising in his lips.

I look over at Oscar, who I’ve met a handful of times when Charlie would visit Beckett before or after showtimes.

I lift a hand in a wave and smile at him. “Hi, Oscar.”

He smiles back. “Roxanne.”

“Roxanne!”

Oh gosh.

I quickly turn to see my mom approaching me with my Aunt Katya. I stumble a bit as I turn, and then I do something stupid.

I hold my arms out to block Charlie, as if my short build had any chance to shield his 6’3 self from my mom and aunt. I ignore the way Charlie chuckles from behind me, like he might be more endeared than condescending. “Why’d you guys stop? Don’t come over here. This is no one. He’s no one.”

I only say the words that are far from the truth because my mom and Aunt Katya love his family. For as long as I can remember, even if my parents were already married, my mom has been convinced Ryke Meadows is her soulmate. And my Aunt Katya absolutely loves Connor Cobalt—Charlie’s dad.

“Babe. We can see him over you,” Aunt Katya deadpans.

I drop my arms, defeated.

My moms eyes light up as she stands before Charlie, and then she lamely says, “You’re Charlie Cobalt.”

“Mom,” I softly say. “He knows.”

Charlie nods a few times. “And you’re Camila Ruiz.”

My mom’s lips part. “How do you know that?”

Aunt Katya nudges her arm with an elbow. “He’s Charlie Cobalt, Camila. He knows everything.”

Charlie doesn't smile. He just stares at them with a blank look. Almost like he's bored already.

“Let’s go get you a new water.” Without thinking about it too much, I grab Charlie’s forearm and drag him further up the beach, away from the water and away from my mom and aunt.

Charlie surprisingly follows, and Oscar surprisingly lets. Charlie lifts a lazy hand at my mom and aunt, and simply says, “Bye.”

Once we’re far enough, I drop my hand and glance over my shoulder to see my mom and my aunt joining my dad and uncles again. Only this time, they’re all staring over at us.

They are so nosy. So protective. And I love them for it.

I sense Charlie watching me, and I turn back to meet his eyes. “You seemed uncomfortable,” I tell him before he can ask what that was all about.

“I wasn’t.”

“Okay, well, I was,” I admit, which is nothing but the half-truth.

I don’t mind my family meeting Charlie Cobalt, but they don’t know Charlie like I do. They don’t know that when I catch him staring backstage during shows, he doesn’t cower. Doesn’t look away. They don’t know that when he looks at me, he is trying to unravel a mystery he won’t solve. They don’t know that it is the same thing I think of when I look at him.

Everything I know about Charlie Cobalt comes down to the kind of person he is—to the kind of person he shows me. And to be honest, I don’t know much.

I don’t like to pretend that I know the depth of Charlie Cobalt. But I do like to wonder.

“How do you know my mother?” I ask, just as we sidle up to a beachside bar counter.

Charlie slips his sunglasses back on, all relaxed and cool, and then he flashes a dry smile and says, “Didn’t you hear? I know everything.” His smile slowly morphs into something real off my unamused expression, and then he flatly admits, “Google.”

Google. As if it was totally natural that he’d Googled her.

And I guess it kind of was considering my dad and his family are near famous with the amount of Kotova’s who join the circus.

I lean my elbows on the bar counter. “You Googled my mom.”

“No. I Googled you.”

Oh. That’s… Oh.

“Do you want anything?” He gestures to the bar, and then turns to look at Oscar who stands on the other side of him, asking the same thing, who just shakes his head and says, “I’m good, bro.”

“Um…” Some fruity alcoholic drink sounds great right now, but…

“I have a tab. Order whatever you want.”

“No, that’s okay.” Off my quick dismissal, he raises a brow over the tint of his sunglasses. “I mean… that’s your money.”

He smirks. “You mean it’s my parent’s money.”

I can’t help the tiny smile that edges from my lips.

And because we both know that a fruity, overpriced drink from Italy won’t even remotely dent Cobalt Inc. and Calloway Couture’s stocks, I just bite the bullet and say yes.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWO — Charlie Cobalt

Here’s a fact about Roxanne Ruiz: She loves Limoncello’s.

She’s already had two.

I’d be more concerned with her reddening cheeks and loose limbs if it weren’t for her family hawk-eyeing us from further down the beach. At least from a distance, they’re still watching over her when she’s being too comfortable entertaining a stranger, and I’d rather have them shamelessly stare than not care at all.

“Have you been here before?” she asks, her big eyes looking up at me.

“Yes,” I simply answer over the rim of my glass, the strong waft of alcohol flooding me. “And you?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Sorry.” A cute smile touches her lips. “You’re blurry.”

I’m not surprised the Limoncello’s caught up to her already. Especially with how small she is.

I’m not trying to think about that, though. While witnessing her checking me out earlier was amusing, I’ve been fighting the urge to do the same. Her two-piece swimsuit is a light, pastel pink. That’s about as much as I’ll let myself know.

“But no.” She squints at me now. “No, I haven’t been here before. First time.”

My smile lifts off her scrunched nose, and then I turn to the bartender and ask for water. “Posso avere un'altra acqua?”

“Sì, sì.”

He fills a plastic cup quickly before sliding it over the counter. I edge it closer to Roxanne with a few fingers, and look up to see that she’s gaping at me—and trying not to.

She hugs a knee to her chest, her foot resting on the seat of her barstool, and then she slowly sips the water, mumbling, “Russian, French, and Italian. What else is there?” Her voice isn’t spiteful. It’s pure curiosity. But that’s the thing about Roxanne—she’s soft.

It’s the same set of words Beckett used to warn me away from her.

As if she were the kind of person who would never be able to handle someone too sharp-edged and unpredictable. Someone who collects bitter feelings in their heart and lets it fester before it finally explodes. Someone dark. Someone broken.

Someone like me.

And he’s f*cking right. But he also doesn’t know that looking at Roxanne—being around her—somehow snuffs the chaos in my heart to a numbing ember.

So forgive me if I am too overly curious about the mind of Roxanne Ruiz, when I have seen her fall and get back up too many times to count. When I could barely do the same some days.

Or don’t. I don’t care.

Nobody’s perfect. I won’t pretend that I am.

“I’m not fluent in Italian,” I tell her. “I just studied a bit on the plane.”

“That’s really impressive.” For some reason, she’s beaming at me. “You already sound like a pro. And that’s coming from someone like me—who knows three languages.” She holds up three fingers over her face, and my smile grows.

“English, Russian, Spanish?” Off my guesses, she nods. “Ah, well—I must be a pro then, if you think so.”

“I certainly think so.” She smiles at me, and then she asks, “Can you say something in French?”

I set my glass on the bar counter. “What do you want me to say?”

“Hmm…” She taps on her chin, and the movement draws my gaze to her lips. I’m suddenly more than glad for my sunglasses, because there is not a doubt in my mind that she would have noticed the shift of my eyes. Even if she is tipsy. “Tell me the wildest thing about you. Something you would never even think to tell me in English.”

Bold . I like it.

“Si je regardais ton corps comme tu regardais le mien, cela m'empêcherait de dormir pendant des jours,” I slowly say. I can practically feel the way Oscar smirks behind me. I ignore him.

I just focus on Roxanne, who has no f*cking clue what I just said, but she grins at me like she does anyway.

Roxanne fact #2: She likes it when I speak French. She likes it a lot.

She hugs her arms over her knee and leans closer to me. Close enough to whisper, “Kogda-nibud' ya uznayu, chto ty skazal.” Someday, I’ll know what you said, I quickly translate from Russian.

I smirk into a grin. “Ya rasschityvayu na eto.” I’m counting on it .

“Counting on what?” A broad, muscled man ambles toward us. Unshaven jaw, blue eyes, and short brown hair—her dad. He places a hand on top of Roxanne’s head and looks down at her. “Who’s your friend, Roxy?”

“Dad.” She smiles warmly at him. “This is Charlie,” she says, and then she leans to look past me and adds, “And that’s Oscar.”

My lips lift. She never forgets to acknowledge our bodyguards. Ever. I notice it. Beckett notices it. Oscar notices it. And it doesn’t surprise me one bit. It is exactly the kind of person that she is.

“Charlie and Oscar. I’m the dad.” Right. Dimitri “Kotova” Ruiz . “But don’t call me dad. I’m not your daddy. Just Dimitri will do.”

“Okay, Dimitri,” I say easily. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same here. I’ve seen you guys perform. Really sick stuff, man,” Oscar adds.

Dimitri grins. “It better be sick. Just because Kotova’s don’t know how to stay still, doesn’t mean we’re not killing our bodies for it.” He turns to Roxanne, a certain concern suddenly drawing his brows together. “That reminds me—are you okay?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” she says.

“Girl, don’t lie to me. I saw you limping on the walk to the beach.”

“Oh,” she waves it off. “Sore muscles. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Do you want a massage? But not one from the locals. You never know if they’ll turn out to be perverts. You know what—I’ll make Timo do it. He’s f*cking great at it. Can go at it for hours .”

Roxanne never gets embarrassed by her dad’s crudeness. It’s very obvious she’s used to it. She just smiles at him, and I can’t stop staring at it. At the way her eyes soften at him like he could do no wrong, because the love she has for him is just so full.

“I’m okay,” she softly says.

Dimitri sighs and turns back to us. “She’s a stubborn thing…” he tells me. My lips lift. “Anyway… sh*t, I totally came over here for a different reason than this.” He points between me, Oscar, and Roxanne. “You guys are friends, right?”

“The bestest,” I casually say.

Roxanne bites down on a grin as if we’re harboring our own little secret. Because the truth is, she is far from my best friend, as I am hers. But who cares, right? Nearly everything in life is a social construct. She could be my best friend so long as I say the f*cking words. And I did. So what is the world going to do about it?

“Great, because my asshole cousin and his too-good wife are bailing at our cooking class tomorrow, so you two are officially invited since we can’t get refunds. Not my idea. You can thank my wife, who, if given the chance, would probably leave me for your uncle.”

Roxanne elbows him in the ribs. “No she wouldn’t,” she softly says, grinning—as if she knows he’s only joking.

“Which one?” Oscar asks, also f*cking grinning.

I roll my eyes.

“Ryke Meadows. Apparently he’s her ‘soulmate,’” Dimitri says, and yet he just smiles fondly as if it’s cute that his wife is crushing on a completely different man.

No idea how the f*ck he does that. Normally I’d think I was only feeling this way because my Uncle Ryke is too close to home, therefore too real in my life, but I’m not normal, so f*ck that. If the woman I marry (poor her) ever claims her soulmate is anyone but me, I’d throw myself a pity-party, fly off to Prague, and make everyone around me miserable.

Oh, wait. Already do that.

“Anyway, we’re gonna head out. We have a dinner reservation,” Dimitri says. “Roxy?”

Roxanne hops off the barstool, but she’s still a bit tipsy, so she trips over herself and nearly collides with me—again.

I catch her arm, steadying her. “You good?” I lowly ask, studying her features behind the tint of my sunglasses.

She stares up at me, her cheeks redder than usual. “Are you coming to cooking class tomorrow?” she nearly whispers.

“Yes.” I don’t know why the f*ck I just said that. I was wholeheartedly, positively, 100% going to say no.

But then she smiles at me—as if there is more to me beyond what the media says; as if there is more to me beyond how I already am. And I just… I find my answer.

Roxanne and her father leave a minute later after giving us the location and time for tomorrow, and when they’re finally gone, when I’ve watched them walk until they disappeared off the beach, I turn back to face the bar and down the rest of my drink, which barely stings as it goes down—even though it should.

When I set the glass back down, Oscar—that motherf*cker—drawls, “Since when do you like to cook?”

“Since today.”

He’s so f*cking amused. It almost makes me smile. “You’re really gonna make me roll a piece of dough and sprinkle shavings of mozzarella for an hour?”

“If you do not know how to execute a dish as straightforward as pizza , then you are truly hopeless, Oscar.”

He holds his hands up. “Hey, I could totally make a f*cking pizza. But you—I mean, have you ever even made a pizza?”

I shrug, lazily leaning against the bar and staring off at the ocean beyond. “First time for everything.”

The words continue to blend into the echoes of my loud mind all throughout the night, and when tomorrow comes, it continues to blare loud enough that it somehow deafens the sounds of New York and manages to foolishly ground me here instead.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THREE — Roxanne Ruiz

A seaside villa overlooking a vast, endless sea of mesmerizing teal is the location of the cooking class my mom managed to reserve before even flying here.

She’ll tell you that making authentic stone oven pizzas is on her bucket list—which seems to never end, by the way—but I know that she only reserved it for me. Because I had mentioned wanting to try one once. And really, for a mother as amazing as Camila Ruiz, once is all it really takes.

In fact, this entire trip is for me. My aunts and uncles and parents will never say it, but I know that it is. It’s why out of all my cousins, I’m the only niece here. Uncle Nikolai and Aunt Thora could have brought their kids. Uncle Luka and Aunt Baylee too. And I’m still surprised Uncle John even parted with his. He’ll tell you they annoy him to the core, but he loves them as much as he loves Uncle Timo—and that’s a lot.

But I’m the one who left Vegas at 18. The one who parted with home earlier than most of my cousins. The one who’s fought and struggled (and is still struggling) for their dream. So much so that I never have time to spend with them anymore. So much so that they miss me all the damn time. I heard my dad say those exact words last night at the villa we rented for the week.

It made me so sad. But I’m rooted to New York the same way they’re rooted to Vegas. It’s a shame the two places that feel like home are on opposite sides of the country.

And anyway, I’m here now. With them. And coincidentally, with Charlie Cobalt, and his bodyguard, Oscar Oliveira, too.

When we arrived at the villa, Charlie and Oscar were already there. It surprised the daylights out of me. I had slowly walked up to them, my shoes scraping against the cobblestone walkways, and looked at Charlie as if he were a figment of my imagination.

He wore a white button down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he casually had his hands in the pockets of his black slacks.

It’s unfair, really, how Charlie could wear outfits like that almost daily and still always look great wearing it. Always.

I had run my eyes down the length of him, almost consciously at that point, and I didn’t even catch myself doing it until he said, “You do that a lot.”

“Do what?” I brought my eyes back to his.

“Study me.”

Which was just a nicer way of saying that I was blatantly checking him out.

But Charlie didn’t mind it. I could tell. In fact, he looked at me often too. Just my eyes. As if he wanted to catch my gaze; as if he wanted me to look his way.

So even despite the way my cheeks would heat, I never held back.

There is a sort of comfort in catching Charlie’s gaze. I’ve seen the wrath and the annoyance in those yellow-green eyes before—in tabloid photos that randomly pop up on social media, mostly—but when Charlie looks at me, when he allows me to sink into his gaze, it is nothing but gentle.

But right now, I’m not looking at his eyes. In fact, as we follow the instructor’s directions to knead out our homemade dough, I find myself staring at his ear . Where the rook of his ear is pierced .

It’s really sexy. It’s sexier than it should be.

Charlie turns his head and raises a brow at me.

Something tells me most people would cower at that tiny action, but it just has me smiling. “You’re good at this.”

We’re just kneading dough, and while I’ve stopped looking at his hands a while ago (just so I could cool down), he’s great at applying just the right amount of pressure and great at using every part of his hands—from his fingers to the heel of his palm—and then I think, Wow. He’s so great with his hands . And immediately want to slap myself because of it.

His lips lift. “I know.” The casualness of his feathery voice only has my smile growing. He glances down at my ball of dough—a bit broken and imperfect. “You suck," he plainly tells me.

I elbow him in the ribs. “Because you’re distracting me.”

His grin is so wide. So knowing. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re Charlie Cobalt. Doing nothing is the equivalent of death,” I say matter-of-factly, even despite the smile in my eyes.

“No idea what you mean by that, Ruiz. You’re in your bubble. I’m in my bubble—where I’m not doing anything to make your ball of dough look like an uglier version of a newborn baby. And newborn babies are already quite ugly.” His voice is nothing but playful.

A laugh bubbles out of me. “Damn it, you’re right . Newborns are crazily ugly. But mine does not look like that.” My eyes flit from his flour covered dough to mine. “Hey, can we switch?”

I reach for his perfect ball of dough, but he slides it away from me. “No way. Things don’t come to you for free, Roxanne. Life 101.”

“Sometimes they do! It’s called luck.”

“Well your luck is sh*t today, because my answer is no.”

“Please?”

He shakes his head, his smile growing.

“I’ll make a perfect pizza with your perfect dough. Promise.”

“I’m almost positive that your pizza is hopeless, especially considering the current state of your progress.”

I playfully pout at him, and then he leans closer, narrowing his eyes at my face—or rather, my forehead—and then he says, “Hold on. You have something—”

He smears his flour covered fingers on my forehead and down my nose, coating my skin in the powder. I can’t help it. A laugh flies out of me and I reach out and do the same to his cheek, down to his jaw. He just grins at me.

For a moment here, it truly feels like we’re the only two people in the room, childishly coating each other in flour, but then Oscar clears his throat from across the table, and we turn our heads to see him co*cking his head down the length of the table, where all of my aunts and uncles and my parents are staring at us.

Oh. And the two instructors too.

I sheepishly smile. “Sorry. Continue.”

The instructors are grinning. “No, by all means, you continue!” one of them says. “Have fun! That’s what cooking is all about!”

I just shake my head, smiling, and then I peek over at Charlie next to me, who can’t seem to stop smiling either, and we’re just softly smiling at one another as the instructors continue with the lesson.

Before yesterday, Charlie was no more than my friend’s twin brother. A handsome face in the crowd of my shows, where he wasn’t even there for me . He was a celebrity who was famous for simply existing, who was notorious for impulsively flying out of the country whenever he pleased, who could tweet something that’d go viral in seconds, who had a reputation of being a heartless asshole.

All of those things are true. He is a celebrity born into fame. He does travel wherever and whenever he wants. He does tweet things that fans obsess over. And he can be an asshole when he wants to be.

But as Charlie slides over his ball of dough to me and takes my own ugly one for himself, I begin to realize that the Charlie with me now is just as real too.

If not more.

By the time our pizzas are finished cooking, we all sit around a long table out on the patio, where beyond the metal railing, is the calm ocean that glints in the sunlight.

Each of our individual pizzas are coated in our own choice of toppings. Mostly basil, mozzarella, cheese—which, of course, my dad does not have on his pizza, being lactose intolerant and all—and for Aunt Thora and Uncle Nikolai, even olives. But of course, each pizza is unique to its creator.

And as I take my first bite of my pizza, I moan with satisfaction. I promised Charlie a perfect pizza, and I upheld it!

Charlie is seated next to me (I don’t even try to acknowledge how he’s always ending up there) with a wine glass in one hand, and because I’m too excited about how great my pizza tastes, I don’t even think about it as I nudge his arm with my elbow and hold out the pizza toward him.

Without even blinking, he leans forward and takes a bite of it.

Oh. Wow. Gosh. I just hand fed Charlie Cobalt.

I shake the thought out of my head. Pizza. Here. Now.

I’m grinning as I watch him chew. “Like I said. Perfect pizza.”

He smiles into his sip of wine. “Mediocre pizza,” he corrects.

“Above average,” I refute.

“Words I hear often.” He’s got a smug smirk on his face—one that only has me shaking my head while I try desperately not to smile. Because he’s partly joking, and he’s more so not. And it does wicked things to my head.

Charlie’s phone suddenly buzzes in the pocket of his slacks, and he tenses. My family doesn’t stop their chattering around the table, as well as their shameless drinking with the wine.

But I watch Charlie. I watch him slip his phone out of his pocket and read the caller ID, for which he only stares blankly at it.

“Everything okay?” I nearly hesitate to ask. Only because I have no idea where the line is when it comes to talking about his family. I never want him to think that I’m only being so friendly and comfortable with him to reach that part of his life—where all of his famous cousins, siblings, aunts, uncles, and parents lie.

He’s more than just his family.

He’s his own person.

He nods. “It’s just my sister. I have to take it.”

I’m already nodding when he pushes back from his chair and leaves the table. Oscar stays seated, but he watches him walk over to the far side of the patio and lean against the railing, staring far out at the sea.

My mom nudges my arm from the other side of me, and she leans in to whisper, “He’s cute, right?”

She’s talking about Charlie.

Cute is not the word I would use to describe him, though I’ve thought about it plenty of times before. Those rare moments come in the form of private minutes, where there are little to no probing eyes and a light atmosphere.

Like when he coated my face in flour. When I did it back. When he grinned at me, watching me laugh like I was the brightest thing he’d ever seen. That—Cute. But it doesn’t encapsulate his entire persona. It is only a piece of it.

And his entire persona… Not cute. Definitely something closer to an intimidating sexy. Way closer.

But I’d never admit that to my mom.

And so I shrug. “He’s a Cobalt. Of course he is.” It’s a good save.

“Cute enough to date, right?”

I give her a look despite my lips lifting. She is so crazy. I love her so much.

“What?” she feigns confusion. “I’m just saying!”

“No,” I simply say, my voice soft.

“I’m not saying it because I want to be connected to his family.” She rolls her eyes, like the idea of anyone getting with the famous ones for that reason is absolutely absurd. “I’m saying it because you two would look great together. And you already seem so close. You never told me you guys were friends, and your dad said that he said that he’s your best friend. What the hell is that, Roxy?” she whispers-yells to me, like I had betrayed her by not telling her first.

I don’t even want to think about how Oscar can 100% hear us.

“He was kidding,” I tell her honestly. “We don’t really know each other.”

“Hey, I barely knew your dad when we first met, and him me. Hell, I was in a f*cking relationship when I met him. But he’d smile at me from over the bar counter, and shout 'princess' across the hotel lobby—while I was with my ex-boyfriend, by the way—and it had still felt... right. Even despite all those factors. So I’m just saying, mija. Who knows, right?”

It’s not like that, I want to tell her. But I can barely force the words out of my mouth. And I’m not so sure why.

When Charlie finally returns, he catches my curious gaze and tells me, “It was nothing. My sister, Audrey, likes to talk my ear off, and I am unfortunately too tolerant when it comes to her.”

See? This—Cute.

I find myself smiling. “She seems fun.”

“She is a lot of things, but I don’t know about fun.”

“Beckett mentioned once that she used to bake cookies for her crushes—namely, for a certain bodyguard.” I lean past Charlie to wiggle my brows at Oscar. “That certainly sounds like fun.”

Oscar grimaces into a smile. “Hey, I’m a married man now, alright? That stopped a while ago.”

“Still very cute,” I say.

“You think so?” Charlie asks me, genuinely curious.

I nod. “I’m sure she knew it would never go anywhere. I mean, the age gap was answer enough. But she still took the time to make those and send them. It’s adorable. It’s sweet.”

Oscar grins. “She’d love to hear that, Roxy. I swear.”

Every second we spent talking about Audrey Cobalt was just another second I wanted to desperately meet her. And I couldn’t grasp onto that hope even if it was within feet of me. That seemed too naive. Too hopeless. And so I change the topic.

“I’m glad.” I grin. “What are you guys doing tomorrow?”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Charlie throws right back, raising a curious brow at me. He leans back in his chair, relaxed yet assured.

“Shopping, I think. Nothing special.”

He nods a few times, staring off at the sea, where beyond the horizon, the sun is starting to set and the beautiful hues of pink and gold melt against it and blend into the water.

He sits up more, and suddenly says, “Kotova’s. Ruiz’s.” It catches everyone’s attention, and the conversation abruptly silences.

“Cobalt.” My Aunt Katya grins at him.

Charlie offers her a small smile—one that is quite genuine—and then he says, “Thank you for inviting Oscar and I today. It was very generous of you all.”

“Any friend of Roxanne’s is a friend of ours!” Uncle Timo grins, raising his wine glass. Uncle John only has eyes for him, his arm draped over the back of his chair.

Charlie’s lips lift. “With that being said, if you all aren’t too busy tomorrow, I’d like to return the favor. I have a boat and a driver I’ll take out to sea. You’re all welcome to join—and of course, the asshole cousin and his too-good wife as well.”

My dad barks out a laugh. “I like you, Cobalt.”

For some reason, it feels really nice to hear that.

“Are you sure?” My Aunt Thora asks him, her eyes wide. “We wouldn’t want to… intrude.” She nearly grimaces at her own words, as if she realized she could have chosen something better to say.

Charlie doesn’t seem to care. “I’m inviting you, therefore I want you all there. But if you would rather shuffle through overpriced boutiques, I’m okay with that too.”

My family quietly contemplates for a few long seconds, and then I sit up and say, “Well, I’m in.”

My mom turns to look at me. “Yeah?”

I nod. “Yeah. It sounds fun.”

My mom nods a couple times, and then she says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Are you really sure, Charlie? Because I don’t want to—”

“Mom, trust him. If he didn’t want us there, he wouldn’t have said anything,” I softly tell her. She just smiles at me, nodding, and then she grabs my hand—just to hold it and nothing else.

I turn to look at Charlie, who is already looking at me, and then from truly the bottom of my heart, I tell him, “Thank you.” Because for a moment, I thought he was going to ask me to do something with him tomorrow— just me. But he had invited my entire family too, and gosh, if that didn’t do something crazy to me…

Charlie softly smiles and nods once, his gentle eyes on me.

There is a part of me that wonders what life would have been like if I didn’t bump into Charlie during this trip.

And then there is another part of me that can’t seem to remember how it was before anyway.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOUR — Charlie Cobalt

I snuck away from my bodyguard.

Not the first time I’ve done it. Certainly won’t be the last.

However, it is the first time I’ve snuck away with Roxanne—which, f*ck, just saying it sounds f*cking insane.

But it was an impulsive decision, and we’d been engulfed in the high of good wine, good laughs, and the kind of long conversations that you just never wanted to end.

So here we were, hiding in the shadows of the narrow cobblestone streets of this quiet Italian town, where little to no people were out on the dark streets illuminated by warm streetlights and lanterns.

We had taken off running at first. After our cooking session had ended, the stars were out, and she had sighed up at the sky and whispered, “I don’t want this night to end yet.” So naturally, I grabbed her hand and just ran—as if I were a f*cking child. But if this is what children feel when they do things like this, then so be it.

Because Roxanne laughed as we ran through the near-empty streets, and it was so real, so alive, that I couldn’t help but laugh too. I couldn’t help but feel real. Feel alive .

Oscar had chased after us, of course. It’s his job after all. But we had managed to avoid him by hiding out in a narrow alley between two cafes, where shadows bathe half of Roxanne’s face, while the faint hue of streetlights dance across the other.

“Do you do this all the time?” Roxanne whispers, leaning against the brick wall across from me. The alley is so narrow, so thin, that not even two feet separate us.

“He’s used to it,” I say just as quietly.

“Oh, gosh,” she shakes her head and grins. “Poor Oscar.”

And then she begins to laugh, and the sounds echo off the buildings, drawing the attention of hypothetical passerby’s. And although it’s a gorgeous laugh, just the perfect amount of silky and husky, she needs to be quieter.

I step forward and hold my hand over her mouth, muffling her laugh. She stares up at me, those big eyes less surprised than she would’ve been days ago. Her cheeks are a little red from the wine, and her hair is a little frizzy from the running.

“Charlie Cobalt,” she quietly mumbles into my hand.

I lean closer, her scent intoxicating. “Roxanne Ruiz.”

She grabs onto my wrist and slowly slides my hand off her mouth. I ignore the f*ck out of the way my blood heats at the feeling of her lips skimming the length of my palm.

But she doesn’t. Because her breath visibly shallows the longer she stares up at me, the rise and fall of her chest evident. Her gaze flits to my lips, just briefly, and… You know, normally, it’d tear out my buried arousal and free it from its cage, but… it just aches my chest instead.

Roxanne fact #3: She is as doubtlessly attracted to me as I am to her.

I harden my jaw. This is… more tempting than I’d like to admit.

But I can’t. I can’t . And every hour I spend with Roxanne—every minute —I’m starting to hate the fact more and more.

I look away first. “We can get out now.”

She slowly nods and follows me out of the alley, where the streets are lined with shops and cafes and bakeries closed for the night. Beyond the buildings sits the calm sea, where the glow of the moon highlights the ripples along the surface.

We walk silently side by side, our shoes scraping against the cobblestone, and when I put my hands in the pockets of my slacks, I feel the cold bite of the ring I’d left in there before our cooking lesson.

I pull it out of my pocket and slide it on my finger again, feeling Roxanne’s curious gaze throughout all of it.

I look up at her, and once I do, her eyes meet mine. “It was my fathers,” I simply tell her.

She slowly nods. “You’re close to him, aren’t you?” she quietly asks.

“Less than I’d like. But I guess I can’t complain, since I’m always gone anyway.”

“Why do you travel so much? If you don’t mind me asking…”

“Because I love to.” Because apparently, as Charlie Cobalt, doing nothing is the equivalent of death—and I would rather die than stay in one place forever. To do nothing instead of living.

Roxanne holds her hands behind her back and sways to the faint sound of music that flows through the cracked windows of apartments. Each step rustles the white sundress at her thighs, and stirs the curls that fall deeply past her shoulders.

She stares thoughtfully at the sky, as if the stars hold all the answers to every passing question in her mind.

“Love,” she quietly muses into a faint smile. “What a powerful thing… How it anchors us. How we latch onto it almost desperately, no matter if we are at risk of losing it.”

I stare at her for a beat. “We humans are nearly incapable of letting the things we love go.”

“Aren’t we?” she says, like she knows just how right I am. “It’s excruciating just thinking about it, but at the same time, I wholeheartedly welcome that pain. Is that crazy?”

“No,” I tell her plainly. It is far from it.

She smiles at her, and then softly admits, “The pain is proof that I love it enough in the first place. I would rather endure that than pretend I never felt what I felt.”

I stare at the cobblestone, lost in my own head as her voice ceaselessly replays within the depths of my mind. Love and pain are both two separate things—each one as powerful as the next, powerful enough to drown out nearly everything else within you.

For years, I only thought to possess one or the other in order to dull the chaos in my heart. But Roxanne talks about feeling both—about wanting to feel both—as if both love and pain simply cannot exist without one another.

And it is here where I realize Roxanne fact #4: She solemnly measures the depth of one's love with the weight of one’s pain. The more we hurt, the deeper we love.

It makes me wonder. “Where is most of this pain directed at?”

“Ballet,” she softly answers without pause. “My mind has been messy. NYCB’s standards… It’s a mold a lot of people are convinced I don’t fit in. And… I’m afraid to face the possibility that they are right.”

“They’re not,” I strongly tell her. She stares off for a bit, and I gently wrap my hand around her arm to stop her from walking. To turn her towards me on this empty, narrow street. “They’re f*cking idiots. Alright?” I stare at her while she stares at the ground. “The people in this world… They move at an agonizingly slow pace. And NYCB’s staff is the perfect example of that, because their heads are unfortunately too far up their asses to ever see what I see.”

“And what do you see?” she whispers, finally looking up at me.

Deeply, I tell her, “I see a love so powerful that it lifts you every time you fall. There is strength in it—in you . There is passion and determination, and it is exactly why you deserve to dance on that stage. You’re an amazing dancer, Roxanne. Wholeheartedly.” She stares off again, as if she were wondering just how much of it was true—as if she were wondering how I could even think such a thing, when I only go to the shows for Beckett.

But I see her dance too. I see the way she gets lost in it, the way everything else seems to melt away once she begins to move, and I know that Roxanne’s love for it consumes her whole.

The first time I saw her dance, she fell on stage in front of hundreds of people.

And then, she got back up.

Because she loves it too much to give up.

It was the first time I had ever felt hope, because Roxanne Ruiz is full of enough of it, that it had managed to reach me in the audience.

I don’t want to live in a world where that hope has become abused and tainted to the point of abandonment. It’s not what she deserves. At all. And for a long, agonizing moment, I acknowledge just how f*cking pissed I am, wondering if I should f*ck up the lives of every doubting NYCB staff or spend the rest of Roxanne’s career protecting her from their hateful stupidity.

That is a thought I’ll pocket for when we’re in New York again. For now, I am rooted to this moment, where Roxanne is with me and I am with her, and she continues to stare off thoughtfully, trapped in her own mind.

“Roxanne,” I nearly plead. For her to understand. For her to see what I see.

“I know,” she suddenly says. Her eyes meet mine. “I am an amazing dancer. I know. But I’m also clumsy as hell. I have been for my entire life. It’s as much a part of me as dancing is, and I hate the idea of getting rid of a part of me just so I can fulfill another. I just want to be whole, and the company loves to remind me that I shouldn’t be. They want a perfect Roxanne, but I am so… flawed.” A sad smile touches her lips. “But isn’t everybody?”

Yes . I know that all too well.

“You’re looking at the most flawed person I know,” I find myself softly admitting.

“Well, good. Because that just makes you all the more real.”

“Real, but tainted,” I dryly say.

“Tainted, but real,” she refutes with a growing smile. And it’s enough to make mine grow too. But then her smile slowly dies, and it’s like a punch to the gut. Especially when she admits in a small voice, “I just don’t want to fall again.”

There is a warmth that flows through my veins—but it isn’t arousal. It isn’t anger, or embarrassment, or fear. There is something about the gentleness of Roxanne’s voice—even despite the fear in it—and the ease of her presence, that somehow manages to soften the edges of my sharp heart.

I step closer to her, and slide gentle fingers from her shoulder down her arm. She watches the way my hands skirt over her light golden-brown skin, her lips parted in bubbling wonder. I brush her elbow, past her forearm, and finally reach her hand.

There is something so natural about the way she automatically turns her palm, letting the tips of my fingers brush against it, and then slowly slides her fingers between my own.

She inhales a deeper breath.

“If you're worried about falling over, maybe you just need something to lean on.” My other hand slides up her waist, and I pull her closer to me, preparing our bodies for a waltz. “Or someone.”

Her other hand falls to my shoulder, and beyond the rising blush on her cheeks, she smiles at me. “Smooth,” she nearly whispers.

I just slowly grin. “Dance with me, Roxanne Ruiz.”

“I already am, Charlie Cobalt.”

She’s right. To the faint sound of smooth jazz playing from a nearby building, we sway to the music in the middle of a dim street in a little town in Italy. It makes me feel almost dizzy, like a deep, brainless part of me is even wondering if this is all real. If I am truly here, slow dancing in a foreign country with someone I’m chastised for even looking at it in New York.

It’s almost surreal. Almost too good to be true.

“Si tu pouvais te voir à travers mes yeux, tu verrais que tu es assez,” I quietly tell her.

“What did you say?” she whispers into a grin.

“Crack a book on the language and maybe you’ll find out,” I smirk.

“I could, you know,” she says with this deep determination that could somehow be so adorable. “I learned Spanish on my own. My mom and Uncle John barely know it. I could learn French, and then you won’t be able to talk behind my back anymore.”

“I’ll just switch to German for that.”

She gapes up at me. “No,” she whispers like she can’t believe it.

It makes me laugh, seeing her so simultaneously stumped and curious all at once. There is a softness to every feature in her face, just as there is a softness to her heart—and it does nothing but drive me to peak endearment.

But all amusem*nt washes away the second we feel the soft pelts of rainwater fall against our skin, and get heavier every second. I don’t even bother to hide my annoyance as I scowl up at the dark sky. f*ck you for cutting this moment short.

But then Roxanne does something that absolutely stuns me.

She tips her head back and laughs .

And she doesn’t stop dancing. Ever.

f*ck .

I can do nothing but stare at her as we get drenched in rain, our clothes soaked against our skin. She shuts her eyes and grins, letting the rain pelt against her warm cheeks and long lashes—joyful and carefree. The beauty that floods her in this moment—it cannot be mirrored, not for a thousand lifetimes. And for the rest of my miserable life, people will talk about beauty witnessed throughout timelines, and my mind will do nothing but inescapably return to this instant every single time.

It absolutely guts me.

“Vous êtes exquise,” I find myself whispering, my voice deafened by the rainfall.

You are exquisite, Roxanne. Roxanne Roxanne Roxanne .

She drags us out of the rain, and we lightly jog to hide beneath the tiny awning of a closed cafe. She’s breathing a little wildly, her smile absolutely killing her as she wrings the water out of her curls and stares at the rain hitting the cobblestone with so much lure, her eyes and smile soft.

I run both hands through my damp hair, the darker strands undoubtedly messy, and I just watch her. It’s hard not to.

Roxanne fact #5: She unequivocally loves the rain.

She turns to me, her eyes briefly flitting down to my shirt sticking to my skin. I keep my eyes on her face— knowing she is wearing white, and knowing she is without a bra.

It takes a massive amount of self-restraint.

Her chest rises, and then she smiles at me— beams at me. She does it so often, and I just have no idea how someone like her could ever smile at someone like me.

“Would you look at that? I didn’t fall at all,” she smoothly says.

As for me, I’m not too sure I can say the same.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIVE — Roxanne Ruiz

Charlie’s boat is huge.

It’s not as big as his family’s yacht, but it’s definitely big enough.

I trail behind my family as they walk down the dock, the weather perfectly warm and the sky beautifully clear. Charlie leans against the railing of the boat’s sundeck, the first few buttons of his white button down popped, his hair artfully messy, and a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. He perfectly encapsulates the messy, old money style, while I’m wearing a big t-shirt and denim shorts over my bikini— not encapsulating that.

My mom tried to get me to wear a summery dress before we left our villa because she was convinced Charlie would love it.

But I said no, because it’s not like that.

It’s not.

Charlie and I are only friends. That is something I’ll acknowledge.

Do I think he’s attractive? Of course . He’s also fun to be around, and he’s nice to me, and he believes in me, and it’s somehow amazing being around him. It scares me to think about a reality where I never find that out—where we never come to Italy and I live the rest of my life not knowing just how much I like Charlie Cobalt.

Because I do. I really do. And that’s also something I will acknowledge.

Charlie’s lips lift as my family greets him, but I block out the words exchanged as they climb aboard. He grins at something Uncle John says, as if Uncle John’s “I hate the world” persona is exactly Charlie’s cup of tea.

When they disappear into the cabin, I slow my steps just before the boat and right in front of Charlie. I squint up at him, and he grins down at me.

“Roxanne Ruiz,” he greets in a voice so deep and smooth.

“Charlie Cobalt,” I greet back, my voice its natural softness.

“Are you going to get on the boat, or are you just going to stand there?”

Without thinking, I hold my hand up, and he rolls his eyes beneath the tint of his sunglasses and grabs my hand, hoisting me up onto the sundeck. I step between the railings until I’m on the other side of it with Charlie, and once I am, I smile up at him.

“Thank you for this. You’re spoiling my family, you know.”

“They spoiled us first.”

“ Reluctantly . If my Uncle Luka and Aunt Baylee never canceled, it would have never happened.” We begin to walk toward the back of the boat to the cabin. “But I’m glad. That you and Oscar came, and that Uncle Luka and Aunt Baylee canceled. I think they’re just constantly living life making up for lost time. You know, they spent five years never being allowed to speak to each other under legal contracts by Aerial Ethereal.”

“Why would a circus company legally forbid two people from interacting?” He says it like it’s absurd. And it is.

“Minors in AE aren’t allowed to have romantic or sexual relationships or they get fired, and my aunt and uncle were caught. But they were too important to let go, so the company made a bargain—they can stay, but they can’t be together anymore, and if they were, AE threatened to fire every minor in the company.”

Charlie thinks for a long moment, and then he flatly says, “How stupid.”

“Very stupid.” I lower my voice once we get closer to the cabin. “That’s why no one fights them on it if they want to bail to spend some alone time together. Even if it’s been years and years now.”

“Good,” he just says, which only has me thinking about what he said yesterday, about how humans are nearly incapable of letting the things we love go.

I make it to the door of the cabin first, and I push it open, my hand lingering on it for a second longer to hold it open for Charlie.

He slips past me, but his gaze remains trained on me as he does, almost like he’s picking apart every aspect of my being.

Curiosity . The emotion is so commonly shared between us. I’m always too curious about the mysteries of Charlie Cobalt, and he’s always too curious about mine.

“Hey, Cobalt, are we allowed to help ourselves to the bar?” My Aunt Katya asks.

Charlie leans against the arm of an ivory colored couch and says, “Knock yourselves out.”

I glance around the room as Aunt Katya goes behind the polished wooden bar counter and rummages through the glasses and liquor bottles. My family lounges around the different choices of seating—couches and armchairs and bar stools—and though there is lighting overhead, the windows surrounding the room let in natural light and give the view of the beautiful water.

I only now notice how the boat is shifting away from the dock, and slowly moving out to sea.

I turn to Charlie to find that he’s already looking at me. “Where’s Oscar?”

“Around,” he vaguely supplies.

“Does he want to join us?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, can you ask him?”

“He’s on-duty.”

“He can be on-duty in here.”

“You really want him here?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

I just feel bad that these bodyguards never get to do much. I know it’s their jobs to keep Charlie and his family safe, but they’re also people who deserve to enjoy the pleasantries of life, and I don’t like to forget that.

Charlie tries not to smile as he retrieves his phone from his pocket. “I’ll text him.”

My own smile comes shamelessly. “Good.” I watch him type out a few words on his phone, his fingers moving quick, and then I ask, “Do you like Oscar?”

“He’s my friend. Of course I like him.” He pockets his phone and looks up at me.

His friend . For some reason, that makes me smile.

“Roxanne,” Aunt Katya passes me a shot glass filled with clear alcohol, and then she passes a second one to Charlie, “Charlie.”

“Oh, Katya—she’s only 20!” my mom exclaims.

Aunt Katya shrugs. “So? Legal drinking age in Italy is 18!”

Aunt Katya and I share a little grin, where the tiniest bits of mischief in our smiles could very well measure to its fullness.

Oscar suddenly walks through the door in a t-shirt and swim trunks, his iconic bandana on his head of curls.

“Oh, Oscar, we’re about to take a group shot. Do you want one?” I ask.

“Nah,” he waves that off with a smile. “I’m on-duty.”

“So I’ve been told,” I drawl, shooting Charlie a look. His lips lift. “But at least cheers with us! Aunt Katya, is there anything non-alcoholic back there?”

“Oh my gosh, you know what? I could totally make something for you,” my mom says, going behind the counter and placing her hands on the surface. “What do you like?”

Oscar leans against the counter, grinning, and says, “Surprise me.”

“Virgin surprise coming right up!”

Charlie and Oscar aren’t surprised by my mom’s impressive bar skills. Yesterday at dinner, she’d told them all about her years bartending at the Masquerade Hotel & Casino.

Once Oscar has his drink, Uncle Nikolai holds up his shot glass and smiles. “To Charlie Cobalt, for being good enough friends with our Roxanne that he’d invite her whole family on his yacht. And, well, I hope you know how to party, Charlie, because other than flipping on stage and hanging off ceilings, that’s all us Kotova’s really do,” Uncle Nikolai lightly laughs.

Charlie dryly grins. “Then you’d love my brothers.”

I find myself grinning, knowing he’s talking about Eliot and Tom. I’ve had the pleasures of meeting them before during Tom’s birthday. They’re fun. Mischievous. I like them a lot.

“Cheers!” Aunt Baylee says, and we all clink our shot glasses before downing the alcohol.

The alcohol burns as it goes down and I immediately grimace, placing my glass on a nearby side table. Charlie, however, doesn’t even flinch.

Oscar sips his drink, eyeing the differences between his client and I, and then he holds his drink out to me and says, “Here, Roxy.”

“Thanks.” I sip his drink—fruity and mildly sweet—to rid of the alcohol taste in my throat.

Later, when the boat is anchored less than a mile out to sea and my family are busy reminiscing about the past with their bottles of liquor, I leave the cabin to search for Charlie who had disappeared a while ago.

He probably wants to be alone. One thing I do know about Charlie, is that the one person he can truly stomach being around for longer than necessary, is Beckett.

But he was the one to invite us here today, and I strangely really want to spend time with him.

I ascend the stairs to the second story overlooking the sundeck. Oscar leans against the silver railing, absentmindedly flipping his phone in his hand.

“Hi, Oscar.” I grip the railing beside him and glance down at the sundeck.

Charlie lounges alone on a navy, padded beach chaise with a thick paperback in one hand and a burning cigarette in the other.

“Roxy.” Oscar offers me a small smile.

I turn to look at him again. “Was this boat trip truly preplanned?”

Oscar shrugs. “Charlie rarely tells me things, Roxy. He just does . And I follow.” But even as he says the words, a warm smile touches his lips. “This boat trip was just as much a surprise to me as it was to you guys.”

My own warm smile comes next. And then I ask, “If I asked him to swim, do you think he’d say yes?”

Oscar looks down at me, appraising me, and I can see the faintest hint of both intrigue and protectiveness in his eyes. As if he’s wondering what kind of girl I am, and what kind of girl I’m trying to become with Charlie.

The truth? I’m not trying to wedge myself into Charlie’s life. I’m simply listening to my soul, and what I do know is that I like to be around him. But if I were ever told to back off, I think I would. For everyone’s sake but mine.

“I don’t know,” Oscar answers my question honestly. “You can try, but I can’t promise anything.”

“I won’t care if he says no,” I tell him. “I just…”

“If you’re worried about him being bored, he isn’t.” He gestures to Charlie, who takes a drag out of his cigarette. “Charlie doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to. Or need to.”

“Right…” I nod to myself, understanding this. And then I say, “If, hypothetically, he says yes, you should swim with us.”

He immediately shuts that down. “No can do, Little Rox.” He waves his phone. “I’m texting The Husband. He’s a little dejected that we’re extending our trip.”

I must wear my confusion quite well because Oscar adds, “We’ve been in Europe for two weeks already. Italy is approaching one week now.”

“Where did you guys visit before this?”

“London, Paris, and Florence before coming to the coast.”

Wow .

I lean my elbows on the railing and stare off at the teal sea. “Those are…” I let out an awed breath, “beautiful cities.”

“You ever been?”

I shake my head. “No, but… I’ve seen pictures. The art there is just… Words can’t even describe it, you know?”

Oscar’s lips lift. “I know.”

“Out of all the places you’ve been, which is your favorite?”

“Philly,” he says with no hesitation. It makes me smile. “But if we’re not counting that, then I’d probably choose New Zealand. It’s really beautiful there.”

I nod to myself as I look at Charlie, wondering where his favorite place to go is. And then I say to Oscar, “I’d count your first answer.”

Oscar narrows his eyes at me and smiles. “Somehow, I knew you would.”

Oscar and I talk about our families and friends back home for a while longer before I finally part with him to go down to the sundeck.

My sandaled feet scrape against the polished wood as I near Charlie, and he sits up in his chaise and loosely rests his arms on his bent knees while he watches me beneath the tint of his sunglasses.

“If you want to be alone, I’ll have no trouble turning around,” I reassure him.

“If I wanted to be alone,” he says slowly, “I’d tell you.”

I nod and sit on the chaise next to him, bringing my knees to my chest. “Oscar told me his favorite vacation was New Zealand.”

Charlie takes a long drag from his cigarette. “I know. I could hear you guys on the second story.”

I sink into my seat, a little embarrassed. After all, we were talking about him. “Oh.”

“He had his honeymoon there,” Charlie tells me, a small smile edging on his lips. “So… I’m glad that was his answer.”

I find myself meticulously fixated on the burn of his cigarette every time he brings it to his lips. And the way his fingers hold onto it. And the way his lips wrap around it.

I ask, “What’s yours?”

“Paris,” he answers, and then he raises a brow at me. “This is We Are Calloway knowledge, Roxanne.”

“I don’t watch We Are Calloway ,” I admit.

This seems to surprise him a bit. “Why…?”

“Because I have a personal relationship with Beckett, and I know that We Are Calloway is to help the public better understand you and your family, but I would rather learn about him myself—through my own experiences and whatever he chooses to let me know.”

Charlie studies me for a bit. “Beckett isn’t even on We Are Calloway. ”

“But you are.”

His lips lift at that. “True.”

“If you think I should watch it, I can.”

“No, I like your reasoning,” he admits. He notices me watching his cigarette, and then he holds it out to me with a look that urges me to take it. Or in more accurate words, try it.

Before I can think about it, I twist to face him more and then I take it from his hand, pinching it between my two fingers.

I hesitate. Charlie, of course, notices.

He shuts his paperback and sets it on an empty space on the chair, giving his full attention to me. “You’ve never smoked,” he realizes.

“I’ve never smoked cigarettes ,” I correct. “The other dancers do weed all the time at parties…” I murmur, remembering the first and last time I’d tried that. The feeling, that’s fun. But the taste? Not so much. I’d rather just take an edible.

“Amongst other things,” he vaguely says. He waves me on.

I bring the cigarette to my lips and inhale, the smoke plunging down my throat and into my lungs. I immediately cough and hand it back to Charlie as if it were a ticking time bomb.

His lips lift just barely as he takes another drag, and then with an idle hand, he hands me the pink co*cktail that had been resting on the side table between us. I take it from him and sip the fruity drink, easing my throat of smoke, yet filling it with a tang of bitterness instead.

“I’m not a smoker,” I deduce into the co*cktail.

“Certainly not a bad thing,” he says. He reaches over to snuff his cigarette on the ashtray sitting on the table. “Are you going to ask me to swim with you now or later?”

I raise a brow. “Are you going to say yes?”

“That depends on your execution,” he says seriously.

I almost laugh. “Whether or not you swim with me doesn’t matter. But I figured if I were going to drown, it’d be better to go out with a Cobalt so that I’ll at least make headlines.”

Charlie tilts his head, thinking—though, I can see the smile edging from his lips. “I give it a 6.7 out of 10. Not bad, but not good.”

“Words I hear often,” I banter.

Charlie doesn’t like that joke. He gives me a flat look.

I grin. “Joking.”

“Tvoi shutki nuzhdayutsya v uluchshenii,” he deadpans in Russian. Your jokes need improvement .

I tilt my head at him. “This is coming from the guy who rarely makes any to begin with.”

He smooths his lips, restraining a smile, and then he suddenly stands up and begins to walk away. “Are we swimming or not?”

I’m off my seat in the next second, following after him.

Once we make our way to the back of the boat where the swim platform is, I watch Charlie take his sunglasses off and toss them on the floor before working on the buttons of his shirt.

I tear my shirt over my head and toss it beside his sunglasses. “On a scale of one to ten, how angry would you be if someone, hypothetically , pushed you in the water?”

Charlie sheds his shirt off and tosses it next to mine, narrowing his eyes at me. “Hypothetically, it depends on the person.”

My fingers go to the button of my shorts. I fish the button through the denim and unzip them next. I look up to see Charlie’s eyes zeroing in on the movement. I only pause for a second , but it’s enough to drag his eyes back up and look at me as if nothing even happened. As if he didn’t just… do that.

Of course, I flush anyway.

I slowly tug my shorts off my legs, less seductively and more nervously, and then I kick them to the side. “Hypothetically,” I slowly say, lowering myself to sit on the edge of the platform, my legs entering the surprisingly warm water, “what if that person was me?”

Charlie sits next to me and watches as I begin to pull my curls up and out of my face, tying my hair into a tousled bun. “Hypothetically—ten,” he flatly says, and yet, as I look at the spark of mischief in his eyes, I somehow know that he’s full of sh*t.

“Ten being the lowest, right?” I grin at him.

“Ten being if you push me into this water, Roxanne, I am dragging you right down with me.”

“Well, we are swimming, aren’t we?”

“Roxanne,” he warns.

“You’re just making me all the more tempted.”

He stares at me, his eyes a bit wide. “Ty chertov sad*st.” You f*cking sad*st .

I gasp, my hand flying to my chest. “Zaberi eto obratno.” Take it back .

“No.”

I push his arm, and he falls into the water.

I’m laughing when he immediately resurfaces, pushing his wet hair back with a hand and running it down his face right after.

He scowls at me, but his scowl softens the closer he draws near me, and my laughter dies down when Charlie stops right in front of me, placing both of his hands on the platform on either side of my legs.

My breath shallows. He’s not even touching me, but… he’s so close.

“On a scale of one to ten,” he says, his voice huskier than usual, “how angry would you be if, hypothetically, I dragged you into this water with me?”

“Ten, for sure. Astronomically angry,” I nearly whisper.

“Good.” And then he grabs my arms and drags me into the water.

I laugh on my way down.

The stars are out.

The faint sound of music filters out from the lit cabin where all of my family continue to party together. Other boats are littered on the coast, their own parties going on.

Charlie and I sit at the very front of the boat in just our swimsuits, our limbs relaxed and our hair a little damp, staring over at the Italian town lit up across the harbor and up at the stars who twinkle back as if saying hello.

It’s been a perfect day. Those only come so rarely, and yet here I am, hoping it extends to forever and ever.

I sigh, hugging my knees to my chest. “Sometimes I feel like I never want this trip to end.”

Charlie casually leans back on his hands. “And the other times?”

“The other times I feel guilty for even thinking that. I mean, ballet is my life .” I think for a moment, and then I say, “It’s all these… weird feelings mixed up into one. Of wanting something, but feeling guilty for wanting it. Guilt, of course, and then there’s anger, and frustration, and yearning, and… desperation.”

Charlie doesn’t say anything. Sometimes, he never really does. But I like his silence as much as I like his voice, and so it never bothers me.

“Do you like my family?” I ask, changing the subject.

“I tolerate them,” he tells me honestly. “I like you.”

I look over at him, staring at the side of his face. He slowly turns to look at me, raising a brow as if he didn’t just say something so insane.

“You like me,” I repeat slowly.

“I thought it was obvious.” The faint hue of lights from the cabin behind us partially illuminates his face, and I can see the way he smirks at me from it.

“Like…” I grapple for words, “as a friend, right?”

“Sure.”

“Charlie.”

He sighs, running both hands through his messy hair, and then he falls back to lay against the floor, staring up at the stars. “What do you want me to say, Roxanne? I barely know the answer myself.”

I press my lips into a thin line, and then slowly lower myself to lay beside him. “I don’t know,” I quietly admit.

I think I’m a little scared of the idea that Charlie could like me as more than just a friend. And it’s not because of the restricting factors in our lives. It’s not because of Beckett, or our fast and busy lives, or his fame. It’s about the fact that I barely know Charlie, and he barely knows me. And that I have no idea if he’d just use me and move on.

I’m not the kind of person who just signs an NDA and moves on.

I turn my head to look at him. One hand is behind his head, the other resting on his abdomen.

“What’s your favorite color?” I ask in a near whisper.

“You want to know my favorite color,” he says flatly.

“Yes.”

He’s silent for a moment, and then he says, “Gray.” He turns to look at me. “And yours?”

A tiny smile edges on my lips. “Pink.”

“Of course,” he says, like the answer was obvious.

“You read books, but do you watch TV?”

“Yes,” he simply answers.

“Do you have a favorite movie or TV show?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t even hesitate. “The Bachelor,” he admits into a growing smile.

“The Bachelor,” I quietly repeat, more endeared than anything. “The Bachelor .”

He rolls his eyes and stares back up at the stars. “Oh, Roxanne, I thought you were above teasing.”

“Never,” I chuckle. “The Bachelor.” I can’t stop smiling. “That’s… cute.”

“Just what I was going for,” he flatly says.

“I’m sure,” I drawl—still teasing—and then I ask, “What were your favorite subjects in school?”

“Is there a reason we’re playing Q&A right now?”

“Yes.”

He turns to raise a brow at me, as if gesturing for me to continue.

“If I never get to know the depth of you, I at least want to know the surface,” I admit barely above a whisper.

He looks deeply into me, his intense yellow-green eyes doing well to uncover every deep seated emotion within, and then he says, “What makes you think you won’t?”

“Because I don’t think anyone does except for you.” I let out a breath. “And that’s okay. No one is entitled to it anyway. But… I don’t think it hurts to know about the surface level things… Right?”

Charlie just stares at me, his brows furrowed almost painfully.

It takes a long moment for him to say something, as if he is wandering around in his own head. When he finally does, all he softly says is, “Art history and architecture.”

A warm smile touches my lips. “Beautiful subjects,” I muse.

He looks at my smile and admits, “I was going to major in architecture in college.”

“Was?” I question.

He gulps and then looks back up at the sky, like he just can’t meet my eyes. “Yes.” He doesn’t offer me any more than that, and I don’t prod for more either. “What were yours?”

“Art, and…” I think for a moment. “My school had a cooking class. So… Cooking.”

“Cooking…” he repeats, knowing just how horrible my cooking skills are

I laugh. “Just because I’m bad at it doesn’t mean it’s not fun.”

“Ah,” he muses, like it suddenly all makes sense, “that sounds just like you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask into a grin.

“You’re Roxanne Ruiz. Giving up is the equivalent of death.”

Gosh. My smile is killing me.

I nod to myself like he’s right, and I guess there’s a huge part of me that knows it too. “Exactly,” I whisper.

Charlie and I stare at one another for a long beat, still lying on our backs, and then I say, “Okay. Another one. When’s the last time you cried?”

“I thought these were supposed to be surface level,” he says into a teasing smile.

“That one’s entirely on the surface. See, I’ll even go first.” I clear my throat. “The last time I cried was last night, because I went back to the villa thinking about how scared I am. To lose ballet. To lose New York. And the things we talked about last night… about how NYCB’s staff see me, it just opened the floodgates. Because I realized that even if I can’t let go of dancing, it doesn’t mean NYCB will care about that.”

My eyes skim over his features, a sense of distress and anger burrowed into his eyes, and a heavy feeling resides in my chest at the sight. At the revelation —that someone like Charlie could genuinely care about someone like me .

“You’re right, though…” I add in a whisper. “Giving up is the equivalent of death. I’m a lot like my Aunt Thora in that department. She believes in me a lot. My mom too. They all do.”

“It’s hard not to,” he quietly admits.

I stare at his eyes, and he stares into mine, and everything around us seems to fade away to a numbing silence. There is something so devastating about Charlie Cobalt, and a very large part of me wants to bask in it for a long, long time.

“Your eyes are very soft. Like a gentle sea,” I softly whisper.

Charlie blinks as if he doesn’t hear those words associated with his gaze… ever. And it’s a shame, really, how nearly the entire world gets most of Charlie Cobalt, but they won’t ever get to see this—how he looks at me. Because it’s beautiful, and it’s delicate, and it’s an entirely different side of Charlie, and it’s somehow all mine.

“If that’s the case,” he suddenly says, his voice quiet, “it completely contrasts the storm in my heart.”

“Storms don’t last forever.”

“Some do.”

“No,” I immediately refute.

“Have you ever heard of the Everlasting Storm?”

“In Venezuela, right? I read somewhere that it happens almost 300 nights a year. So your point just—doesn’t work.”

Charlie gives me an impressed smile. “Okay, then. I’ll bite. Just this once.”

I’ll bite . That strangely makes me think about Charlie biting someone. And then it leads my mind right to sex. And I quickly look back up at the stars and shake the thoughts out of my head.

Bad, Roxanne. Very bad.

I ask another question. “What does your future look like?”

Charlie sighs, running a hand through his messy hair and tugging at the strands. “It looks like me, running Cobalt Inc., and absolutely hating it.”

“Why would you hate it?” I quietly wonder.

Charlie’s silent for a moment, frowning up at the stars. “I don’t… I don’t want to be trapped.”

I stare at him. “This is why you travel,” I realize. It’s not just about love. I always thought there was something more to it. I guess I was right after all, because Charlie just silently nods and doesn’t say anything else.

I figure he needs the conversation to move on, so I say, “My future looks like me living in New York, and being the kind of dancer that doesn’t fear tomorrow will be her last day on stage. I’ll live in a… highrise, or something. Maybe even a brownstone. Where I’ll hopefully find the love of my life along the way…”

I won’t even graze the possibility that he could be right next to me. Too much false hope, too much nativity. I won’t touch that. Nope.

“The love of your life,” Charlie muses. “And what is he like?”

“I just want him to care about me and my career. And my family, too—gosh, my family . Family is so important to me.”

Charlie nods like he gets it, and I guess he does, because I’m sure he’d do just about anything to protect his brothers and sisters and even his cousins from the ugliness of humanity—from the harshness of fame. I’m sure his siblings would do the same for him—if he ever needed it, that is.

Strangely, I don’t think he ever does. All of his problems come from his head. From his heart. It’s harder to protect someone from nothing but themselves.

“What is the love of your life like?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he softly admits, almost immediately, almost sadly . But I think he does know. Deep down. I think he knows exactly what he may dream of, but he just… doesn’t know the words to describe it because he can barely make out the feelings anyway.

I switch the topic again. “You know… you never answered my question. About the last time you cried.”

Charlie thinks for a long moment, and then he admits, “During the Fizzle tour, I got into an argument on the tour bus with my little brother, Ben.” He lets out a breath that trembles a bit. “Those tears I shed after the fight, they weren’t… of sadness. They were of anger. Of frustration. Maybe even a little bit of fear. Because we were all competing for the CEO position for Fizzle, and because I saw potential in Ben, I purposely sabotaged him.” He grimaces, like admitting it out loud to me is not something he particularly loves.

But I don’t judge just yet. I just listen.

“I couldn’t let him have it,” Charlie quietly admits. “He wouldn’t have been able to handle it. He’s too kind. Too good. Too trusting. And the people on that board… the people in this world , they would just take complete advantage of that.”

I realize fairly quickly that Charlie wasn’t protecting Fizzle or even himself. He was just trying to protect Ben. In his own… messed up way.

“What did you do?”

Charlie runs his hands through his hair then down his face, sighing. “I told him that one of the board members wanted him to run an errand, and he missed a photoshoot because of it.”

“And he trusted you,” I softly realize.

Charlie’s hands are still on his face— covering his face, or perhaps the agony that marks it—and then he suddenly sits up. “Yeah. He did.” He drops his hands and rests his arms against his bent knees, staring off at the town lights. “But like I mentioned, Ben is too trusting.”

I slowly sit up too. “It’s different, though. The trust between a brother and the trust between a stranger.”

“I know,” he softly says. “I stormed out of the tour bus after I realized Ben needed some space from me—and me, him. Oscar followed me into the desert, and we talked, and I realized that fairly quickly. I was just so… exasperated , and Oscar just listened and tried to understand…” He briefly looks over at me. “Kind of like you are doing right now.” I offer him a tiny smile that he returns, but it slowly dies when he quietly admits, “You know, I would have ditched the tour altogether that night if it weren’t for Oscar.”

“I’m glad that you have him,” I tell him honestly.

Charlie nods. “I’m glad too.”

“Who won the position?” I wonder, not caught up with the tabloids on his family whatsoever. I try to avoid it, mostly.

He must realize this, because he smiles as he says, “Luna. The board was adamant on choosing me, but when I realized that she actually wanted it, I self-sabotaged so they’d back off. It worked. Which is good.”

“But if Luna didn’t want it… it would have gone to you?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. None of us wanted the position in the beginning, but to save my brothers and my cousins from that life… I would’ve hoped so.” He lightly smiles as he admits, “The board would have hated me, though. I wouldn’t have done anything to improve or worsen Fizzle, nor would I have stopped traveling for it.”

“Good,” I tell him honestly. “Because traveling is something you love, and we humans are nearly incapable of letting the things we love go.”

Charlie slowly grins at me. “Too much pain.”

I nod into my own smile. “A massive size.”

His grin grows. “Words I hear often.”

I playfully push his arm. “You and your big dick jokes.”

He lightly laughs. “I thought I don’t make jokes.”

“I said you rarely make jokes. The ones you do end up making are just bad.”

“Better than yours.”

“No,” I refute, trying not to smile.

“Yes.” He stares at me for a beat, and then he suddenly says, “Spend the day with me tomorrow.”

I’m stunned into silence by his sudden proposal. I can do nothing but gape at him.

He studies me almost nervously , like he’s afraid I’ll say no—even if it’s the farthest thing I want to do.

“You really want to spend the day with me tomorrow?”

“I’m asking you, aren’t I?”

I begin to smile. “Yes, you are…” I’m approaching four days of speaking and hanging out with Charlie Cobalt, and honestly… I don’t hate it. Not one bit. In fact, the idea of seeing him again makes me a little excited .

Charlie raises a brow at me. “So?”

“Okay,” I say casually, hugging my knees to my chest. “What do you have in mind?” I certainly don’t know my way around Italy. Not like he would.

He stretches to reach for his phone that’s discarded by his clothes, and then he unlocks it and hands it to me. “I’ll text you.”

I slowly take it from him. “Text… me?”

“Yes, Roxanne. It’s a thing people do to communicate when they’re apart,” he teases into a grin. I just lightly elbow his side and add my contact into his phone. Throughout all of it, he leans into me, watching the screen—but I tell myself it’s only because he’s making sure I’m not snooping through his phone or doing something a lot worse.

Mostly, I try to ignore it. His overwhelming presence, and how he smells like a mixture of himself (which is already so intoxicating) and the salt of the sea, and how it does crazy things to my mind. And my body. And strangely, my heart.

Oh, gosh, Roxanne, what is happening to you?!

Whatever it is… it’s undeniably happening and it’s happening fast .

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIX — Roxanne Ruiz

10 a.m. Dress nice. Pack a swimsuit. — Charlie.

I’d gotten the text message last night after my family and I had gone home to our villa.

It was mysterious. A bit spontaneous. I had no idea what Charlie was planning, and I was excited for it. I didn’t care about the unknown, or being caught in a game of guessing. Charlie was unpredictable, and gosh, I actually liked that about him.

It kept me on the edge of my seat. I felt like there was a lifetime of knowledge packed into him. Like every time I thought I knew him, there would be something new to learn waiting right around the corner. It kept me curious. It kept me wondering.

I realized it was something that wasn’t loved very often—his unpredictability. But everything that Charlie does, makes him him. And there’s not a part of me that would ever judge nor resent that.

“Roxanne,” my dad calls out, barreling down the stairs of our villa. I tie a loose head scarf over my hair, allowing some of my curls to frame my face. “No kissing. I mean it.”

“Dad,” I groan.

“I don’t care if he’s a Cobalt. I don’t want Cobalt grandchildren until you’re 40.”

“Dad. Stop. Please.” Oh… my gosh.

I’m just glad Charlie isn’t here to hear this.

My dad runs a hand down his face. “You know what, you need to be prepared. CAMILA!”

I roll my eyes and slip my shoes on, bending down to strap the buckle of my sandals around my ankles.

“What is it?” My mom comes around the corner and catches a full glimpse of me and the black dress I had thrown on, comfortable and casual, with the straps tied into bows on my shoulders. She gasps. “You look so gorgeous, Roxy. Are you sure this isn’t a date?”

“I’m sure,” I say into a smile.

“Take a condom anyway,” my dad says.

I gape at him.

“Dimitri!” My mom smacks his arm. “Not happening, okay?” She looks at me. “Not happening.”

They don’t know that I’ve had sex before, and with the way they’re talking, it’s pretty obvious that they don’t. But I don’t tell them that. I just say, “I know.”

“Oh, hey, you need a condom? I got you, Roxy, hold on,” my Aunt Katya cheerfully says halfway down the stairs. She turns back around to apparently grab her rubbers.

I slump against the door in defeat, holding my bag tighter over my shoulder.

“Katya, no!” my mom nearly screams, but my Aunt Katya is on a mission to provide safe sex options, and she’s unstoppable.

Uncle Timo and Uncle John suddenly enter the foyer. “What’s going on?” Uncle Timo asks.

My dad leans against the iron banister of the stairs. “Katya’s getting a condom for Roxanne.”

Uncle Timo beams at me. “You’re sexing the Cobalt?” he whispers like we’re in on a little secret.

“No!” I nearly shriek.

“Then what the hell are you doing going out with him?” Uncle John asks, like hanging out with someone as nothing but friends is just absurd.

Aunt Katya comes back down the stairs just as I say, “We’re just hanging out! Not having sex.”

Aunt Katya hands me the condom—or rather, condoms. “Didn’t know how much you’d need so I thought I’d just give you the whole strip.” She uncurls the strip of condoms and they fall to hang from her hand.

“Katya,” my mom groans.

I just stare at them, mortified.

“Take them.” Aunt Katya grins and thrusts them toward me.

I shake my head, eyes wide and speechless.

“Katya, she doesn’t need them,” my mom stresses. Nearly begs.

Uncle John gestures to me. “For once, I f*cking agree. She's too young to have sex, much less with a Cobalt.” Well. I do have sex. Sometimes. Not really. As for the Cobalt part… well…

I just don’t think I’d be particularly opposed. If I were that kind of girl.

“Let her have fun! She’s in a foreign country with a cute boy. When does this ever happen?” Uncle Timo says.

Uncle John scowls at him. “You think he’s cute?”

Uncle Timo grins. “He’s 23. I think he’s cute for a kid.”

“A kid,” my dad scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m pretty sure this kid knows exactly what he’s doing when he’s using those condoms—”

“Stop it!” I cry out, holding out my hands. “I’ll take the condoms, just stop.” I snatch the condoms from Aunt Katya and shove them into my bag. “I won’t use them, but if it’ll give some of you peace of mind, then I’ll take them.”

My dad nods like he likes this idea, but then he says, “Fine. But for every condom you do use, that’s one month you’re grounded.”

I give him a look. “You can’t ground me. I live in New York.”

“I’ll virtually ground you.”

“Sure, okay.” I won’t use them anyway.

My dad rolls his eyes at my growing smile.

My phone suddenly buzzes on the side table by the door, the screen facing up, and I reach for it before Uncle Timo and Uncle John, who were standing closest to it, could see it.

Here. — Charlie.

I wave a hand to my family—my overbearingly loving and amazing family. “Bye!”

“Be safe!”

“Have fun!”

“No sex!”

Believe it or not, that last one came from Uncle John.

I’m smiling as I walk out the front door, shutting it behind me, before making my way down the graveled path. Beyond hedges of green and flowers of bright yellows, Charlie leans against the side of a light blue vintage convertible on the street. The first few buttons are popped on his white button down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his sunglasses hang on the low collar of his shirt.

I let out a low whistle at the sight of the car—his car? “Nice ride, Cobalt.”

His grin is lazy. “I try.”

His eyes flicker to a spot behind me, and I internally grimace as I near him. “Please tell me they’re not watching us.”

“I would rather have them be protective than to not be.”

“They’re more nosy than protective right now.”

“All in the same.” He opens the passenger door for me and gestures me inside the car.

The smile on my face is just so… crazy. When was the last time a guy ever opened a car door for me? Never.

It’s the little things. And with Charlie, I never seem to forget about that.

Once I’m sitting inside the car with white leathered seats and no roof overhead, I turn to look at Charlie who gets in the driver’s seat.

“Where’s Oscar?”

He gives me a look as he starts the ignition. “You seem to wonder about the whereabouts of my bodyguard a lot, Roxanne. I’m starting to think you like him a little too much. You know he’s married, right?”

I try to glare at him, but my smile peeks out. “I don’t—you’re wrong. And he’s a lot older than me! So… wrong! I’m just… You need protection!” I lamely gesture to his chest.

He smirks, his eyes subtly traveling down the length of me, and then he says, “He’s following in a separate car.”

I nod, my eyes flitting down to the buttons of his shirt. “Can I wear your sunglasses?”

“No,” he flatly says.

“But you’re not even wearing them right now.”

He rolls his eyes and unhooks his sunglasses from his shirt. He idly hands them to me over the console, and I grin as I rotate to face him more and slide them onto my face.

But the movement causes the bag on my lap to jostle, and before I can even register what is happening, the strip of at least 10 condoms slip out of my bag and fall onto the center console like a bomb dropping.

I stare at them, mortified. My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh my god.”

Charlie rests a lazy hand over the steering wheel, slouched in his seat and relaxed, not even bothered by the sight. In fact, his lips lift. “You have plans later?”

“No! Oh my god,” I say into a groan, sinking into my seat. “This is just great. This is amazing,” I whisper to myself.

Charlie chuckles at my embarrassment. He shifts the car into drive and begins to drive off. “While your preparedness is admirable, I regret to inform you that these,” he reaches for the condoms and holds them up, “are the wrong size.”

I quickly grab his hand and shove it back down and out of view for anyone who could be watching him. I mean, he’s famous. No one wants to see a tabloid titled Charlie Cobalt in Italy flashing condoms with a mystery girl! No way.

“What are you talking about?”

“Roxanne,” he grins at me, “do you truly believe I make those big dick jokes for no reason?”

Oh… my god.

“I’m going to… pretend you didn’t say that.” For my own sanity. Because not only did he just indicate his… size, but he also insinuated that the condoms are for him. That I’d have sex… with him.

Oh… my god?

I slowly slip my hands off of his and grab the strip of condoms, shoving them into my bag. “And anyway, the condoms were my aunt and my dad’s doing. They’re just protective and insane and I love them, but gosh, you weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Perfect way to start the day,” he says seriously.

“What, with sex?”

“That too.”

“Oh, of course.” I lean my head against the back of the seat and grin over at him, a laugh in my throat. His lips lift a bit, stealing glances at me every so often as his hair whips around in the wind.

We drive along the coast, where beyond him sits the still, teal sea with boats littered across the harbor. The sun peeks out from the clear sky and the air smells absolutely fresh. The view is beautiful here. Right now. But somehow, I can’t seem to stop looking at Charlie.

Charlie Cobalt is devastating. Devastatingly beautiful. Devastatingly flawed. Devastatingly real.

And I think I would be one devastated girl if I lost him.

“Where are we going?”

“The airport.”

Of course we are.

The Cobalt private jet is just… insane.

The thought reemerges in my mind every time there is something to prove that. From the fancy bathroom to the space. Even the reclining chairs are so fancy, it baffles me.

What also baffles me? We’ve been in the air for an hour on the way to Paris and Charlie has been begrudgingly teaching me French phrases since then.

“Okay. I got another one. What would be the equivalent of break a leg?”

“Bonne chance, which just translates to good luck,” Charlie says as we sit side by side, facing each other, with nothing but the armrests between us. “But in French theater, the dancers say merde instead of that.”

“Merde?” I scrunch my nose, confused. “Doesn’t that mean ‘sh*t?’”

Charlie slowly smiles. “You know your stuff.”

“I know, I know. I’m practically fluent.” My grin comes easily. It always seems to with Charlie. “Okay, I’m not. I just hear your sister say it all the time.” On the internet. Because I haven’t met her yet.

Apparently the truth comes out easily around Charlie too.

“She does say it quite often,” he muses, nodding. Like it was so normal for people to already know things about his family.

And then, as if my thoughts had awoken them from their absence, Charlie’s phone begins to buzz on the table in front of us, his screen lit up to flash text message after text message.

My eyes flit from his phone to him, but he doesn’t spare it one glance. He ignores the texts completely. His focus is entirely set on me, his eyes too busy trailing the bows on my shoulders and the silver locket around my neck.

“Charlie,” I nearly whisper.

We are sitting entirely too close to each other.

He looks back up. “Hm?”

I swallow. “Are you going to check that?”

Charlie stares at me for a beat, the silence thick with feelings I’m a little too scared to acknowledge, and then he blinks over at his phone and idly picks it up. His eyes skim the texts in a short beat, and then he sets the phone back down just as fast.

“It’s nothing.” I blink at him, waiting to see if he’d offer more information. And to my surprise… he does. “Luna just spammed photos of her new furnished apartment in the cousins group chat, and responses were clearly supplied.”

My smile grows warm. “She got a new apartment.”

He nods. “With her boyfriend.”

I sink into my seat, suddenly overcome with a sense of utter contentment. For Luna. Because while I don’t know her personally, I have met her before during Tom’s birthday. And after everything she had went through, I’m glad she’s doing well and moving on.

“I’m glad,” I say honestly.

Charlie only stares at me, his brows pulling together in a mixture of endearment and confusion—like he just can’t figure out my emotions. He glances down at my locket again, and then asks, “What’s inside there?” He co*cks his head toward it.

A slow grin overcomes my face. I lean in closer to him, holding the locket in my fingers, and whisper, “You really want to know? It’s spectacular.”

He leans even closer, dropping his voice to a whisper too. “I really want to know, Roxanne Ruiz.”

The heat of his breath mixes with mine, and I find myself unconsciously glancing down at his lips. Tempting and dangerous and extremely easy to get lost in. Extremely easy to give into.

I gulp and open the locket, showing it to him. “Nothing.”

Charlie tilts his head, staring down at it. “Nothing,” he repeats, almost flatly.

“I’m saving it.” I close the locket again.

His eyes flit to mine again. “For who?”

“For… my person, I suppose…” I trail off, staring off to not meet his eyes. “It’s corny.”

“It’s not,” he immediately refutes.

A small smile peeks out. “I would put my parents inside, but… they have each other. You know? Whoever is going in this locket is mine and mine only.”

“So why do you wear it,” he quietly asks, “if it is currently empty?”

“Because it’s pretty.” I smile.

His own smile comes shortly after. “That, it is.”

I meet his eyes again as his words continue to echo in my ears long before they’ve past, and under the gaze of Charlie Cobalt, I can’t help but feel deeply, utterly beautiful. As if I am the most wonderful piece of art he has ever seen. The world as ever seen.

He was only talking about the beauty of the locket, but somehow… Charlie had made it seem like that beauty had rippled to touch all parts of me, just by the way he looked at me alone.

“Charlie,” I whisper in a breathy exhale.

He swallows, eyes flitting down to my mouth. “Roxanne.”

“Why are we going to Paris?”

He drags his mesmerizing yellow-green eyes back up to mine and smooths his lips together as if he is withholding a warm secret. When he gives me his answer, it proves all I need to know about Charlie Cobalt—and it’s that the real art lies within his complex but beautiful heart.

“Because you said the pictures were beautiful. And I wanted to show you the real thing.”

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVEN — Charlie Cobalt

Being in Paris always seemed to shift my heart into something a little more tolerable.

It was the city of light. The city of love. A city full of art memorable enough to have been engraved in my soul.

It deafened the chaos in my head just slightly, drowning out all the anguish and bitterness and pain that I so often craved.

Being in Paris felt… nice.

Being in Paris with Roxanne? Now that just felt right.

Because being surrounded by art and architecture and history fills me with awe every time, but basking in the presence of Roxanne Ruiz is somehow all of that and more.

She is beautiful inside and out when she goes on rambling about ballet, and Vegas, and her favorite foods, and her favorite songs, and her childhood memories—and I just sit there and listen. I listen and listen and listen and I could listen for what feels like eons because she is my own personal siren, drawing me in and trapping me against my own will.

Because I don’t want to like Roxanne. I don’t want to feel what I feel. But I simultaneously hate the idea of fighting it.

So I don’t. And I try not to think about the guilt that gnaws at my chest every time I find myself feeling something with her. Because god forbid I feel happy for once.

And I do. Feel happy, that is. With Roxanne, it’s hard not to be.

“What are you doing?” she questions from across the bed.

It was just past noon when we landed in Paris, so we immediately stopped to grab lunch before exploring the city. I didn’t want to overwhelm Roxanne with the attention I could draw from people, nor did I want my family finding out I was one-on-one dining with Beckett’s ballet friend in Paris through tabloids.

So I did the next best thing. I ordered a variety of food for Roxanne to try, from things as simple as croissants and pasta, to things as exotic as escargot and steak tartare, and it all currently lays in the center of my bed in my Paris apartment.

Roxanne wears one of my Tom Ford sweaters over her dress since it’s slightly chillier in Paris, and the sight of her—of her gushing over the various foods with a sweater too big for her—was just so lovely, that I couldn’t help but snap a picture of her.

Or two. Maybe three.

“Taking a picture of you,” I say plainly. I sit at the end of the bed with my knee bent, my elbow resting on it, and snap another picture of her on my phone. I tilt my head, my lips rising in a small smile as I watch her scrunch her nose, perplexed. “Cute.”

I take another picture of her mid-laugh. “Cute. Right.” She takes a bite out of a pink macaron. “Can I take one of you?”

The idea of being in anyone’s camera roll wouldn’t sit well with me. Unless they were my family. Or a bodyguard. Which, I guess at this point, is family too. And I’d never be caught indulging in something so stupid.

And yet, as I turn my phone off and toss it onto the bed next to the takeout box of steak and fries, I find myself telling Roxanne, “Go for it,” because the idea of being in her camera roll just seems too enticing to pass up.

She grins and stretches across the bed to grab her phone from the nightstand while simultaneously biting into her macaron again. The lack of hands induces her lack of balance, and just as she grabs her phone, her elbow falls to the mattress and her phone slips out of her hand and clatters to the floorboards.

“Damn it,” she mutters.

An amused glint passes through my eyes. “I haven’t seen that in a while. I was starting to miss it.”

She falls flat on her belly, jostling the boxes of food, and reaches for her phone on the floor. “What, my clumsiness?” she practically snorts. For some reason, it’s f*cking adorable.

“Yes,” I admit, just as she sits up again and rolls the long sleeves of my sweater up to her elbows—only for them to fall right back down.

“You don’t mean that. It would have been horrifying to trip down the jet’s stairs. Equally as horrifying to watch it happen.” She shudders, and it draws a grin from my lips. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled more than I do around Roxanne. The fact equally excites me and torments me.

“I would’ve caught you.”

She lifts her chin. “I can catch myself just fine, thank you.”

“I’m sure,” I drawl.

Roxanne fact #52: She is independent. She is hers before she is anyone else’s.

And she certainly can’t catch herself all the time. But she sure likes to try. And I like that about her.

“Okay,” she shifts on the bed, sitting on her knees, “act natural.”

“I would never dream of acting otherwise.”

She holds her phone in front of her face and snaps a few pictures of me. From beyond her light pink phone case, I see her grinning. “You want to know my favorite thing about your family? The Cobalt’s,” she specifies—not talking about the Hale’s or the Meadow’s. “It’s that you are all unapologetically yourselves. Not that the rest of your family isn’t, but…” she lowers her phone, her hands falling to her lap, “you just don’t care what people think.”

“I don’t,” I confirm. Not like Moffy. Not like Luna. Not like Sulli.

The media has the power to touch them where it hurts most, and it’s because they actually care about what people think. It makes zero sense to me. We don’t even know the people who love or hate us, so why the f*ck would we care about them enough to let their opinions rattle our lives?

The answer is simple. We shouldn’t.

But my cousins wouldn’t agree with that. Nor would most of my siblings.

The only time I let the media touch me is when they spread lies. Their idiocy frustrates me. Their ignorance too. Their desperate need to know and act like they know all about our lives. It all frustrates me.

But I don’t sit around and wallow. I do something about it.

Case in point: making Oscar and Jack fall in love to simultaneously diffuse the Oslie rumors and, well, find love for Oscar.

“You don’t care about what anyone thinks?” Roxanne asks, tilting her head at me.

“I care what someone thinks,” I admit slowly, “if I care enough about the person.”

She sets her phone down on one of the pillows and stares out the window for a beat, the windows cracked just slightly and the curtains wide open to let in the rays of sunlight. And then she turns to look at me again and asks, “Do you care about what I think?”

“Yes.” I don’t even hesitate.

She blinks. “You care about me.”

“I care about you.”

She stares at me for a beat. “Why? Sometimes I still think we barely know each other.”

“I know enough, therefore I care enough.”

“You care about me as Beckett’s friend, right?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I care for you as my friend?”

Roxanne slowly grins. “I never really thought you were capable of having friends.”

I mock wince, my hand falling to my chest. “Ouch, Roxanne. Right in the heart.”

“Not the heart!” She lightly laughs, a lovely and delicate sound, and it’s like bathing in sunlight. “Fine. We’re friends. Best friends. Friends who travel to Paris and buy nearly every piece of food in the city.” She nods to herself as her eyes skim the many takeout boxes between us. “I definitely won’t fight this friendship. I think this is the best friendship I’ve ever had. But you know, Charlie, you give me too much and I don’t give nearly enough.” Her big eyes lift to mine. “What can I even offer you?”

“You don’t need to give me anything.”

She gives me a look. Okay. She doesn’t like that.

I sigh, running a hand through my messy hair and then resting it on the back of my neck. I can’t meet her eyes as I say, “Just… give me your time. That’s it.”

“My time…” she slowly repeats.

I just nod.

I like spending time with her. Being around her. Talking to her, listening to her, looking at her, laughing and smiling and just being content with her. I never want to fight this pull she has on me. Mostly because I’m too afraid of letting it slip away only to spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been.

Roxanne feels… different. I think she always has.

“Okay,” she softly says, smiling. “My time… And how will we spend our time today, Charlie?”

My lips slowly lift. “You’re the one who said you wanted to see the art, Roxanne.”

The Louvre is busy today. It’s busy everyday, actually.

I would have taken Roxanne to the Musée d'Orsay since it’s smaller and less crowded, but the Louvre is the most popular museum in Paris, and for her first time here, I just want it to be every part of beautiful she imagined.

I truly believe that it’s living up to her expectations, even despite the crowd of shuffling people and incessant chattering.

They don’t matter to her. To her, I’m almost positive that it’s because people—humans and society and civilization—are a part of art too, therefore belong right where they are. Here. Where art admires art and nothing else.

I stand to the side of the Winged Victory of Samothrace with Oscar—Oscar scanning the crowds, Roxanne admiring the beautiful marble sculpture of the winged goddess, and me… admiring Roxanne from afar.

She stands directly in front of it, her hands clasped behind her back and her eyes filled with the upmost of awe. Normally, I’d be admiring the sculpture in the same way. After all, I could never truly become jaded by its beauty. But it’s hard to tear my eyes away from Roxanne.

In a museum full of art, she is all I stare at.

“You know,” Oscar casually says, still eyeing the crowd, “this is the first time I’ve ever seen you more interested in something else when you’re in the presence of the Winged Victory of Samothrace.”

“Maybe there’s finally something more beautiful in the presence of the Winged Victory,” I mutter almost absentmindedly, watching as Roxanne smiles to herself. I wonder what she is thinking about. I wonder that quite often.

“You like her?” he asks—casually. As if it’s not a big deal.

But it is. Because if I say yes, it will be the first time I’ve ever said it. Not just about Roxanne, but about anyone in general.

At the same time, I don’t think I even need to admit it to Oscar. He can tell. He isn’t stupid. Thankfully. Ever since I bumped into Roxanne (literally), he has seen me get my hands dirty in flour for her, invite her entire family on a boat, run away with her, pick her up from her villa, and take her to Paris all because she said once that it was beautiful.

So I tell him, “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

From my peripheral, I see Oscar smirk. “Alright,” he says easily. “I’ll ask one I don’t know the answer to. Are you still going to like her in New York?”

“I don’t want to think about New York right now,” I say almost immediately. I don’t want to think about my brother, or promises, or his pain that would be entirely my fault. For once, I don’t want to hurt right now. I just want to stay in this loop of rapture with Roxanne for as long as possible—and a part of me hates myself for it. For how selfish that is. For how thinking this way will hurt Beckett. For how it would absolutely destroy me to see the look of betrayal on his face.

I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the strands, and try to shake the thoughts out of my head.

Oscar nods. “If it means anything, I like Roxanne.”

“I know you do.” I pause for a beat. “She likes you, too.”

“I know she does.” He grins, and I turn to glare at him.

Is it pathetic that I am afraid of Roxanne liking my bodyguard more than me?

I find the answer fairly quickly. And it’s yes.

I walk away from him without another word, a direct line to Roxanne. Nothing but the art exists around her, so I’m not surprised she doesn’t notice my approach. Once I’m standing right beside her, I tug on one of her curls.

Wanting attention. Naturally.

She finally turns to look at me, her eyes glazed with a deep reverence. “She’s even lovelier in person,” she nearly whispers.

I spare the Winged Victory one long glance, allowing the beauty of it to seep into my soul, and then I turn to look at Roxanne again. “She is.”

She brings her fingers to her lips as she stares at the statue for a few long seconds, and then she asks, “Can we go see Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss?”

“We can go see whatever you want.” We begin to walk through the museum in search of the statue. “You’re a lover of love,” I muse.

She smiles up at me. “What’s not to love about love?”

Many things apparently. As for me—there are none. “Good point.”

We spent three hours at the Louvre admiring art, talking about art, and for Roxanne—learning about the history of some pieces. We would have spent more time there—after all, there’s a lot to see—but the sun was setting, and I had something planned for Roxanne at five.

Roxanne gasps from beside me in the backseat of my driver’s car, her nose nearly pressed up against the window. “That’s Palais Garnier.” When she realizes the car is stopping in front of the stunningly ornate theater, she slowly turns to me with wide eyes. “You didn’t.”

A slow smirk rises on my face. “Didn’t what?”

She scoots closer to me and drops a hand to my thigh, the other flying to her mouth. “Are we about to see a ballet performance right now?” she nearly whispers.

I try to ignore the way her hand feels on my leg—especially since it is so f*cking close to my crotch—but it’s hard to. I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it. Her attention remains entirely on ballet. And a part of me—a really big part—admires her for that.

She’s still squeezing my thigh when I cover her hand with my own, and then gently slide my hand beneath hers, weaving our fingers together. “Yes.”

“Which one?” she whispers, her fingers to her lips.

My lips lift the longer I watch various emotions cross her face. Awe, and disbelief, and curiosity, and admiration.

“Giselle,” I find myself whispering back.

She slowly smiles against her fingertips. “Giselle…”

And then she pulls her hand out of mine.

And wraps her arms around my neck instead.

I freeze as she hugs me, my hands awkwardly hovering in the air.

“Thank you,” she softly says, and it’s so real, dripped in layers and layers of this newfound warmth, that it completely melts my body and compels my hands to her waist.

“For what?”

“Za to, chto ty absolyutno zamechatel'nyydlya menya,” she whispers.

For being absolutely wonderful to me.

Almost instinctively, my hands slide beneath the light gray sweater she’s still wearing, and my palms glide up the length of her spine. Roxanne shivers against me, a dazed breath passing through her lips and heating my neck. The heat of that breath manages to seep into all parts of me.

“Toujours,” I whisper into her hair.

Stunned, her arm slips from my shoulder and her hand falls to my thigh again, and—f*ck. I need to stop touching her. I need to get out of this car.

I slip my hands out from under her sweater and pull her back by her shoulder. “Roxanne. We’ll be late.”

She looks at me, somewhat dazed. “I… like how you smell.”

I stare at her for a beat. Roxanne fact #61: She likes how I smell.

f*ck it. I slowly bury my hand into her hair and lean close, brushing my lips against her warming cheek. Her breath shallows at the feeling of my heated breath on her skin, at the closeness of us, and my own breath shamelessly does the same. If she only pressed her palm to my chest, she would understand how wildly it currently pounds—how wildly it pounds for her. Because I think I love touching Roxanne as much as I love talking to her—being around her—and it is a dangerous, dangerous thing.

“Likewise.” My voice comes out in a thick, hushed drawl. My entire body heats up at her proximity, and I’m entirely too aware of every part of her that is touching me. Her palm spread across my thigh, her forearm still resting on my shoulder, her chest pushed up against my arm, her knee knocking into my own.

f*ck. For the first time since meeting Roxanne, I’m not afraid to admit to myself how f*cking badly I want her. Her body, her mind, her soul.

Her heart.

She lets out a shuddering breath and practically melts against me, her forehead falling to my shoulder. “I’m dizzy,” she whispers, her voice strained.

“Too dizzy to attend the performance?”

That sobers her up fairly quickly. She snaps her head up and shakes her head. “No. No, let’s go.”

I find myself smiling as she fumbles with the handle of the door, swings it open, and steps out into the impending night.

And I follow her. Because of course I do.

When we’re settle in our box seats with Oscar just behind us, I watch as Roxanne lets out an awed breath at the beauty of the theater and places both of her palms on her cheeks. “This isn’t real,” she whispers.

She’s been saying that ever since we stepped foot in the theater. Palais Garnier is gorgeous, with crystal chandeliers, a grand staircase, deep red seats, and intricate golden walls of mesmerizing architecture.

It isn’t my first time attending a ballet performance at Palais Garnier, but I don’t come often. I enjoy New York more anyway.

Roxanne undoubtedly does too. After all, in New York, she is on stage instead. But I gathered from her reaction to all of this that it must be nice to actually watch a performance for once—and in Paris of all places.

“Have you seen Giselle before?” I wonder.

She turns to look at me and the bows on her shoulders jostle with the movement. My gray sweater is currently draped across her lap. “Not in person,” she admits. “Giselle is one of the most famous Romantic ballets ever. It’s all so fascinating—the devastating story, and the rich psychology of the characters, and the central theme of love, and the dancing, how it’s all so dramatic and demanding yet can be so delicate.” She slumps back in her seat and brings her palms to her cheeks. “I’m rambling.”

“I like listening to you.” I reach forward and peel her hand from her cheek. Her other hand falls to her lap as she watches me watch her, her chest expanding at the gentle way I brush my thumb over her soft knuckles.

She stares at me for a long beat, and then with shaky hands, she turns her hand around and slips her small fingers between my own. It does wicked things to my pulse.

“I like listening to you, too, you know.” She holds my hand tighter as if she is afraid I’ll let go. “Even if you don’t say much.”

“Not much to say,” I say easily.

“There’s always things to say,” she softly says. Her smile is sweet as she adds, “I’m sure there are a lot of thoughts up here.” She lifts her free hand to my head and gently taps my temple. The action only amuses me.

Her eyes are glued to my hair, almost dazedly, as she redirects her hand higher until her fingers are brushing at the messy strands of golden-brown. I just sit here and watch her do something as odd as feel my hair. I learn a lot about Roxanne from just watching her.

What I learn now? She is both comfortable and unafraid with me. And that’s not something a lot of people can experience.

“I like your hair,” she admits, grinning as she slowly buries her fingers into my roots. f*ck, why does that feel so good?She only does it because I let her, and I only let her because I shamelessly don’t want her to stop.

“I like yours too.” My voice comes out hushed. Strained.

She smile grows as she meets my eyes, and then her hand falls to her lap again, abandoning my hair. “We seem to like a lot of things about each other, don’t we?”

You have no idea, Roxanne, just how many things I like about you.

Suddenly, a hush falls over the crowded theater as the warm lights dim just slightly, and Roxanne gasps, facing the front and sitting on the edge of her seat. It’s not long before the curtains are pulled back and dancers emerge on the stage to the cheerful, sweet music.

I try to focus on the performance so that I can talk about it with Roxanne after it is over. But my focus teeters between the woman next to me and the dancers in front of me too often to truly pay attention. Throughout the entirety of the performance, all that I truly registered was the love, the betrayal, and the dramatics of it all. And that Giselle’s character oddly reminds me of Roxanne—shy, and curious, and dramatic, and in the end, compassionate and loving.

Roxanne is everything good in the world, and it makes me feel good to know that I had given her something great. Because Roxanne is completely mesmerized with the performance. Her focus is completely zeroed in on it. Fingers to her lips, eyes wide, on the edge of her seat.

Maybe I should have been entirely focused on it too. And yet, all I could seem to think about was how she hadn’t let go of my hand the entire time.

And how amazing it felt that she hadn’t.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

CHAPTER EIGHT — Roxanne Ruiz

I would have slept on the plane ride back to Italy if not for the fact that Charlie and I talked during the whole two hour flight about the ballet performance we just watched, to the food we tried, and to the city we explored. I listened to him talk about the places in Paris he loved to go to, and listened to the way he spoke about the beauty of art, where every word out of his mouth held another layer of beauty that managed to seek into my soul. The way he spoke was almost as beautiful as the art itself. I think I could listen to him speak for hours and never get tired of it.

The thought kind of scares me. It’s another layer of reasons to why I like Charlie Cobalt. The lines between friendship and something more have blurred exponentially, and I’m not too sure this liking I have for him is very platonic anymore.

The only reason it scares me as much as it does is because he is famous. But I’m not as afraid of how I feel about it as I am about how Charlie does.

I shake the thoughts out of my head the second I walk into Charlie’s Italian villa, with rounded archways, deep navy walls, and sheer curtains hanging from long, skinny windows. The living area has bookshelves full of old books and fancy couches with golden trimmings. There’s even a grand piano beyond a fireplace.

It’s huge.

“Wow,” I breathe, dazedly setting my bag onto one of the many couches. “Do you own this place?”

“No,” Charlie says, leaning against the arched entrance.

“Okay. Just checking. Because I’m still a little amazed at the fact that you own your Paris apartment.”

“I’m in Paris a lot.”

I turn to look at him over my shoulder, a small smile peeking out. “So I’ve heard.” I turn back around to face the grand piano, brushing my fingertips over the delicate keys. I press a key and the deep sound echos throughout the room.

Man… What I’d give to know how to play.

The faint thump of Charlie’s shoes on the wooden floorboards slowly grow nearer and nearer until he is standing just behind me. I feel the weight of his presence before I ever feel his soft touch.

“Do you play?” he quietly asks.

I shut my eyes, feeling a trembling shiver run up my spine when I feel Charlie’s knuckles brush against my shoulder blades, his fingers slipping beneath the straps of my dress. The cold bite of his ring grazes my warm skin and it nearly buckles me over. He has no idea what his touch does to me. And honestly, I’m not too sure I know either. No one has ever felt like this before.

“No,” I answer weakly. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Will you play something?”

“Sure.” He steps around me to move to the bench, and as he does so, his hand slips down the length of my spine before falling altogether. Charlie likes to touch. I would have never expected it coming from him.

He sits on the bench. “Any requests?”

“Do you know comptine d'unautre été?” I ask, sitting beside him.

Charlie slowly smiles, shaking his head. He presses a few random keys, making a pretty melody. “Your pronunciation is horrible.”

“I have a really, really horrible teacher.”

“They need to spend more time working with you.”

I tilt my head at him, my lips lifting. “They do, don’t they?”

“Absolutely,” he says, and then he begins to play exactly what I had requested. His fingers move across the keys so naturally, so effortlessly, and the music he wields from it sounds as beautiful as he makes it look. The melodies crafted from his hands sound so devastating, so hypnotic, so nostalgic, that I can’t help but shut my eyes and lean my head on his shoulder.

Charlie never falters. He continues to play one of my favorite pieces, where the notes echo off the piano’s strings and seeps into my soul. I love how beautiful music has the power to make you feel things that cannot be replicated anywhere else.

I turn around and swing my legs over the bench to stand. Charlie continues to play as I appraise the living area, walking past the sheer drapes and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I run my fingertips along the dusty spines, where most titles are in Italian and the ones in English are only classics. Each step around the living area is another step I sway to the music.

I love how I feel right now, with the soft but sad music, and the dim but warm lighting from the many lamps around, where there is all this space to dance and feel free and feel like myself with someone who would never expect anything less.

When the last note of the song finally rings out, I walk back to the piano and sit on the bench again, only this time, I face the other way, my body away from the piano keys.

“That was so… perfect.” I let out a breathy sigh.

The ghost of a smile peeks out as Charlie looks at me. “Was that your favorite piece?”

“Yeah,” I say, my arm brushing against his. “What’s yours?”

“All of them,” he admits. “Because they’re all different, and yet their beauty is all in the same.”

A slow smile spreads on my face. I really love the way Charlie’s mind works. “Yeah… It is, isn’t it?”

“I would never admit that to someone else,” he tells me, his voice barely above a whisper. It makes me lean closer to him. “So, consider yourself lucky.”

“Maybe I already do. Maybe you should consider yourself lucky.”

He lazily smirks. “Maybe.”

His eyes are so beautiful. I truly think I could look into them all day. I have no idea why that is the first thought that enters my mind, but when you’re looking into Charlie Cobalt’s eyes, it’s hard not to think that.

His gaze bores into mine, and mine into his, and it’s like everything around us ceases to exist. It stretches the already long silence, and builds up the already lingering attraction buried deep inside me. We sit so close to one another, where my elbow brushes against his own and every intoxicating scent of his invades my space. And the way he looks at me… it does nothing good for the wild pulse in my veins.

His eyes flicker down to my parted lips, where sudden, shallow breaths of fervor escape me. He hardens his jaw, his chest expanding, and lets out a soft and desperate sound—one that seeps into my skin and settles in places too foreign to acknowledge.

“I need to kiss you,” he practically begs in a husky whisper.

He buries a slow hand into my hair, and I all but melt against him at the feeling of his fingers dragging through my roots and his breath fanning my lips.

I clutch onto his shirt almost achingly as his nose grazes against mine. “Charlie,” I practically whimper.

I tilt my head up, baring myself to him, allowing him to kiss me, because I think I need to kiss him too—and I need to badly. His lips brush against my own, surface of lips against surface of lips, and it’s enough to weaken every part of me.

But then the shrilling sound of a phone ringing echos against the four walls of navy, and my entire body freezes.

Charlie notices and he pulls away, just an inch, and doesn’t kiss me. Damn. “You need to get that?” he whispers.

I exhale a breath, shutting my eyes. “I…” This is such bad timing. “I’ll be quick.”

Charlie nods, understanding, and his hand slips from my hair while my own slips from his shirt.

I’m burning from head to toe as I stand to walk over to my bag discarded on the couch. I dig inside my bag for my phone, only to burn hotter when I collide with the thousands of condoms my aunt practically shoved into my face this morning.

No. Not happening. Get out of my head.

I finally find my phone and barely catch a glimpse of my mom’s caller ID before I pick up and hold the phone to my ear.

“Roxanne!” my mom happily shouts on the other line. “I really, really, really hope you had fun today, but is there a reason the moon is currently out and you’re not back home yet?”

“I…” suddenly realize that I have no idea what I can and can’t share with my family. I’ll have to talk to Oscar about that later. “It’s barely close to midnight.”

I suddenly feel a large hand sliding onto my hip and another brushing my curls off to one side of my shoulder. Oh… my god. Charlie stands behind me and leans forward to softly brush his lips up the side of my neck. I shiver, and tightly grab onto his hand on my hip—as if telling him to stop so that I could concentrate on my phone call.

But Charlie doesn’t listen. I don’t think he listens to anyone but himself, honestly.

“So?” my mom says. “It’s still dark out. Everybody knows that nighttime corresponds to the awakening of rapists and kidnappers and murders and vampires.”

I weakly snicker, far too distracted from the way Charlie’s breath heats my skin and his hand squeezes my hip. “Vampires? Mom. I doubt Charlie is any of those things.” I tilt my head back just slightly to ask Charlie, “Are you a vampire?”

“Absolutely,” he murmurs against my ear. His lips brush down to the base of my neck, and then he parts his mouth and bites me.

Oh… my god!!!

I let out a foreign sound. Something between a surprised yelp and a pleased gasp. I all but flinch out of Charlie’s arms and spin around, holding a hand to his chest. “Bad Cobalt,” I scold, even if my voice wavers as I say it.

He grabs my hand and lazily grins at me, and damn if it isn’t extremely sexy.

“Roxy? Everything okay?” my mom asks.

“Yes,” I say immediately. I watch Charlie’s hand slowly slip out of my own, and then he abandons me to sit on the couch and redirects all his attention to my bag lying next to him. “Charlie was just…” I trail off as he opens my bag and begins to dig around it in—being extremely nosy, “being insufferable,” I finish.

He raises a brow at me.

I just smile sweetly.

My mom laughs on the other line. “Sounds like a Cobalt. And hey, I wasn’t saying Charlie is any of those things. I was just saying that monsters come out at night and it can be dangerous, especially since he’s famous, so you would both get kidnapped if you think about it!”

“He has a bodyguard,” I tell her. Charlie pulls out the top half of my black bikini and appraises it for not even two seconds before I snatch it from him and stuff it back into my bag.

“Yeah. One bodyguard. But who’s protecting you?”

“You mean from all the vampires? Myself.”

“Okay, okay,” my mom sighs. “Don’t stay out too late, okay? And remember what your dad said about the condoms—Luka! That is not a toy! If you break something, I will cut off all your hair!”

A laugh leaves me just as Charlie stands again. He mouths to me, “Let’s go swimming.”

I raise an accusatory brow. He 100% wants to see me in my swimsuit.

Which is great, because I equally want to see him in his.

I nod to him. “Okay,” I whisper, and then I say to my mom, “I’ll be back at a reasonable hour. And even if I’m not, I’m still an adult.” I watch Charlie stuff his hands into the pockets of his pants as he leaves the room, and once he’s gone, I add, “And you don’t have to worry about the condoms. I already said I wouldn’t use them.”

My mom’s silent for a beat. And then she says, “You know… There’s nothing wrong with sex.”

“Mom,” I groan, plopping down onto the couch where Charlie once was.

“I know, I know. But I was making it seem like such a taboo thing this morning, and it’s not. It’s totally natural! And it feels good, so why the hell should we humans fight it?!”

“Is there a point coming?”

“Yes,” she stresses. “You’re still my little girl, so it’s just a foreign concept to me… You having sex, and stuff.”

“And stuff,” I repeat flatly.

“Right! But I want you to come to me with these things. Have you had sex before?”

I press my lips into a thin line, suddenly feeling a bit uneasy. “Yeah,” I end up admitting.

“Were you safe?”

“Of course.”

“Was it nice?”

“Sure.” It was mediocre at best.

“Okay, this is going nowhere. You need sex advice, you let me know.”

A laugh escapes me. “Okay, Mom.” I pause for a bit, thinking, and then I just come right out and ask, “Hey, is it true that there are different condom sizes?”

“Of course there are. Not every penis is the same size, Roxy.”

“Right, but I always thought condoms like… stretched to accommodate different… thingy’s.” Thingy’s. Real mature, Roxanne.

“You know, that would make total sense. But no, there are different sizes. Why do you ask?”

I fiddle with the hem of my dress. “No reason.”

“Ookaay,” my mom drags out. “Well, I hope the assholes in New York are treating you right. And I hope the one you’re currently with is too.”

“Charlie isn’t an asshole, Mom,” I softly say, sinking into the couch. At least, he isn’t one to me. I smile to myself as I admit to her, “I like him.”

I hear her own smile in her voice as she tells me, “I’m so glad, mija. I mean it. I like him for you.”

“Me too,” I quietly admit into a growing smile, and it has nothing to do with his fame and has everything to do with how he treats me. My mom doesn’t even know the extent of it, but… Charlie truly treats me wonderfully. “I should go. But I’ll be home later. I won’t spend the night or anything. That, I can promise you.”

My mom chuckles. “Whatever you say.” And then she hangs up. On me.

She’s crazy. I love her deeply.

I shut my phone off and toss it onto the couch cushion beside me, and then I turn to my bag to see my black bikini peeking out from within. It reminds me that I have places to be. Things to do. People to see. And that excites me. Charlie excites me.

I grab my two piece swimsuit and stand from the couch to go find a bathroom I could change in.

The air has shifted tonight. Dramatically. And it leaves behind a big batch of wonder about what will happen when I see him again.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

CHAPTER NINE — Roxanne Ruiz

I try to tie my hair up and slide open the back door simultaneously, and I trip over the threshold into the warm night, my feet catching themselves on the outdoor stone tiles.

I catch sight of Charlie’s endearment from within the glowing infinity pool. He has his elbows leaned on the edge behind him, and his hair is already damp and tousled.

The back patio of the villa is gorgeous, with a dark wooden cabana with white curtains and white furniture, a fire pit, and an outdoor shower. I can hear the faint push and pull of waves beyond the infinity pool, and if it weren’t so dark, I might have been able to see a vast ocean of teal.

Charlie lets out a dramatic sigh. “Come on, Ruiz, I’m getting lonely.”

A grin peeks out, and then I run over to the pool and cannonball in—like a child.

The warm water engulfs me whole, and when I emerge to the surface, Charlie wipes the splashed water from his fighting smile. “How mature.”

I chuckle. “Like biting me as if you are a vampire is so mature.”

He pushes off the wall and slowly swims over to me. “I’ll never do it again… if that’s what you want.” There’s this knowing glint in his eyes.

“I didn’t say that,” I say coyly.

“Well, what are you saying?” He stands right in front of me, droplets of water gliding down his skin. His face is illuminated by the glow from the pool, and he stares down at me with these passionately unyielding eyes.

What am I saying? I know exactly what I feel when it comes to Charlie. Every physical reaction and every emotional one. Sometimes, I’m just too scared to acknowledge it, and so I pretend it doesn’t exist.

But after today… I don’t think I can do that anymore. I don’t think I even want to.

“Maybe I liked it,” I admit in a breathy exhale.

“Maybe,” he softly echos, inching closer as if I’m a mere prey he’s hunting. My heart beats wilder. “You either did or you didn’t.”

“I did,” I whisper.

In one slow, agonizing move, Charlie’s hands slide onto my hips, his palms traveling above the thin material of my swimsuit bottoms, and then they glide down to my thighs. I let out a soft gasp when he hikes my legs up and around his waist. One of my hands grab onto his shoulder, the other flying up to my mouth.

I can barely think straight, with our bodies wielded together and his big hands inching dangerous close to my ass.

Charlie searches my eyes in a silent exchange, as if wondering if this was okay. For him to be touching me like this. It’s just… wow. It’s more than okay.

“You make me nervous,” I quietly admit.

He silently grabs my hand from my mouth and flattens my palm over his chest. Over his heart. There is nothing calm about the way his heart pounds so frantically within his chest. I let out a wavering breath. It’s more reassuring than I’d like to admit to know that Charlie is just as nervous as I am.

I shift my hand and slowly slide it down his chest. I just can’t help myself. My palm dips down the length of him, my arm wedging between us as I let myself feel every indent of lean muscle on his abdomen.

Charlie lets out a shuddering breath the lower my hand travels.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as beautiful as you,” I say barely above a whisper.

His breath fans over mine as he says, “You haven’t seen the ugly sides of me yet.”

The words only puzzle me, and I tilt my head at him.

I drag my hand back up his body, and he holds me tighter—like every muscle in his body tenses to restrain what could lead to roaming hands. My hand comes over his heart again, just briefly, and the chaos within never subsides.

“So?” I say seriously. “You’re human. Everyone has ugly sides of themselves. Why would I ever think less of you for having them too?”

He’s silent for a moment, just staring at me, and then he brings his hand up to softly brush a few loose curls behind my ear. “You just might when you see it.”

“No.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m telling you that I wouldn’t.” I slip my arms around his neck and look into his eyes when I quietly say, “Everything I ever feel about a person is because of what they show me. How they act, how they treat me, what they say. And people… they tend to only show the good parts. But it doesn’t mean the bad parts don’t exist, and I don’t like to pretend that they don’t. I don’t like to think that these bad parts of us are any less worthy of love as the good ones.”

“That’s naive,” Charlie tells me plainly. “There are people who’s bad parts are what find them in jail cells.”

“I guess it depends on your morality. But I don’t like to judge broken people.”

“Broken people tend to lie.”

“Well, are you lying to me?” I tilt my head at him.

“Who said I was broken?”

I’m silent for a beat. And then I ask, “Are you?”

Charlie’s thumb brushes the skin on my thigh. “Who knows?” He shrugs.

His nonchalance tells me all I need to know. So I don’t push. But I do feel a certain heaviness fill my chest, because throughout this entire trip, Charlie has been nothing but good to me. He’s made me forget about every negative feeling of uneasiness and insecurity that bubbles inside of me every day in New York. I can’t help but feel like I need to do something for him. Like I need to protect his heart the same way he does mine.

But how do I do that?

“You want to know a secret?” I say instead. Charlie raises a brow. “I really, really like your smile.”

“Yeah?”

I slowly grin, my eyes trained to his lips—not smiling. “Yeah.”

I bring my fingers to his lips and gently tip one side up into a smile. Charlie turns his head, opens his mouth, and nips my finger.

“Hey!” I steal my hand back, laughing. The movement splashes the water onto our faces. “You and your biting, man.”

Charlie finally grins, his hand gliding up my spine as he leans close. “I thought you liked it.”

“I do like it.” My eyes are trained on the slow droplets of water that cascade down Charlie’s face. It slowly glides over his lips, and for some reason, my breath shallows at the sight. I don’t even think about it, not at all, as I clutch the back of his neck and slowly lick the droplet right off his lips.

Charlie lets out a groan in the back of his throat. My tongue on his lips had managed to unleash every pent up feeling, and in the next breath, his hand is cradling my jaw and his mouth is on mine.

Oh my… f*ck.

Charlie kisses me like it is our last night on earth. Rough, and desperate, and depraved. He deepens the kiss all on his own, pulling me closer until every inch of our bodies touch. I run a hand through his damp hair and give it a light tug. A breathy moan leaves his mouth and travels right into my own, and it does ungodly things to my body.

His tongue slips into my mouth, and a filthy, unrestrained noise leaves me at the feeling of it. Of the taste of him. I have never wanted to kiss someone as badly as I want to kiss Charlie Cobalt. I want to kiss him for hours and hours.

Our mouths move together with breathy, urgent need as Charlie rotates us within the pool and pushes me against the wall, the water jostling against our skin. I press my shoulders against the wall, pushing my hips into his own, and the groan he gives me travels down to my core and elicits my own moan out of me.

He likes that. Because next thing I know, his rough hands are on my ass and he’s shamelessly guiding my hips to rock into his own, and I’m shamelessly loving every second of it.

A whimper gets caught in my throat. Oh god. He’s hard. I can feel him over the thin material of my swimsuit, where I find myself desperately aching for him. I think I want more of him. So, so, so much more.

I break the kiss only to let out a trembling moan. “Charlie.”

He begins to kiss down my jaw, down my neck, his lips wrapping around skin and his tongue tasting whatever he can. I throw my head back in a breathy whine, my hand buried in his hair and my legs tight around his waist.

Charlie’s hands glide up the sides of my body, slow and agonizing, and it’s here where a phone begins to blare.

Again.

But Charlie completely ignores it. We both know it’s his phone, but he doesn’t care. He just brings his mouth to mine again and hungrily kisses me like he can’t get enough.

I know I can’t.

“You should get that,” I whisper between kisses.

He shakes his head. “Ignore it,” he mumbles against my lips.

He kisses me deeper, slower, and I let him, because it is just too addicting to stop him right now. His tongue slips into my mouth, mine into his, and he moans in satisfaction.

The call eventually rings out the longer we kiss. But then not even two seconds later, it rings again.

Okay, now I’m getting concerned. What if it’s an emergency? What if someone died?!

I pull away again. “Charlie.”

He kisses up my jaw to my ear. “Roxanne.” His teeth lightly latch onto my earlobe.

I shiver. “It could be important.”

“Very unlikely.” The call rings out again, and again, they call for a third time.

“Charlie.”

He sighs—nearly groans. “Fine. You win.” He begrudgingly sets me down and backs away from me. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Oh god. His words send a shiver up my spine.

He hoists himself out of the pool, water dripping from his body, and I lean my arms on the edge and rest my chin on my arms as I watch him, a light smile on my face and a warm color to my cheeks.

I can’t believe I just made out with all 6’3 of enigmatic sexy. My stomach is still in a whirlwind. I might just throw up. So don’t be surprised if I do.

Charlie grabs his phone and stares at the screen. Even though his back is to me, I can still imagine the way he’d roll his eyes at whatever name he sees. Even then, he still picks up.

He lets a few seconds go by of just listening to whoever is on the other line. From the faint muffle on the receiver, the voice sounds deeper—like a man. Charlie asks, “What happened?”

Silence.

He begins to speak French. Softer, quieter. And I know two things now: it’s his family, and something is wrong.

I hoist myself out of the pool and grab one of the towels folded on one of the couches within the cabana. I wrap the towel around my shoulders just as Charlie sighs and says, “No promises… I know.” And then he hangs up and turns to look at me.

We let a few seconds pass by of us just staring at one another, every heated moment in the pool still very much alive and unfading. Charlie’s chest expands in a deep, heavy breath, his eyes glazing in a wave of desire the longer he looks at me.

He begins to take slow steps toward me. “Everything okay?” I ask him.

“No.” He stands in front of me and grabs onto the edges of my towel, tugging me closer to him. “Jane’s cat died. I have to go back to Philly.”

I try desperately to hide my disappointment. I’m not sure why I felt like Italy could have lasted forever. I do, however, find myself genuinely frowning at the tragic news.

“Poor Jane,” I whisper.

“Indeed.” He studies me for a bit, eyes flitting over every inch of my face, and then he says, “I’m sorry.”

For one miserable second, I imagine that he is saying sorry for kissing me in the first place. “For… what?”

“For leaving.”

“No, you should go. It’s okay. It’ll always be okay. Family comes first.” He shouldn’t even have to apologize for it.

And yet he continues to look pained. Like leaving me right after kissing me for the first time was not something he had planned on doing at all. Still, he eventually says, “We’ll take you back to your villa.”

And all I can do is agree, even though I selfishly wish I didn’t have to.

On the car ride back to my villa, I lean forward between the center console from the backseat as I listen to Oscar and Charlie talk about Jane and her cats.

“Lady Macbeth will be the first cat death since Sadie,” Charlie tells me.

“And Sadie was your dad’s cat?” I ask, frowning.

“Yes. She died when we were young. In Jane’s closet.”

I wince. “Oh.”

Charlie sighs, slumping into his seat. “She will undoubtedly hold a funeral.”

“You sound so apathetic about it, and yet you Cobalt’s will drop everything just to be there,” Oscar points out from behind the wheel.

“She’s my sister. Of course I’ll be there.” He pauses for a beat and then says, “I told her that her cat was close to dying and she didn’t listen to me. She could have been spending all that time preparing to mourn.”

I hit his arm. “Not nice.”

Charlie just lazily smirks at me, mischief waltzing in his eyes. Damn him. It makes my own smile threaten to come loose.

“How many cats does she have now?” I ask—to shift the conversation.

Oscar blows out a breath. “Too many.”

“Six,” Charlie says.

I rest my head in my hands, my palms to my cheeks. “Poor Jane,” I quietly say again, because I can’t help but feel it every time. I know how important those cats are to her. Losing one of them must feel absolutely heartbreaking.

I would offer my condolences, or have Charlie do it for me, but a sudden thought has me stopping myself.

Because I suddenly have no idea who I am to Charlie. Nor do I know what I mean to him. I could just be another passing girl in his life. After all, he could have any girl in the world who I’m sure wouldn’t be very different from me. But there will only ever be one Charlie Cobalt in my life, and he could never just be some passing guy in mine.

Before I can think about it any longer, Oscar is pulling up in front of my villa. Time is stretching thin. Tomorrow, Charlie will be in Philly and I’ll still be here, and there will be no telling when we see each other next or if it’ll still be how it is between us where the sun is warm and the co*cktails taste just right.

I guess I don’t know anything. But I can’t hold them up with all the questions I still have. And so I simply say, “Thank you guys… for everything. I’ll see you both back in New York…” I pause for a beat. “Bye.” And then I grab my bag and get out of the car.

I make it about five steps toward the villa before the car door opens and shuts and Charlie steps out. “Roxanne.” I slowly turn around at his approach, and before I can get a word out, Charlie grabs my face and kisses the hell out of me.

I practically melt in his arms that slide around my waist and pull me closer. My bag falls to the floor and I wrap my arms around his neck, deepening our kiss and burying my fingers into his messy hair.

He kisses me a few more times before I’m smiling against his lips and whispering to him, “Your bodyguard can see you.”

“If I have to watch him kiss his husband, than he can certainly handle me doing the same.”

I raise a brow at him. “You kiss Oscar’s husband?”

Charlie rolls his eyes into a smile he tries desperately to fight. I just laugh.

“Roxanne,” he suddenly says, brushing his thumbs against my cheeks as he looks into me. “Whatever this is… it isn’t over. It can’t be over. I still want to see you when I’m in Philly, and I still want to see you when we’re in New York. Do you… feel the same?”

I slowly smile at the endearing way he suddenly looks so nervous. “Yes. I feel the same.”

He nods a few times, a relieved breath escaping him. “Okay. Okay, well… I am horrible at texting, but text me anyway. Text me all the time. I don’t even care what you say. You can send a picture and nothing else for all I care.”

A light laugh leaves me, and I find myself leaning into Charlie. “Texting… okay. Can I call you too, or is that out of the picture?”

Charlie leans in and slowly grins into a slow kiss. He mumbles against my mouth, “Call me all the time.”

I smile into the kiss, our mouths moving together in gentle waves of passion for a few more seconds before I finally pull away and push at his chest. “You need to go.”

He nods, agreeing. “I need to go.” He grabs my hand and walks backwards to the car, our arms stretching the farther we part. Once my fingers slip from his own, he lightly smiles at me and softly says, “Goodbye, Roxanne.”

I return his smile with my own. “Bye, Charlie.”

I never knew that my heart could feel this way before tonight. Both so full of this spark, and so heavy to see that spark go. I watch Charlie get into the car, disappearing behind the tint, and I can do nothing but pick my bag off the floor and trudge the rest of the way to the villa’s front doors. Counting down the days I meet this spark in my heart again.

Oscar and Charlie don’t leave until I’m fully inside the house, and once the doors close, my entire family—who are sitting in the living area cuddled into couches while a movie plays on the TV—turn to me. Stare at me. Quietly.

I narrow my eyes at them and drop my bag onto the floor by the door. “Hey.”

They seem suspicious.

“Hey,” my mom says. “Have fun?”

“Yeah.” I glance around the living room. The couches are a little crooked, the blankets ruffled. The movie’s volume is suspiciously low, and the curtains on the windows are rumpled and messy.

“What did you guys do all day?” Aunt Baylee asks.

“Did he spend money on you? Do we have to pay him back?” Aunt Thora asks.

“Thora, he’s a f*ckin’ billionaire. We don’t have to pay him sh*t,” Uncle John says.

“Actually, his parents are billionaires,” I butt in.

“What’s the difference?” Uncle John rebuts.

“Nothing, I guess…” After all, Charlie uses his parents’ money. And has absolutely no shame in doing it.

“What did you eat for lunch? Dinner? Fancy food?” Uncle Timo wiggles his brows.

“We went to Paris. Ate some stuff there. It was nice.” I shrug.

My family stares at me for a beat, and then they all erupt into loads of curses and questions and exclamations.

“He took you to Paris?!” Uncle Luka exclaims.

“That was dangerous,” Uncle Nikolai firmly tells me.

“That sounds awesome!” Aunt Katya provides.

“How romantic!” my mom gushes.

My dad picks up my arm and sniffs it. “Why do you smell like chlorine?”

“We went swimming at his villa afterwards,” I simply tell him.

My dad inhales a frustrated breath and then he suddenly stands from the couch. “Okay, I can’t hold it in anymore.” He turns and points a finger right at me. “I told you no kissing! We all saw you kissing!” Well, that certainly explains the rumpled curtains.

I groan, running a hand down my face. “Dad.”

“You were supposed to wait until there wasn’t a crowd,” my mom scolds him, kicking his leg from the couch.

“I just saw Charlie Cobalt sticking his tongue down my daughters throat. In fact, we all did. So I don’t gotta wait for sh*t.” My dad narrows his eyes at me. “How many condoms did you use?”

“Zero,” I say easily.

I’m not too rattled by my dad’s parental outburst. In fact, I kind of understand it. It’s the first time he’s ever experienced me with a guy. And it doesn’t help that this guy is a part of the most famous family in the world.

But if he’s hoping I’ll stomp my feet and lock myself in my room when he makes his disapproval clear, it won’t happen. Nor will I let him forbid me from seeing Charlie either. He knows that. I know that. So there’s really no point in trying.

He knows that too. It’s why he groans into his hands and stares at the ceiling like he’s asking God why me?

“So, Paris,” Aunt Baylee says, grinning at me. “What did you two do there?”

And because Oscar told me that I could tell my family about my day so long as I don’t share any personal information about Charlie, I tell them about the food I tried, and the art I saw at the Louvre, and the ballet performance I saw at Palais Garnier.

And they smile at me, happy for me, and just listen. Even my dad.

Every word out of my mouth is another where they are slowly realizing just how much Charlie means to me. And why would they ever try to take this feeling away from me?

The truth is, they wouldn’t. You want to know why?

It’s because they know exactly how it feels. And it feels earth-shatteringly amazing.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TEN — Charlie Cobalt

Admittedly, I imagined that telling a woman to text me all the time—to call me all the time—would have prompted her to do it excessively. After all, any other woman would have. Not that I would have allowed another woman to do it in the first place.

But Roxanne… Roxanne is not like other women.

Because it has been two days since I bid her goodbye in Italy, where I practically succumbed to all that she is and quite literally begged her to contact me during our time apart. And what does this menace of a woman do? She doesn’t call or text once.

Am I supposed to message her first? Is that how this works? Does she expect me to text her first?

I admit that I don’t truly know how this works. I don’t usually text women. They text me.

And why wouldn’t they? Nearly every woman in the world would. Except Roxanne apparently.

“Brother,” Eliot throws an arm over my shoulder, “is there a reason your phone holds the upmost of your interest versus our sister’s poor cat?”

I shrug his arm off my shoulder and stuff my phone in my pocket. I say nothing.

“I believe Luna called what you’re doing phone banging. An awesome name,” Tom says, joining us in the corner of Jane’s townhouse living room. “Not funeral appropriate, though.”

“You have no room to tell me what is funeral appropriate when you are dressed like that,” I deadpan.

“Dude, you have zero sense of fashion.” Tom holds his arms wide and does a little spin. A portrait of Lady Macbeth is embroidered on the back of his leather jacket, with twinkling stars and tacky cursive letters that spell out ‘Forever weaved into our hearts.’ Jane cried when she first saw it. I just think it’s stupid. “I almost feel bad for you.”

“Why are we feeling bad for Charlie?” Beckett joins us, nursing a water bottle, the first few buttons of his black button down undone. He leans against the arm of Jane’s old couch and says to me, “Is it because you’re brooding in a corner?”

I give him a dry smile. “Well we are at a funeral, aren’t we?”

“I never imagined you to be so sensitive for Jane’s cats,” Eliot drawls—almost knowingly. He doesn’t know anything.

“It’s because of what’s on your phone,” Tom says, grinning. “Right?”

Beckett raises a brow. “What’s on your phone?”

“Nothing,” I say nearly too quickly. And it’s true, I suppose, that there is nothing. And perhaps that is exactly the problem.

“I would ask you if it is because of a girl,” Eliot hums, thinking, “but I can’t particularly imagine you would be so hung up on one anyway.”

Tom nods, agreeing. “I can’t even imagine you tolerating anyone enough to care.”

“Certainly not enough to love,” Eliot adds. And now I’m starting to think they’re saying these things on purpose. To get a reaction out of me.

I hate that it’s working. I hate it a lot.

“Definitely,” Tom says into a wicked grin.

I blink at him. I can feel Beckett watching me, but I ignore him. I ignore all of them actually and push off the wall to walk away from them without another word.

I hear Tom say behind me, “So maybe it is a girl. The mystery thickens.”

“Indeed, brother,” Eliot muses.

I cross the length of Jane’s living room, where I barely acknowledge my family scattered around the townhouse. Sulli, Jane, and Moffy—the parents of our cousins are dressed in black and sit on the couch, talking and holding their babies. My baby sister and her closest cousins sit on the stairs, whispering to one another. And as I pass the threshold of the kitchen, I briefly register my father and uncles with my brother in law and some of his security friends. The ones who are married or dating into the family, anyway.

I practically scale the entire length of the townhouse to make it to the backdoor, where in the backyard, I know that my aunts are watching Xander and Luna play with Moffy’s son, Ripley. I’m sure whatever sport they’re playing, they’re playing horribly.

I barely push it open when I hear Beckett call from behind me, “Charlie.”

I slow my movements only slightly—just instinctively—and turn to look at my twin brother over my shoulder.

“What was that?” Beckett asks lightly, a smile in his eyes despite the puzzlement that paints his face.

I let the door shut, my arm falling limply to my side. “That was me being annoyed with our brothers.”

Beckett gracefully leans his shoulder against the wall beside the door. “Over a girl?”

“There is no girl.”

He studies me for a few long seconds. “Are you lying to me?”

Well. “Yes.” I am lying so tremendously hard to Beckett, and the thought eats away at my soul every second that I look at him. And yet, all I can think about is how great I am doing at masking my anguish, and how proud I am of myself that I am succeeding at it. It makes me feel undeserving of even being his twin brother in the first place.

He lightly laughs, shaking his head. “Alright,” he simply says. He knows I won’t offer up any more information. And he won’t ask. It’s not like Beckett is the most upfront about his sexual relationships either.

Although… my relationship with Roxanne is a lot more than something sexual. It is a lot more than that. And I won’t pretend that it isn’t.

“I don’t particularly enjoy listening to people tell me I’m not capable of love,” I find myself flatly admitting to him. “Or that no one in this world is capable of loving me.”

It only squeezes my chest because there’s a colossal part of me that believes it too. And the truth always manages to puncture a heart more than all else.

“How are you so sure that’s where Tom and Eliot were heading?”

“Because they are Tom and Eliot,” I say as if it’s obvious. “They dive head first into chaos without halting.”

Beckett stares at me for a second, and then he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pants and tells me, “Well if it’s any consolation, I love you.”

I almost grimace. Almost.

Instead, I sigh. “I know you do.” Beckett stares at me for a beat, blinking into a rising smile. I roll my eyes. “I love you, too.” He grins. Because he knows it’s true. As much as I know it too.

My phone suddenly buzzes in the pocket of my pants. Short and quick—three times—as if I just received three text messages. My brother’s eyes flit to my pocket just as I pull out my phone, simply not above torturing myself with the time I would spend wondering just who it is. And how eager I just appeared in front of him.

Roxanne texted me. She texted me an entire paragraph, a shorter text, and a photo.

Generally, I would have been on edge from the paragraph alone, if not for the way she starts the message.

Hey!!!!!! Charlie!!!!!!!!!! COBALT!!!!!!!!!

I only read the first line before Beckett asks me, “Is that her?”

I realize fairly quickly that he only asks that because I’m smiling softly at the screen of my phone. I stop smiling immediately. “Curiosity kills the cat, Beckett,” I say, rerouting to walk back to where I came from.

“Wayyy too soon, Charlie,” Beckett chastises me.

I just smirk at him over my shoulder.

I make it to the base of the narrow staircase, stopping in front of my baby sister and her cousins—who block the path, by the way. I need to go upstairs. For privacy. So that I can text Roxanne without any probing eyes and too-curious gazes.

Before I can even tell them to move, Kinney levels me with a glare. “Why did you tell all your siblings about your girlfriend except for Audrey?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I say easily.

“Tom and Eliot say otherwise,” Vada informs me.

I don’t even blink. “Tom and Eliot are idiots.”

“Idiots can still tell the truth,” Winona says this with so much certainty, as if she truly believes Tom and Eliot were nothing but honest to them.

I roll my eyes.

“You truly don’t have a girlfriend, Charlie?” my little sister asks me—almost tentatively—her voice nothing but soft curiosity. She looks at me with these big blue eyes as if she is afraid I am lying to her, and tucks a strand of her orange hair behind her ear. “I would be terribly happy for you, you realize.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I say again. For good measure, I tell my sister, “If, on the off chance that day ever comes, you will be the first person I notify. I promise.”

“I will?”

“Most certainly.”

Audrey nods into a soft smile. “Okay,” she says into an even softer breath.

“Now, will you all part the way so that I can go upstairs? Or will you all pile up here to block the path like mold.”

Kinney is still glaring. “Only you could promise something and then call us mold in the next breath.”

I give her a dry smile. “I’ve done worse.”

“Oh, we know,” Winona mutters under her breath.

“Let’s just move,” Vada tells them. She and Audrey sit on one side of the stairs, and they both stand to offer some room. Kinney and Winona stay sitting.

I wedge myself between them to go up the stairs, and once I pass them, they go back to whispering. I’m not sure what they talk about, and quite frankly, I don’t care.

I make it to the second floor and twist open the door to the guest bedroom. The second it swings open, Carpenter and Walrus scurry past my feet and rush down the stairs. I barely hear the shrieks of Winona and Vada before I shut the door behind me.

Jane’s guest bedroom is neat and untouched, with pastel pink flowers littered on the comforter of the bed with a skinny, golden headboard, a fuzzy blue rug, and the ugliest shade of yellow painted on the walls.

I pull up one of the vintage Victorian chairs closer to the bed and sit down, kicking my shoes up onto the comforter. And then I read through Roxanne’s text, and mildly hate the way my body surges with excitement just at the fact alone—that she had texted in the first place.

Roxanne: Hey!!!!!! Charlie!!!!!!!!!! COBALT!!!!!!!!! Listen. Just listen. I wanted to text you. Really, I did. I missed you. I miss you. And well, I would have texted you. I really would’ve. But I live all the way in New York and my family lives all the way in Vegas, and those two places are both simultaneously home to me, but they are across the country from one another, and so I never get to see my family. Ever. And I just missed them tremendously, and so I couldn’t text you because I was so busy spending every undying second with them. I don’t want to miss a second. I’m afraid of blinking and realizing I missed something as simple as a laugh or a wink or even a sneeze. A SNEEZE!!! But I think about you all the time. I do. Believe me! I didn’t just forget about you. I could never just forget about you. And I’ll do better to text or call, but you know, Charlie Cobalt, you can totally text or call me too!! Unless, of course, you forgot about me. Oh my god, what if you did??? Disregard everything if you have. But if you didn’t, I miss you. I really do. Oh my gosh what am I even saying? Nvm. I’m going. Bye.

Roxanne: Here’s your picture.

Roxanne: [photo attachment]

She sends me a selfie of her lying in bed. Her curls are messy around her pillow, and the covers are pulled up to her chin. She smiles dazedly, her cheeks colored and warm, but it isn’t forced. It is genuine and true and just the sight of it pulls my own smile out of me.

In the agonizing hours we are apart, sometimes I find myself dreadfully forgetting what she looks like. What she smells like, feels like, tastes like. I find myself counting down those hours, pathetically waiting for the moment in which we meet again. Dreaming of it, in fact.

I text back.

Me: I think I miss you a lot more, Roxanne.

Me: Are you drunk?

Roxanne texts back almost immediately.

Roxanne: 100%

Roxanne: Can I call you?

I don’t even text her back. I just press the call button and let it ring out against my ear. Roxanne picks up on the fifth ring. Which is a quite a long time considering I called not even a second after she had texted. I can only assume she simply stared at the screen as it rang.

“Hey,” she breathes into the line.

My muscles pull taunt. It’s only been two days, and even then, I find myself having desperately missed her voice. “Hi.”

“Oh, wow,” she laughs quietly to herself, “I missed your voice.”

“As cliche as it sounds, I doubt you could have missed mine more than I could have ever missed yours. Listening to my voice is accessible with just one internet search.”

“It’s not the same,” she says. “The world gets their version of you and I get mine. Both versions are simultaneously you, but… my version is only mine.” She pauses for a second. “Does that even make sense?”

“No,” I say into a rising smile. “But I get it.”

She lets out a breath. “I knew you would.” I hear her shifting within the comfort of her bed, and then she asks me, “What did you do today? Tell me everything.”

“You first.” I don’t want her to feel guilty for having a good day when mine was nothing but torn hearts and grief stricken souls.

“Um… We took a train to Milan at like nine in the morning, and then we explored the city for hours.” A soft and tired groan escapes her. “My feet still hurt.”

“Milan’s a beautiful city.”

“Have you ever been?”

“Once,” I admit. I don’t elaborate. “So—You explored Milan. And after?”

“And after,” she sighs, “we cooked dinner at the villa and got drunk off of six bottles of wine.”

“Lugging six bottles of wine up to your villa seems maddening,” I say into a smile.

“And in the heat too? Trust me, Charlie. It was.” She’s silent for a moment before she asks me, “How is… I mean… Is Jane doing okay?”

I hold in a sigh. “No,” I admit. “Today is the funeral. I had never seen her so torn. Seeing her so wretched…” I’m unsure if I would ever admit this to anyone but my family, “it was hard. But I’m glad that my sister has her husband and her child. I imagine the death of Lady Macbeth would have been tremendously harder for her had they not been by her side. I do, however, believe that Jane has enough love for herself to fill in these cracks anyway.”

“You’re right,” she softly says. “Loss chips away at our hearts, but love builds it back up tenfold. Every time.”

I linger between the idea of agreeing with her or not. I believe that when we find romantic love, we reach true fulfillment, however… I’ve yet to personally experience the feeling. So I must admit to myself that I don’t know whether or not love truly heals us every time. And I dreadfully hate that fact. I would rather know. I would rather learn. But that’s the thing about social constructs as abstract as love—no one experiences it the same way. It is something you need to live through yourself in order to truly understand it.

It makes me wonder about what Roxanne could possibly mean to me. I don’t do anything unconsciously, but I will admit that I was prioritizing my heart far more than I was listening to my brain when I was in Italy. And if that is the case, I wonder if my heart realized something before my brain did—that the only reason I invest so much of my time into Roxanne, is because I am almost certain that there is a possibility I could fall in love with her.

And that she, with a heart as big as her own, could fall in love with someone like me. Somehow. In someway.

After all, would I even be sticking around this long if I didn’t see that?

It is sickeningly stupid to dive so deep into a hope that foolish. But I do it anyway. I’ve learned through the love I’ve experienced secondhand that people do stupid things when they’re in love. Nine times out of ten, I wouldn’t find myself stooping down to the levels of the mere idiots in our world, but there is that one time—that one factor—in which I find that I am flawed alongside them.

I won’t pretend to live in a world where I don’t succumb to the horribly dumb decisions we humans make when it comes to love. I am just as guilty for doing stupid things in order to chase this feeling. Breaking my loyalty to Beckett is proof enough.

Just thinking about it makes me sick. It makes me as sick as it would if I never got to see Roxanne again.

I am stuck in the middle of this stupid, conflicting seesaw, where I teeter between my twin brother and Roxanne. The answer should be simple. I should pick my brother first, as I have done always. But I never expected someone like Roxanne to suddenly appear and make me hesitate for the first time in my life.

“Charlie?” she asks when I haven’t responded.

I let out a breath through my nose. “When are you coming home?” To New York. To ballet. To me.

“I’ll likely land in New York Sunday night,” she quietly tells me.

“Can I see you on Monday?” Knowing that Monday is the only day of the week the dancers have off. I take my feet off the bed and rest my elbows on my knees. “If you’re not busy, that is.”

“I was going to meet up with some friends from the corps. To ease my body back into the art so that I’m not completely dying on Tuesday.” She pauses for a few seconds. “But… that should end later in the afternoon—like at three…” I hear the unspoken suggestion in her voice.

It makes me smirk to myself. “Then I’ll see you at four.”

“Okay,” she says into a breath. “Four. Um… where?”

There is no way I am ever bringing her to my apartment in Hell’s Kitchen where I live with three of my brothers—including Beckett, who would be off on Monday and would very likely run into her.

“Text me your address.”

“My apartment is depressing,” she warns me. And yet four seconds later, my phone buzzes with a text, and I glance only briefly at the screen to see that she had sent the address anyway. In the small second I pull my phone away from my ear, I hear the creaking of floorboards and the faint sound of shushing coming from behind the door.

I quietly stand up. “Your apartment does not define you.”

I practically hear the way she smiles as she says, “You’re right.” She yawns and sighs right after. “I really, really miss you,” she nearly whispers, as if she is on the edge of sleep.

I pause in the middle of the room, my chest burning. “This is the alcohol talking.” It doesn’t surprise me when Roxanne does or says things that show just how much she’s found herself to like me. After all, I’ve only ever showed her the better parts of me—and it was entirely because she draws nothing but goodness out of me. I am afraid of the day she realizes she can’t handle the rest, and she’ll leave, chipping away at pieces of my heart.

“Not really,” she says. “The alcohol gives me courage. But the words come from the heart. Promise.”

I lean against the end of the bed and run a hand through my hair, tugging at the strands. I want to believe in Roxanne’s words from the night in the pool—the night I had kissed her—about her believing that the bad parts of someone are just as worthy of love as the good. But it’s so hard to when a part of me knows that she will recoil at this bitter frustration that continues to make home in me like a pest.

I won’t change for her. I won’t change for anybody. I simply don’t care enough to. But I still fear giving her all of me. Because I fear that she will resent it in the same way nearly my entire family does. Because I fear losing her to this resentment.

I hold a sigh in my throat, shutting my eyes to rid of this throbbing in my head. “Okay,” I nearly whisper. “I miss you, too.” I say the words, drawing out whatever I have with Roxanne—and torturing myself in the process. I sense the impending doom. And yet I dive headfirst into it anyway. It’s a stupid, stupid thing. But I’ve always been one to welcome pain with open arms, haven’t I? “You should sleep.”

“I should,” she agrees into another yawn. “Goodnight, Charlie.”

I make my way to the door. “Goodnight.”

She hangs up after that. And in the next second, I wrench open the door, and my little sister and her best friend, Kinney, let out a startled scream, the both of them crouched to the ground and nearly losing their balance, having been leaned against the door.

Eavesdropping.

I think about what they could’ve heard.

When are you coming home?

Can I see you on Monday?

Text me your address.

I miss you, too.

Kinney abruptly stands to her full height and crosses her arms over her chest. “You lied.”

I lean against the door frame and stuff my hands into the pockets of my slacks. Calm. “I would never lie to my sister.”

Audrey stands too, clearing her throat and dusting off her dress. Her eyes stare widely at me. “I apologize for eavesdropping… I just…” She looks to Kinney as if she’s asking for help.

I get it. I’m a private person, and my cousins and siblings are entirely too curious because of it.

But just because I understand it doesn’t mean it doesn’t annoy me.

“Just wanted to catch you in the act of lying,” Kinney says, her voice dripping in ice.

I roll my eyes, already over this entire conversation. I walk past them, and they let me, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they stay put. They follow me down the stairs.

“If Charlie says he isn’t lying, then he isn’t lying, Kinney. Forgive and forget,” Audrey says. “I’m so dreadfully sorry, Charlie. Eavesdropping is beneath me!”

“Whether or not you villainize yourself for it is up to you and your morality, but everyone eavesdrops, Audrey,” I say.

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“Who cares about whether or not it’s okay? He lied. To your face,” Kinney says, just as we reach the first floor.

The harsh emphasis of Kinney’s words catch Moffy’s attention. Jane, Sulli, and Beckett’s too. They all sit on the couch in the living room, only Beckett sits on the adjacent armchair.

Moffy looks between Kinney, Audrey, and I with cautious eyes. Like he’s one second from saving the day. Even with a f*cking baby in his arms.

“Kinney?” he slowly says.

Our hero.

I harden my jaw.

Kinney holds her chin held high as she declares, “Charlie’s keeping secrets.”

“Charlie’s always keeping secrets,” Beckett says lightly. Like it’s normal. And it is. But when the words come from him, it tears at my soul.

I’m so sorry, Beckett. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I can’t stop seeing her. I can’t.

“He’s keeping secrets from Audrey,” Kinney stresses, like I broke down my little sister’s entire being for a lie I never even told. She is very protective of her best friend, just as Audrey is of her, and while admirable, it’s succeeding at getting on my latest nerves right now.

“You’re being dense,” I tell her plainly. Because it’s the truth. I said I wasn’t lying, and she won’t listen to anything but her own voice.

The words draw a glare out of Moffy. “Charlie,” he says, his voice hard. “That’s my sister.”

“And this is mine.” I place my hand on top of Audrey’s head. “Are we stating the obvious now?”

Moffy’s about to say something when Audrey abruptly holds out her hands and waves them in the air as if telling us to stop. “Please don’t fight! Today is reserved entirely for Lady Macbeth, and she would so desperately despise the animosity in the air!” Audrey exchanges a long look with our big sister, and Jane smiles sadly at her. But there’s a grateful twinkle in her eyes, and it’s enough to snub the fire in my heart.

“Can we still talk about the lying?” Sulli tentatively asks.

“Yes, please,” Kinney nearly groans.

“Charlie isn’t lying,” Audrey tells everyone. I admire how fiercely she believes in me. Cobalt loyalty runs strong. For some more than others. I shake the thought out of my head just as Audrey looks up at me and adds, “Right?”

I just nod.

“Lying about what?” Moffy asks.

“About having a girlfriend.” Truthfully, I would just walk out and leave, but I stay rooted here for Jane. And because I am forced to stay here, I desperately, shamelessly wish Kinney would shut up.

Moffy’s entire face scrunches up, confused and disbelieving—like he could never imagine me with something as absurd as a girlfriend. Sulli’s too. Jane just looks at me with more intrigue, as if she’s trying to figure me out. Beckett smiles a little, like he’s in on a little secret.

And I guess, technically, he is. Because I did say that there is a girl. I just never said she was my girlfriend. And she isn’t. So it isn’t a lie.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I say slowly—hoping Kinney out of everybody would finally listen. I let irritation blanket plainly on my face.

She crosses her arms. “That’s not what we heard upstairs.”

“What the f*ck did you hear upstairs?” Sulli asks.

Moffy instinctively covers his daughter, Cassidy’s, ears. “Sulli. Language. Please.”

I roll my eyes. Cassidy is not even a fully functioning human yet. She won’t understand swear words. But Moffy obviously doesn’t care.

“sh*t, sorry, Moffy.” Sulli covers her mouth, wincing. “Sorry again.”

Moffy just smiles, shaking his head at her—endeared, if anything.

“What did you hear upstairs?” Jane asks, her daughter Maeve in her arms.

“He was on the phone with a girl. Telling her he misses her,” Kinney drops the news.

Audrey winces. “If it makes you feel any better, brother, I thought it was beautifully romantic.”

“It doesn’t,” I deadpan.

“And he told Audrey he doesn’t have a girlfriend,” Kinney adds.

“Technically, she wouldn’t be his girlfriend if he never officially dropped the girlfriend question. They could just be talking,” Beckett says.

“Or f*cking,” Sulli adds.

Moffy doesn’t even try to chastise her for a second time. He knows she’ll say it again. We all do.

“I’d believe that if he didn’t tell Tom and Eliot that he does have a girlfriend,” Kinney deadpans.

I roll my eyes, leaning against the wall. Tired of this.

Beckett laughs. “Tom and Eliot were 100% messing with you guys. I was there. Trust me. No girlfriend.”

I glance around at the room, at the four walls of Jane’s townhouse, and I roll up the sleeves up my button down, run my hands through my hair, over my jaw, grind my teeth together—feeling like the walls are closing in. I don’t want to be here anymore. I need to get out. Do something. Be somewhere. Anywhere.

Beckett, of course, notices. He glances over at the clock. It’s half past 5pm now, nearly 6.

He leans forward to whisper to Jane. Probably asking her if it was okay to leave.

I don’t even stick around for that. I block out Kinney and Audrey still talking about my phone call with Roxanne, and I just go for the door.

I swing it open and shut it behind me just as quick. A mild group of paparazzi flood the sidewalk, and at the sight of me, they begin to scream questions and snap photos.

“CHARLIE! CHARLIE! LOOK HERE!”

“CHARLIE, HOW IS YOUR SISTER, JANE?”

“CHARLIE, WHERE DID THEY BURY LADY MACBETH?”

f*cking asshole.

“CHARLIE, WHERE’S YOUR BROTHER IN LAW, THATCHER?”

“CHARLIE, HOW WAS YOUR TRIP TO ITALY?”

That one nearly plummets me, but I don’t let it show.

I just need air. Space. And maybe I’d get it if my life was different, but it isn’t. This is my reality. And my reality f*cking sucks.

I have no destination in mind, and yet I walk toward the paparazzi—into the paparazzi—where a part of me hopes they will touch me. Pull at me. Hurt me. I would wholeheartedly welcome the pain with a stoic face, if only so it will snub the frustration that builds inside me. Frustration at the world. At the paparazzi, and at the ignorance of minds—at the irrationality of them. The pain will take it all away.

Temporarily, at least.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ELEVEN — Roxanne Ruiz

Being in the corps de ballet means three things:

1. The corps’s job is the most strenuous. During performance periods, we’re in a performance almost every night.
2. Since nearly everybody starts in the corps, everybody is trying to move up the ranks. Being a ballet dancer is a short career. It’s very competitive. We work hard and dream harder.
3. With how much time we spend together, and how much sweat and tears we share, nearly everyone in the corps are friends.

I’ve only been in the corps de ballet for nearly two years now. I know that for some dancers, dancing day-to-day in the corps is exhausting. But me? I come to classes and rehearsals everyday excited. To dance, to perform, to create something bigger than myself—art, and beauty, and a story worth touching ones heart.

The role of corps dancers is a very important role to play. We dance in big groups, working together in one unit—which means we have to practice long, hard hours together to dance each production in sync. We’re the background of performances, the architecture of it all. Without us, the performance would simply be… empty.

And of course I want to be a soloist, or even a principal dancer like Beckett and Leo are, but so does everyone else in the corps de ballet. I’m only glad I get to dance with the New York City Ballet in the first place.

Dancing is my life. It is an art form that is bred within me.

Those of us who are drawn to art need to make it a priority.

Because once we take it out of our lives, we become terribly sick.

So I make the most out of my career. Every second, every ache, every show is cherished to the depths of my very soul. Because there is a very deep, very insecure part of me that is anticipating the impending doom that comes in the form of my artistic director not offering me a contract renewal after my current one is over.

I pull my knee up to my chest and massage the muscles in my calves as I listen to one of the corps dancers, Nicole, shuffle through her extensive knowledge of ballets and choreographers to try and guess which production we’re going to do next.

We’re supposed to get an email announcing it today. And then come Tuesday, we’re going to be learning or re-learning it, as well as rehearsing it.

“The Nutcracker?” Rosie throws out, his eyes fixated on the way Nicole bends and breaks her new pointe shoes. He’s another corps de ballet dancer, with a lean build and beautiful short, black curls, and could probably douse you in fire from just his glare alone.

“Way off, Roosevelt,” Nicole says to him. She bangs her shoes against the floor of the studio a couple times, a few loose strands of her chestnut hair falling out of her bun. “The Nutcracker is popular—way too popular—and the company wouldn’t begin the spring season with it anyway.”

“Because it’s a winter ballet, popularly reserved for the winter season,” Beth Anne adds from beside me without looking up from her phone.

Rosie holds his hands up in defense, but ultimately shrugs it off.

“It could be something new. Something we’ve never done before. An entirely new choreography.” Nicole smiles.

“That means more work,” Rosie groans. “Longer hours, harder moves, more demand. Yeah. No thanks.”

I lightly smile at Rosie, knowing that his complaints are nearly empty. He loves dancing as much as we all do. I mean, he’s been in the corps for seven years, and as far as I can tell, he’s not giving up anytime soon.

Some people spend their entire careers in the corps, and I think Rosie might be one of them. But I only say it because I’m certain he’s okay with that.

I drop my knee and raise my other one, massaging my left calve now.

Nicole stands and steps on her shoes. “What do you think, Roxy?”

I think for a moment. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

Beth looks up. “That would be awesome.”

Nicole sits again and pulls her sewing things out of her bag. “We’d get to be fairies!” she says, beaming. “Who do you guys think would play Lysander and Demetrius?”

“Obviously Beckett and Leo. The company would never pass up the publicity that would bring,” Rosie says like it’s obvious.

“I agree,” Beth says. “Lysander and Demetrius start off both in love with the same woman. There’s irony in the fact that they’d be competing in the ballet just as they do in real life.”

“Don’t you guys think it’s a little messed up that the company pretty much monopolizes their rivalry? And that they exploit it too?” I only ask because I do. I do think it’s messed up. Ballet is not about rivalry. It’s about the art. The feeling. The beauty. And maybe that’s a little idealistic, but at least I don’t ignore the fact that ballet is competitive too, and that it makes perfect sense for two of our top principal dancers to compete for the leading roles. I just don’t particularly agree with the fact that the company provokes this rivalry and exploits it for attention.

“Not really,” Rosie admits. I admire how blunt he always is. Some people see bluntness as rudeness, but I see it as shameless honesty. And sometimes honesty is needed. “Companies do that. NYCB profit a sh*t ton out of Beckett and Leo’s rivalry. They’d hate it if they made up.”

“Which is why they always plot them against each other. And it’s messed up,” I tell them.

Nicole winces like she doesn’t agree with me. “Their rivalry fills up the theatre. And I’d rather have a full house than not.”

“Besides,” Beth Anne says, “Beckett and Leo hated each other before the company got involved. I don’t think it would’ve made a difference.”

“Maybe you care so much, Roxy, because you’re actually close friends with Beckett and Leo,” Rosie says.

No, that’s not right. I would care if I wasn’t friends with them too. And besides. Beth Anne is also close friends with them.

The only reason I became friends with Beckett in the first place is because I had accidentally stepped on his foot during Romeo and Juliet rehearsals a year ago. He took one look at me apologizing profusely, smiled, and somehow decided we’d be great friends.

Beckett is nice to everybody in the company, but it takes a certain kind of aura to actually be considered a close friend of his, and I’m not entirely sure if I’m even in that category. Oddly enough, I don’t think anyone in the company is close enough to Beckett and his personal life except maybe… Leo.

And the only reason Leo became my friend was because Beckett befriended me first. I was almost like… a competition to him. But I don’t mind. Leo is amazing. It’s not like he tries to be a better friend to one up Beckett or anything. Beckett chooses kindhearted people to befriend, and I think there’s some sort of satisfaction in the fact that if Beckett’s friends have the heart to befriend Leo, then it proves that Leo is not so bad after all. And maybe that bothers Beckett. To know that Leo is a good guy. Because it’d be easier if he wasn’t.

Beth Anne suddenly gasps at her phone screen. Nicole’s phone buzzes in her bag at the same time. Rosie and I perk up.

“Did the email come?” he asks, hopeful.

Beth stands abruptly and begins to squeal. “We’re doing Swan Lake!”

“No,” Rosie says almost immediately. But it’s not a please don’t make me do this no. It’s a shut up you’re lying no.

“Oh my god!” Nicole stands and squeals with Beth, and they hug and hop in place.

I’m smiling wide, excitement filling my bones. I could cry, I think. We’re doing one of my favorite ballet’s of all time. We’re doing Swan Lake!

After my meetup with Beth Anne, Rosie, and Nicole, I head back to my small studio apartment and clean the living hell out of it as fast as I can. I would’ve cleaned Sunday night, but I was so tired from the flight that I just knocked out as soon as I hit the sheets.

I shove all of my loose clothes and my unpacked suitcase in my walk in closet, make my bed, clean the kitchen, and scrub nearly every inch of my bathroom.

After I clean my apartment, I clean myself. I shower and change, and absolutely, wholeheartedly do not worry about shaving or condoms or anything of the sort because I will not be having sex with Charlie Cobalt.

By the time it’s four, I’m pacing the length of my apartment, nervous out of my goddamn mind. I sit on my white couch, stiff, and fiddle with the remote for a TV that isn’t even on.

By four thirty, I grow antsy and maybe even a little bit worried, and so I stand from the couch, go over to my kitchen, and stress-bake. I haven’t had time to grocery shop since coming back to New York, but I at least still have all the ingredients to make cookies. Just without anything in them. I wish I had chocolate.

By five, the cookies are in the oven, my kitchen counters are a mess, and there is still no man in my apartment. I wash my hands and text Charlie: have you flown off to Japan?

By five ten, I change into something more comfortable. A white, long sleeved shirt with lace trimming and pastel pink pajama shorts with a cute bow at the front. Because I could wholeheartedly go for a nap. And I’m this close to considering it.

By five fifteen, Charlie texts back: I’m coming.

By five forty, I’m kicked back on my couch, eating a cookie, and watching the newest season of The Bachelor, wondering what all the hype is about.

It’s five forty five when the building’s intercom buzzes for me. I don’t pause the show nor do I abandon my cookie as I scale the length of my apartment to the intercom button and press it.

“Who is it?”

“Roxanne,” Charlie starts, sounding winded. Like perhaps he had run all around New York to get to me.

I start to smile instinctively. “That can’t be right. I’m almost certain I’m Roxanne.”

“Funny,” he says dryly. He lets a couple seconds pass by until he breathes out, “If you’re going to turn me away, tell me now. Living in this window of unknowing is torturous.”

I could never turn you away, Charlie. Because I don’t think I would be able to handle it if you did the same. But I don’t say the words. I just silently buzz him in.

By five forty seven, there’s a knock on my door.

Charlie stands there, his hair disheveled, like he’d been running his hands through it all evening. He stares at me, lets his eyes run down the length of my body. I watch his eyes soften the longer he stares.

“Hi,” he says in soft exhale.

“Hi,” I say, one hand on the doorknob, the other on my cookie. I nonchalantly take a bite.

His brows knot. “I’m sorry.”

I grew up watching his family on TV since it is all my mom and aunts would put on. So I know that his dad is great at sheltering his emotions.

Charlie isn’t his dad. He lets everything flow through the broken dam that stands within his heart. And it is one of the greatest parts of him, because it allows me into the heart of Charlie Cobalt, and what I often see is nothing but realness. And that is enough.

“I know,” I tell him. I hold the door open wider. “Do you want to come in?”

Charlie’s about to step through the threshold when a hand reaches out and stops him. Under different circ*mstances, I would’ve freaked out, but I already expected Oscar to be lurking around the corner.

Charlie sighs heavily. “Is this really necessary?”

“It’s just protocol,” Oscar says, coming into view. He smiles at me and I smile back. “Hey, Roxy. Mind if I sweep your place?”

“Go ahead.”

Charlie glances inside over my head. “Nearly every inch is covered in pink and white. I’m pretty certain she’s not a threat.”

“Pink guns still exist, Charlie,” Oscar says, walking in. He begins to look around every inch of my place, and Charlie walks in and stays rooted at the door that I softly shut behind him.

“So do pink cameras,” I stupidly add. “Not… that I have cameras. Or anything.”

Charlie smiles.

“Do you want a cookie?” I quickly ask Oscar as I finish off my own. “They’re not poisonous, I promise.”

Oscar’s lips lift. “Sure. Thanks, Roxy.”

Charlie raises a brow at me and leans against the kitchen counter. “You’re not going to ask me if I want one?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t get a cookie.”

He rolls his eyes.

I focus on Oscar again, who eyes the TV with mild interest as The Bachelor continues to play. He goes over to my window to examine it, pushing the sheer, white curtains out of the way. “You can stay, you know. I’m not going to kick you out to wait in the hallway or anything.”

Oscar finally disappears into the bathroom, the lights flickering on. “That’s okay. It’s my job. The hallway is more prone to threats anyway.” He exits the bathroom, shutting off the light on his way. “Besides, I have to make a phone call.”

Weirdly enough, I don’t believe him. For some reason. But I don’t question any further.

He pulls out his phone, types a few things, and hands it to me. I slowly take it, confused at first, but then Oscar simply says, “Non-disclosure agreement.” It’s not up for discussion. I have to sign it. And I happily will.

But I wonder. “How come you didn’t have me sign any in Europe?” I electronically sign it after skimming the basics and hand his phone back to him.

Oscar pockets it. “Because you two were just friends then.”

I feel my cheeks heat. “Oh.”

Right… We are… definitely past that stage at this point.

Once Oscar finishes sweeping my apartment, he grabs a cookie and leaves. And the silence that follows—even though it’s short, it’s still very thick.

I turn to look at Charlie, still leaning against the counter, all relaxed posture and soft eyes. I slowly walk over to him. “Do I want to know what you were doing?”

Charlie thinks for a moment. “I was… cogitating.”

“About?”

“Life.”

I shake my head at him, a small smile rising on my face. “So vague.”

Charlie’s smile rises at the sight of my own, and in the next breath, he grabs my hand and tugs me into his chest. Oh, this is nice. He wraps his arms around me and threads a hand into my curls. I melt, shutting my eyes and resting my forehead against his chest.

“I apologize for being late,” he softly murmurs against my hair.

I say nothing. I should say something, but I don’t.

There was this moment—this terrible, insecure moment—where I told myself that I wasn’t as important to Charlie as I thought I was. That his “I miss you’s” were nothing but empty lies muttered to convince me he was true to me when he wasn’t.

I had shook the thought out of my head immediately. Because I know we had something real in Italy. And I can’t think that it’s all lost once we’re back in New York. Where we live.

I accept all parts of Charlie. The good and the bad. Even the parts that run late, or leave early, or disappear entirely. He does those things on purpose. For nobody but himself. And I can’t even imagine changing him for my own benefit.

I slowly wrap my arms around his waist and hug him tight. I missed him. I did.

“I’m not forgiving you because you’re Charlie Cobalt,” I softly say, looking up at him and resting my chin against his chest. He keeps a hand on the back of my head and stares down at me with his unyielding yellow-green eyes. “I’m forgiving you because I believe in you. In what you have to say and what you have to prove.” I slide my palm over his chest—over the quickened pulse that beats beneath my touch. “I believe in your heart.”

He stares so tenderly at me, where every sharp edge softens the further he looks into me. I wonder if there is a part of him that doesn’t believe me. That simply can’t because of how often the people in this world wield deception like weapons.

His hands slide down the length of my spine and settle on my hips. He looks at me with such gravity as he asks, “Who am I to you?”

I think for a moment, mindlessly sliding my hands down his body and hooking my fingers in the waistband of his slacks. “How I see it—there is before Italy, during Italy, and after Italy.”

“Intriguing. Do elaborate.”

I find myself slowly smiling. “Before Italy, you were my friend’s twin brother, who was entirely too curious of me in the same way I was entirely too curious of you.” The curiosity never truly ends even after all this time. I’m not sure it ever will.

A ghost of a smile peeks out of him.

Softly I say, “During Italy… you were my best friend. I don’t think I’ve ever shared as much as I have, than with you. And… it surprised me, honestly. How comfortable it felt.”

“Mon cœur comprend le tien,” he whispers.

My heart understands yours. I wonder if he understands how those words warmly wrap around my heart and cause its current ache. Gosh, I’m so glad Charlie’s short French lessons worked. The beauty in his breathy sentiments when they’re spoken in whispers of French are somehow heightened. It draws every part of me nearer to him—my body, my heart, my soul, my mind. It makes me never want to leave.

He’s like my own personal siren.

“After Italy,” I slowly say, “you are all of those things yet more. The company revealed the first production for the spring season today—Swan Lake, one of my favorites—and the first person I wanted to tell about it was you.” I swallow, more nervous. “I know what that means to me. But I don’t want to scare you.”

“Tell me,” he quietly demands. I frown—maybe even pout—and shake my head at him. He tilts his head. “The last thing I am afraid of is emotions, Roxanne.”

“Then tell me yours,” I firmly say.

“You first.”

“No.”

“Please.”

I shake my head. He may not be afraid, but I am.

“You stubborn thing,” he sighs, running a hand over his mouth. “It’s like talking to a child.”

Pfft. I am not childish.

I detangle myself from him and retreat further into my apartment without looking back.

“Roxanne,” he says.

Okay. Maybe I am a little childish.

“Take off your shoes.” I sit on the couch, crossing my legs, and up the volume for The Bachelor. Only a bit. I’d hate to disrupt my neighbors.

Charlie comes over and sits right next to me, his entire side pressed up against mine. He slides an arm over the back of the couch behind my shoulders and angles his body toward mine. I try not to succumb to him as he gently pries the remote out of my hand and points it at the TV. Turning it off completely. Abandoning The Bachelor, of all things!

I finally turn to look at him and raise a brow in question.

His eyes bore into mine as he quietly admits, “I feel as if my soul has been wandering this earth for years in search of you.” He swallows, nervous. “The beauty and realness of your heart is… overwhelming. It’s overwhelming to even be on the receiving end of your affections. Because the things that you say… the way that you think—it all touches this buried part of me that I knew existed but didn’t ever believe could be reached.” He grabs my hand, running soft circles along my skin with his thumb. “It doesn’t scare me. It awakens me. And in time… I hope that you can feel that too.”

Oh, Charlie.

I feel my eyes burn, and my heart ache, and feel as if there is life being poured into me. He does this to me. He overwhelms me.

Charlie is unfaltering. I feel my chest expand the longer he looks into me, never turning away, never telling me he was joking or that he didn’t mean any of what he said at all. His undying courage seeps into all parts of me, and I find myself leaning closer to him—drawn to him.

Quietly, tentatively, I tell him, “I measure love with pain. I’ve just… reached a point where it would seriously hurt if you suddenly left.”

I don’t love him. But I do think I’m in serious danger of succumbing to that foreign feeling. And a lot sooner than I could have ever imagined.

Charlie’s features twist in a raw heap of torment. “I’m not going anywhere,” he strongly promises.

And I wonder how he could promise such a thing when there are far too many matters in this vast world that would desperately ache to keep us apart.

I wonder how, even despite that, there is not a part of my soul that cares.

I lean in to kiss him, and he returns it with such untold passion—and I forget about all those matters, because to me, Charlie could never only be the famous man he’s known to be. Not anymore. To me, Charlie will always be just Charlie—and that is enough.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWELVE — Charlie Cobalt

In the two weeks since my initial visit to Roxanne in her apartment, I’ve shamelessly spent nearly every evening with her.

I take extra precautions in ensuring my location remains unknown at all times. The last thing I want is for the media to torment Roxanne for simply existing. It’s f*cking stupid that they care so much, but I know that it would happen despite everything. So I keep her a secret. For now. And from more than just the world.

The only person who truly knows that I am seeing Roxanne is Oscar. And he understands my desire to keep her a secret. From everyone including family.

And Roxanne—the angel that she is—understands it too.

She asked me one night while we were in the middle of a game of chess (which Roxanne sucks at, by the way, but she is determined to learn more in hopes of “vanquishing” me—her words, not mine) what it would be like if the media found out about her.

I told her the truth. That they’d be endlessly horrible to her, and may even attempt to strip her career away from her all out of spite. For being with me. And that reality destroys me more than she could ever know.

“So… being a secret is a good thing?” she had asked, like a part of her didn’t mind being known to the world. So long as we could actually go outside for once.

But I mind. I mind a lot. So I told her, “Yes,” and left it at that.

I don’t want Roxanne to be pained by the ugliness that lives within my reality. I realized her pain is my pain long before I’d come to learn Roxanne fact #332: My pain is her pain, too.

I need to be more for her. To give more than I could ever take away. Because I know with the way she has rendered me undone, that she won’t remain a secret forever. I could take away her career, her privacy, her peace, and it would ruin me, but so would letting her go for the better of it all.

Truthfully, I don’t deserve Roxanne. Not one bit. No amount of money could ever measure up to the wealth of her heart. Of her soul. She is priceless. One of a kind. I realize fairly easily how badly I want to prove to her how worthy I am of her heart. And how lucky I am to have felt it in the first place.

I just don’t really know how to f*cking do that.

Believe it or not, I don’t have a lot of experience in dating.

Not that Roxanne and I are dating.

Or… are we? Is that what this is?

What classifies as dating?

I continue to ponder this as I walk through my apartment, passing the living area and kitchen. Beckett sits on the couch, shirtless with his gray sweatpants rolled up to his knees. His feet are soaking in a tub of ice water, and I slow my pace at the sight—worried.

Beckett notices. He always does. “Relax. My feet are just sore.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Beckett landed the lead role in Swan Lake. Prince Siegfried. He works hard and pushes himself even harder. It constantly worries me, because I’m afraid he’ll either work himself to ruin or attain an injury that causes his mental health to deteriorate with no return.

And now… Now I have two ballet dancers to constantly worry about.

And it stresses me the f*ck out.

But I could never even imagine forbidding them from doing what they love—what they breathe for.

I tug at the strands of my messy hair. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m good,” he easily says, his yellow-green eyes curiously burning down my attire. I’m dressed moderately down in black slacks and a thin, navy crewneck sweater, the sleeves rolled up to my elbows. “Where are you going?”

The guilt slams into me hard. I can barely look at him as I turn for the door. “Everywhere, Beckett.”

I sit over the white, fluffy duvet of Roxanne’s bed and find it incredibly hard to take my eyes off of her. She lies on her stomach, her arms wrapped around her pillow and the side of her face squished against the soft surface of it.

Nearly everything in life is so mentally boring, it frustrates me to the core. But spending time with Roxanne, even if it is to do nothing but to be with her while she relaxes after hours of rehearsal, somehow isn’t.

I press the heel of my palm deeper against the sore muscles of her thighs and a soft moan leaves her lips. I let out a deep, frustrated breath, feeling my blood heat.

Self-restraint is hard when it comes to Roxanne. But we spend more time talking than doing anything else. I can tell that a very big part of her prefers it that way, and to be honest, I don’t know why. With the way she touched me in Italy, you would think she’d jump my bones already. But it’s as if she’s apparently decided to practice abstinence in New York.

But I can be patient. I’m just… pent up. And it doesn’t help that my hands are currently on her—massaging her—and she wears nothing but white pajama shorts and a baby blue tank top that rides up an inch, showing the small of her back.

I slide my hands further up her thighs, fingers gracing the inner parts. She turns her head and buries her face into her pillow, silent. And it only makes me more curious. More daring.

“Roxanne,” I say, digging my thumbs into her skin.

She turns her face out of the pillow, exhaling a deeper breath. “Charlie,” she whispers.

I glide my palms further up her body until they’re at her waist, and then I flip her around, her back to the comforter. She stares up at me as I hover over her, her chest expanding in shallow breaths.

I knock her knees apart with my own until her legs are on either side of me. “Dis-moi quelque chose en français,” I whisper to her. Tell me something in French.

She blows out a breath and thinks for a long moment. I don’t make it any easier for her to concentrate when my hands skim up her thighs and my fingers dip into the hem of her shorts.

“Embrasse-moi,” she softly says. Kiss me.

My slow smile comes easily. “Très bien. You’re practically fluent.”

She reaches up to touch my hair. She likes doing that. “I have a great teacher.”

“Spending more time with you seems to work.”

“Oui,” she says into a soft breath.

Her soft and tender eyes skim over my features. It still amazes me how Roxanne could even look at me in this way.

I lower my lips to her own and kiss her, gently at first, but it can never truly stay that way. She breathes into my mouth, something short of a sigh, and pulls me closer to her. It causes my body to press into her own, chest to chest and hips pushed into hips.

I press my hips deeper against her, and she whimpers, the sound traveling all the way down to my co*ck. She clutches tightly onto my shirt as our tongues slip into each other’s mouths. A groan gets caught in my throat as she lifts her hips. Like she wants more.

f*ck.

My teeth gently bite her lip as I pull away to kiss down her jaw, down her neck. She slides her hands beneath my shirt, palms exploring every inch of muscle beneath.

I brace an arm beside her head, feeling dizzy. Winded. Breathless. Like through every touch, she steals a part of me.

“Charlie,” she pants, nails scraping against my skin. My tongue comes over her neck before I gently bite her, remembering how she likes it, and she softly moans. I rake my hands up her waist, dipping them beneath the material of her tank top. Edging higher and higher up her ribs, palms against soft skin. But before I can touch her breasts, she suddenly freezes and says, “Wait, wait, wait.”

Every muscle in my body tenses. I lift my head to look at her, panting and breathless against the sheets—so incredibly undone as if I’ve already f*cked her.

She shuts her eyes and lazily throws her arms over her face. She mumbles, “I can’t.”

I grab her arms with one hand and push them back, her arms hitting the pillow above her head. “You can’t, or you won’t.”

She stares at me with a sudden frown that aches my chest. “I won’t,” she corrects in a whisper.

I stare at her, thinking for a long moment, my chest rising and falling much deeper than usual. My hips are still pressed into her own, and I know she knows just how hard I am. How hard she’s gotten me to become.

It’s f*cking frustrating, but I don’t push. “Okay,” I slowly say.

The words just echo in my head. I won’t. As if she is choosing to push me away.

I shift off of her, lying beside her instead, on my side, and propping myself up with an elbow. Roxanne looks at me like she has more to say, and so I just watch her with mild confusion and wait for her to talk to me.

“The first two times I had sex were horrible,” she comes right out and says.

The words make me tense, and the worst possible scenarios breach my mind.

They were ignorant. She said no. She was inebriated. They hurt her.

“They didn’t hurt me or anything,” she reassures me, noticing my reaction.

f*ck. It is almost insane how irrational I become when it comes to Roxanne.

“What did they do then?” I force out, unsure if I even want to hear the answer.

Roxanne turns so she’s lying on her side too. “Nothing. It was just mediocre sex. But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is how detached it was. Sex is just sex to some people, but I realized that’s not me. I need it to be more.”

My brows pull together. “More?”

She nods strongly. “I need it to be real,” she softly admits. The words nearly pummel me. “Not that you’re not real enough. But…”

I realize fairly quickly. “You need to be in love,” I finish.

She nods, weaker this time. “I want to be in love.” She lets out a soft breath. “When it happens again.”

I never did that. I never waited around for a hopeless lover to get lost within the passion with. Because I knew that with a life like mine, there was a high probability I would never even find them.

But I do often wonder if it feels different. If love manages to heighten every present emotion within a fog of heavy breaths and lasting lust. I believe that it does, but I still wouldn’t truly know.

I don’t pressure Roxanne any further. But I also don’t admit to her just how desperately I ache for something real too.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTEEN — Charlie Cobalt

Me: Malta.

I’ve never actually gone out of my way to inform someone of my whereabouts every time I go somewhere. I don’t even share that with Oscar 100% of the time. I’ve always preferred to be alone. To explore the vastness of the world freely. To give my mind a break. To never be followed.

But I’ve been doing this thing recently, where I will text Roxanne the country I’m leaving to. Just so she knows I’m not completely abandoning her. Just so she’s not surprised if I don’t call or text for a few days.

Roxanne: :o

Roxanne: An art & architecture lover’s wet dream!!

Roxanne: Have fun!!

Roxanne: Take a picture! At least one!!!

Just so I can receive texts like these.

I’m about to text Roxanne back when I hear a crash in the living room and the sound of something shattering on the wooden floors.

What follows? A dog. Barking.

I hoist the strap of my leather duffle bag over my shoulder and exit my bedroom, living room and kitchen in view.

A side table is knocked over, and the lamp that was on top of it is now in pieces on the floor.

Tom climbs the couch and jumps over it to the other side. “Down, boy!” He chases after Luna’s massive dog, Orion—who is nothing but naughty and way too energetic.

Which, in retrospect, makes the dog and Tom practically twins.

Perhaps they even have the same IQ, because everyone knows that dogs think chasing them is a game, and if you really wanted to catch them, you’d resort to something that doesn’t include becoming a dog yourself.

Perhaps Tom even knows that. And he's just playing the game for fun.

Luna appears, glitter in her hair and star stickers along her arms, and quickly grabs her dog’s leash. She nearly pummels into Tom, but he catches her arms and rights her before she falls.

“You okay, Luna with No Middle Name?”

She lets out a breath. “Yeah. Sorry about your lamp.” She winces at the broken pieces on the floor. She looks down at her dog like she wants to scold him, but thinks better of it. As if she’s too soft to yell at the thing.

My eyes flit from the dog to the broken lamp, then back. I’m suddenly glad Beckett is at rehearsals so often, so he doesn’t always have to see the reoccurring chaos that falls upon our apartment as often as it does.

“Glaring at a dog. That’s a new one, dude,” Tom grins. I don’t acknowledge him.

Luna just now notices me. She smiles. “Hey. Hi. Heidi. Ho. Howdy.”

“Hi,” I greet.

“Orion just got excited. It’s not his fault,” she quickly tells me.

“If he’s the one who knocked over the lamp, then that is exactly what it is.” I walk past the broken pieces on the floor, heading for the door. “You can stay,” I tell Luna. I co*ck my chin toward the dog. “The dog leaves.”

“Cold,” Tom says. He says to Luna, “The dog stays.”

I pause to glare at Tom. He just grins.

Luna looks between the both of us, uneasy and shifting on either foot. “I can just drop him off downstairs. No biggie.”

“Yes biggie. Orion was invited. He’s family. My tenth favorite Hale.” Tenth. Which is every human Hale followed by Farrow, Ripley, and Cassidy. Tom plops down onto the couch, kicking his feet up onto the glass coffee table. “He stays. Eliot would agree.”

Luna slowly nods, looking at me. “He would...”

“Eliot isn’t here,” I dryly say.

“A lack of presence doesn’t correlate to his opinions, Charlie Keating. I thought you were smarter than that.” Tom pats his thigh and Orion leaves Luna’s clutch to jump onto the couch with him. I nearly roll my eyes.

“Eliot is here,” Luna tells me. “He’s joining us later.” She goes over to sit on the couch, the dog now sandwiched between her and Tom.

“For what?” I only ask in the case they’re up to no good. And when it comes to this trio of friends, that is very likely.

“Beneath a Strong Sentiment marathon,” Luna sing-songs with a rising grin. Tom smiles at his best friend.

Sounds boring.

“Have fun with that,” I say, turning for the door.

I barely catch Tom eyeing Luna with some sort of puzzlement before I’m out the door. There was no bite to my tone, no sarcasm either. It only sounded mildly genuine because it mildly was. Not very common at all.

I pull out my phone again as I walk down the hall toward the elevators. I text back to Roxanne, Okay, and shut off my phone. But as I press open the elevators and step inside, I lean against the wall and think for a long moment before pulling out my phone again.

Me: And you have no idea what my wet dreams look like, Roxanne.

It’s a new morning in the small European country of Malta.

I brush my teeth with one hand and text Roxanne with the other. We do that often. Text. She’s too busy for phone calls, and all she can manage between rehearsals and classes is texting. Not that I mind. I’d rather talk to her like this than not at all.

Roxanne: [photo attachment]

Although, sometimes there’s not much talking at all. Sometimes it is just pictures. And I like that too.

She sends a live photo of her pointe shoes. She sits on the floor of the studio in what seems to be the corner of the room, resting.

I press down on the photo and the image moves. Chatter from the other dancers fades into the movement, the volume filtering out of my phone. She taps the tips of her shoes together almost naturally, like a pendulum, and I start to smile.

f*ck. She’s so cute.

I pull out my camera and snap a quick and lazy mirror selfie. Shirtless, pajama pants low on my hips, toothbrush still in my mouth, hair messy.

Honestly. I look like a f*cking douchebag.

I send it to Roxanne anyway.

I finish brushing my teeth and clean myself up just as Roxanne texts back.

Roxanne: Wow.

I can already imagine the way she’d say the word out loud. Breathy and soft and dazed.

Roxanne: Cobalt genes are craaazzzy.

I walk over to my unmade bed and plop down onto it, my back hitting the sheets that stay cool from the air that trickles in from the opened doors of the balcony, where beyond is a sky of blue, an ocean of blue, boats out at sea, and limestone buildings everywhere. I hold my phone above my head as I text her, Ruiz genes may be crazier.

She sends a photo of her hand in a thumbs down.

I slowly smile.

I send her a selfie with a thumbs up.

f*cking hell. What the f*ck am I doing? Taking selfies and sending them to women. A woman. And it surprises me how much I don’t hate it. Because I would’ve loathedindulging in something like this over a month ago.

Roxanne sends another picture back, but it’s not one of hers. She sent back my selfie, only she had digitally drawn all over it. Pink bows in my hair, silly hearts all around, words in margins messily sprawled. Devil horns and an angel halo over my head.

What the f*ck… What the f*ck. I’m 100% certain this is only as endearing as it is because it’s Roxanne. Any other person would have had me rolling my eyes and blocking them indefinitely.

Me: Don’t you have a rehearsal to get back to.

Roxanne: In 2 minutes, yes.

Roxanne: You know… opening night is in a couple days. Are you coming to see it?

I wouldn’t dream of missing it. Showing up late to our promised time a while back made me feel like sh*t. Even more than my usual dose of sh*tty feelings. I’m not doing that to her again.

I want to support Roxanne in the same way she supports me. She doesn’t force me to stay, she actually encourages me to go. She is one of the few people who understand my need to travel—not just for the beauty of it all, but for the freedom of it too. Traveling the world makes me feel like I’m not stuck in one place forever. She understands that. And I understand her.

Mon cœur comprend le tien.

My heart understands yours.

I text her back.

Me: I’ll be there.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOURTEEN — Roxanne Ruiz

It’s 30 minutes to curtain.

I’ve been dazedly doing my makeup and hair, just staring at the haunted face that looks back at me in the mirror. I look sad. I feel sad. I feel dejected about everything all of a sudden. I feel like I want to belong here, but deep down, know that I shouldn’t.

That makes me… so sad.

I’d been carrying my ballet bag over my shoulder, walking through the Koch Theater from rehearsals at the Rose studios. There were some ballet dancers already there, warming up and fitting into clothes. I was about to turn the corner when I overheard some of the company’s artistic staff talking. About Beth Anne. About me.

They spoke about how Beth Anne was eligible enough to climb the ranks and become a soloist. They spoke about how they were seriously considering promoting her after the production of Swan Lake concluded. I was beaming. I was so happy for her.

But then they’d shifted the conversation off of her. One of the staff asked what they all thought… of me.

“Bad Anne? She’s not soloist material,” one of them said.

“There’s a reason the Good Anne is getting promoted over the Bad Anne.”

“She’s not up to par. That’s a no brainer.”

I couldn’t bear to listen to any more. I’d just left in the opposite direction and found a bathroom to cry in.

Bad Anne. Is that really what people are calling me?

I knew I was trailing behind, but I’ve been working hard. I would’ve thought… that they’d recognize the better parts of me. But being compared to Beth Anne, living in a shadow of hers, it’s just seems… impossible now.

And gosh, what if they’re right? The staff all collectively see me in this way. They’re artistic staff. Ballet masters. They’ve seen a lot of dancers in their lifetimes. They have a lot of experience.

What if I’m truly just not good enough? I didn’t come all the way to New York to not be good enough.

I’m scared. I’m so scared I’ll lose this. It hurts to think about. Everything hurts. I can’t get rid of the ache in my chest, and I’m afraid this pain is going to carry itself with me throughout the performance. If I mess up because of my fuzzy mind and my aching heart, it’ll prove everyone right. And I can’t… I can’t have that happening.

“Hi!” Beth Anne beams as she comes over to me and sits in front of the vanity next to me. She pulls her knee up to her chest and readjusts the pointe shoe’s ribbons around her ankles.

She’s dressed like I am. A white ballet tutu of feathers and a matching headpiece. Because she’s a corps de ballet dancer. Like me. And soon, she won’t be.

“Hi,” I softly say. I won’t tell her that the staff are considering promoting her. It makes me so happy that they think she has the potential, but I just… can’t share it with her. I don’t want her to feel guilty for her success. That’s not right.

And I don’t want to spoil the surprise either.

Backstage, the dancer’s chatter drowns out the sorrow in my heart and the noise in my head. It suddenly hushes a fraction, and my sad heart nearly soars. Because I know what that second of hushed whispers mean.

Beth Anne and I turn to look at the entrance at about the same time everyone else does.

We hear some corps dancers sigh. Dreamily.

Beth Anne chuckles. “I personally don’t get the hype.”

I do. I get it a lot.

Charlie Cobalt walks through the door, dressed in a white button-down and khakis. He walks with this gait like he just couldn’t care about a single thing in the world, much less the way the other dancers talk and gawk, but pretend that they aren’t.

He doesn’t slow as his gaze meets mine. Blank. Fleeting. Indifferent.

I lightly smile at him, but he quickly looks away and beelines for Beckett.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Or maybe it should hurt. Maybe it’s supposed to hurt, to remain in this suffocating cycle of secrecy when it so agonizing.

Because I wish he would look at me. I wish he’d wish me good luck, or at least acknowledge that he didn’t only come to see Beckett, but that he came to see me too.

I wish he could soothe this pounding doubt in my chest with the words he’s so great at wielding.

I haven’t seen him in person in so long. With me busy at rehearsals, classes, physical therapy, and costume fittings, and him being busy never staying in one spot for too long, there is never any time.

He leans against Beckett’s vanity desk and lends all his attention to his twin brother, talking lowly. As Beckett talks to him, Charlie listens, stealing glances at the dancers around him.

Just not me. He used to look at me all the time before Italy. But he no longer does.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I need him. The world doesn’t know it, but Charlie knows exactly how to handle my heart. He does it gently and warmly, and maybe the world will never see it. Maybe it’s mine to keep entirely. But for some reason, it just doesn’t feel that way right now.

“Roxy? You okay?” Beth Anne bows forward, concern lining every inch of her face.

I force a smile. “Just nervous.”

But that’s not even the half of it.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIFTEEN — Charlie Cobalt

I smoke a cigarette outside the Koch Theater long after Beckett’s ballet has ended.

The back doors are deserted, with only the warm glow of streetlights and the faint sounds of honking encroaching the space.

Oscar waits in the car parked across the street, well in sight of me. I don’t care if he sees whatever he sees. I just need space right now.

I lower the baseball cap lower over my eyes, careful to conceal my identity. It’s a pathetic attempt at secrecy, but I’ve got to make do with what I have, and it’s not like the people in my life are common hat people.

Except maybe Moffy. Maybe every single Meadows too.

One of the doors blow open and I whip my head over in that direction. I take one last puff of my cigarette and flick it onto the street, disgardng it, when I see a familiar figure already walking in the other direction. Unaware of me.

I snub down the frustration that builds in me just at the sight alone. She could get hurt. What if I were a f*cking serial killer who murders ballerinas for a living?

“Roxanne,” I call out, walking over to her.

She slowly turns around, and at the sight of me, she pulls her earbuds out. You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me. “Hi.”

She carries her ballet bag over one shoulder, wearing a gray zip-up hoodie and black leggings. Her hair and her makeup are still intact from the show, and it only reminds me of seeing her on that stage again.

She had been amazing. Beautiful. I saw her nearly loose her balance once, but it was something that wouldn’t have been noticed if you weren’t completely staring at her and her alone. Based on the grim expression on her face, I could only assume it’s something she’s beating herself up for.

She readjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “Be honest with me.”

I say nothing. I just wait for her to continue.

“Am I good enough for the New York City Ballet?”

I lean a shoulder against the wall. “I'm an enjoyer of art. Not a critic.”

“I know. But you know what good enough looks like.”

I harden my jaw. She’s talking about Beckett. And truthfully, I do know what good enough looks like. Because it looks like him.

I sigh, wishing I could tug at my hair. “You really want the truth?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?” She’s unwavering. Not backing down. “I would rather have your blunt honesty than for you to placate me.”

Okay. Fine. “I think art is subjective. I think there will always be better dancers than you and there will always be ones who are worse. But that is a matter of opinion, and the opinions of others don’t matter.”

“It does if it determines whether I get to dance.”

“It determines whether you get to dance here. But the New York City Ballet is not the only option for success.”

“It has always been for me.” Her places a hand on her chest, her voice dripping with emotion. Beyond the faint glow of streetlights, I see her eyes nearly well up. And it startles me so much that I straighten off the wall. “There are tiers of this career. There’s ballet school, and then there’s getting into a company as a corps member, and then it’s getting promoted to a principal ballerina. And it all happens here. For me. At the New York City Ballet.”

My brows pull together, concern lining my face. I step closer to her and pull the hood of her jacket over her head. I don’t take my hands off her hood as I say, “You deserve to dance here.”

“But am I good enough to?” she whispers. “Don’t lie.”

f*ck. Seeing her look so upset. It does awful things to my chest.

“The company’s standards determine whether you are good enough to stay. But all that matters to me—all that should matter to you—is whether or not you believe you’re good enough to dance in the first place.”

She lifts her hand and wipes her eyes. “And if I don’t?”

I frown. “Then you’ve already lost it.”

She lets out a pained laugh behind her hand.

“Roxanne.” I lift her chin to look at me. “People will say whatever they want to say about the way you do things. People do it every damn day to every f*cking person. But it can’t dictate what you do. It can’t dictate how you feel. Because if you let it affect you, you let them win. And in a world where you get to write your own story, why the f*ck would you let other people win?”

Her chest expands, and she looks at me with this deep reverence that I can barely believe even exists. “I can’t control the company’s standards. Or their view of me.”

“But you can prove them wrong,” I deeply tell her. “You just have to let yourself try.”

She nods into a few more tears. Tears that absolutely break me. She tries to wipe them off her face, and I help her, wiping her cheeks with my thumb.

“I heard some staff call me Bad Anne tonight,” she sadly admits to me. I freeze. “They were talking about promoting Beth Anne, and they compared me to her.”

f*ck. f*ck. I knew the staff in the company were calling her that, but I never wanted it to reach her ears. Ever. I could have lived the rest of my f*cking life without her knowing, only because I knew it would hurt her.

Her pain is my pain. Right now, though—I’m just f*cking angry.

She looks up at me and sniffs. “You don’t look surprised.”

“What were their names?”

Her brows bunch. Cheeks reddened and eyes puffy. “I don’t know…” she softly admits. “I just know there were two males and three females. I… I didn’t look at them. I just heard, but-but it was chatty and hard to match their voices to faces—”

“It’s okay.” I’ll figure it out. “Don’t listen to them. They’re f*cking stupid.”

She nods as if she’s trying to believe it too. “Yeah… Yeah, I know.”

I stare at her for a beat. Almost like I’m trying to stare into her. To make sure she’s okay. To make sure she’s feeling better.

“Did you hear this before the show?” I ask.

She lets out a breath. “Yes. I was so scared I was going to mess up tremendously on stage and prove them right.” She buries her face in her hands, and I place my hands on her hips. Holding her close. “I’m so relieved I didn’t fall,” she mumbles. She peeks up through the tips of her hands. “I would have told you earlier, but…”

But I ignored her backstage. A frown comes over my face.

“I…” don’t f*cking know what to say. “A secret. Remember?”

This seems to make her even more sad. Fuuuckk, why am I such a f*cking—Ugh.

She diverts her eyes to the buttons of my shirt. “Even from Beckett?” she softly wonders—almost as if she’s saddened from the idea of keeping a secret from her friend. And me, my own twin brother.

“I promised Beckett,” I admit. She looks back up at me, confused. “I promised him I wouldn’t be involved with anyone in his company.”

She stares up at me, brows furrowed, lips gaped. Surprised. Maybe even hurt.

She takes a step back, away from me, and it f*cking punctures my heart. Because I know where this is going. I know it’s going to absolutely hurt. And I’m not prepared for it. I’m not prepared at all.

“When?” she asks.

I swallow. “About a year ago.”

“So…” she takes a breath, “you knew in Italy, and you still…?” She shakes her head, trying to make sense of it. “Why would you do that?” she asks—not through a yell or a shout or with any type of malice. No, because that’s not Roxanne. Her voice is nothing but soft, raw emotion, and it makes every muscle in my body tense.

I absentmindedly rub my chest, well aware of the pain that resides beyond it. “Because I want you,” I quietly admit. Roxanne shakes her head, her eyes reddened, and my chest constricts even more. I let out a frustrated breath through my nose. “I can’t lose you.”

“I barely even know what we’re doing, Charlie.” Her voice is so sad, so f*cking hopeless, that it rips a part out of me. “I can’t sneak around. I can’t be the reason you betray Beckett. I mean, are you kidding? I can’t do that—I can’t.”

Please, no. Please.

She stares at me. Chest rising and falling. She looks at me like she’s contemplating all the pain it would cause to let me go. How hard it would be for her and her heart. But then she blinks. As if realizing she didn’t want to let me go while simultaneously realizing just how easy the decision was to do it anyway. For me. For Beckett.

“Roxanne,” I nearly choke out. “Please, please.” My voice comes out in pathetic whispers. I hold her in my arms, and she lets me, burying her face in my chest. But she doesn’t hug me back. And it feels like she’s already slipping away. Like she’ll be gone in a second.

“You would beat yourself up for every second you’re with me… And I can’t let you go through that kind of torture,” she quietly cries. “Beckett needs you.”

The pain deepens. “And I need you.”

“And you need Beckett.” She pulls out of my embrace and wipes her tears with the sleeves of her arms. “It’s better this way,” she says, her voice cracking. She adjusts her bag, stepping further and further away from me. “It is.”

I’m not an idiot. I know that she’s leaving me.

"Roxanne," I beg.

She tries to smile, but it’s a poor attempt at one, and then she turns around and walks away. And I stupidly let her, my breaths coming out in short bursts of agony, because deep down, I know that Roxanne has made her choice. And she is determined to mend the cracks within me and Beckett. Even if it means she has to take herself out of the picture.

I run a hand down my face. Wanting to scream. Wanting to sob. Maybe even both. Oh my f*ck, I have never—I clutch my chest as panic sets in. This kind of heartache is new, and I can’t f*cking bear it.

I barely glance at the street as I cross it to the car that waits for me, my brisk fast. I’m angry at the world. At the situation. At Roxanne, even. I’m angry at myself, and Beckett, and the stupid f*cking staff at that f*ckass company.

But this pain. f*ck, it’s so much heavier.

I throw open the passenger door and shut it just as harsh, tearing the hat off my head and running my hands through my messy hair—tugging at the strands, as if I can eject my f*cking brain from my skull.

My chest rises with deep, harsh breaths of frustration, filling in the silence of the car.

I can feel Oscar looking at me, albeit tentatively. Like I’m a ticking time bomb. And honestly, I might be. But whether or not this bomb explodes into unadulterated anger or unbearable pain, I’m not so sure right now.

He starts the car. “Where to?”

“Philly.”

Oscar pauses with his hands on the wheel. Not f*cking driving. He asks, “You wanna talk about it?”

I didn’t. Not really. But the serenity in his voice, the way I can tell that he actually cares, it unlocks the wavering need to confide in him. This odd feeling suddenly fills my chest—and although it can’t heal what Roxanne tore away from me, it does well in healing me enough to make me suddenly grateful for him. For Oscar. For the fact that I’m not alone right now.

I wipe a fallen tear from my cheek—a tear of frustration and pain—and then quietly, I say, “Having any kind of relationship with Roxanne is complicated. I feel like I have to choose between her and Beckett.” I don’t bother to wipe the tears anymore, but I turn to stare out the window, and I let Oscar see the rawest parts of me. A part of me hates that he does, but he’s not stupid enough to fall for it if I tried to hide it. Because I’d hide it poorly. “She knows this,” I continue in a pained whisper. “So she chose for me.”

For the first time in a while… I feel f*cking hopeless.

Like I can barely breathe. Like my chest is caving into me. Like this pain in my heart is traveling down to my stomach.

I abruptly open the door and hunch over, feeling like I might throw up. I barely hear the panicked click of Oscar’s seat belt unbuckling as I clutch the door handle and the doorframe.

Ah f*ck. I can’t breathe. I just heave into heavy breaths and clutch at my chest. I shut my eyes tight, begging my heart to stop burning so much.

“Charlie,” Oscar says, now crouched in front of me.

I bury my hands in my face, taking deeper breaths to try and calm myself down. Oscar places a hand on my shoulder and I choke out, “Don’t.” He takes it off immediately.

I just can’t. I can’t.

God, f*ck. This heartache is different from the other pains I’ve experienced in this lifetime, but it’s almost as bad as the pain of watching Beckett ruin himself with cocaine. And carrying the guilt of the fact that I was the one who introduced that f*cking drug to him in the first place. It hurts just as much.

Because when you argue with family, they’re still your family. But when you argue with someone else, someone you could lose like that, it makes it all the more painful when they leave.

Knowing that they could never come back.

My parent’s house is dark when I shut the front door behind me. Quiet. Empty.

I stand in the foyer for a long moment, just staring off—feeling numb, or at least trying to. I want to rip this pain out of me. I want to simultaneously forget every memory of Roxanne and treasure each one just as much.

Limoncello’s.

Mediocre pizza.

Dancing in the rain.

Talking with the stars.

Driving through the coast.

Paris.

f*ck.

I angrily wipe my face of tears and beeline for the kitchen. I don’t even bother to turn the lights on as I cross the threshold. I just hastily rummage through the drawers, find a paperclip, and go over to the locked liquor cabinet.

I unbend the paperclip and try to wedge it into the lock, wiggling it around so it pops open. I’ve done it plenty of times in high school and have watched Eliot and Tom do the f*cking same. But it isn’t working right now. It won’t f*cking unlock.

A frustrated breath leaves me. I abandon the paperclip and just use my fist instead. Punching through the glass of the cabinet.

The shatter echos throughout the large kitchen, glass falling to the floor. My hand bleeds as I grab an unopened bottle of Macallan, but the pain is nothing compared to everything else that screams in my head.

I twist open the bottle and take a hefty gulp, the liquor barely burning down my throat. I hop up onto the counter, and just stare at f*cking nothing as I take another long sip.

The light suddenly flickers on, which doesn’t surprise me.

My dad walks into the kitchen in nothing but navy blue pajama pants. That doesn’t surprise me either.

He barely eyes the broken liquor cabinet or my bloody hand around the bottle of Macallan. He just looks at me and says, “Charlie?”

Concern etches his brows. He knows something is wrong. I don’t hide that I’ve been crying to my dad. He would know anyway. He always does.

I say nothing. I just bring the bottle back to my lips and give him a flat look.

“Qu'est-cequi ne va pas?” he asks, coming closer. Avoiding the glass on the floor.

What’s wrong? Everything, it feels like.

I wipe my mouth with my arm when liquor drips down my chin. “It’s stupid,” I warn him.

He leans against the edge of the island table and crosses his arms. “I’m sure it is if it’s causing you this much pain.”

I inhale a deep, frustrated breath and bow forward, elbows on my knees. I rake my good hand through my hair, pulling at the strands, and then down my face, feeling the silent tears that have sprouted once again.

I quietly cry into my hand, unable to help myself. My dad brings out the rawest parts of me, the most buried emotions that are too complicated for a normal person to put into words. And it’s because he understands. He understands everything, and it makes him one of the greatest beacons of comfort.

He gently pries the bottle out of my hand. I hear the glass clink against the marble counter as he sets it down. He says nothing as he wraps his arms around me and hugs me. He says nothing as I sob into his shoulder.

He just waits for me to be ready. And after a while of deep breaths and calmed tears, I pull away from him and wipe my face. I don’t care that I’m crying to my dad at 23 years old. Age is just a construct. He’s always told me that.

After another wavering breath, I admit to him, “I…” I sigh, rolling my eyes at myself. “I fell deeply for a woman I’m not allowed to have. And I want to face it. I want to fight through every roadblock that keeps us apart, but how the f*ck am I supposed to fight my own twin brother?” A bitter laugh leaves me. “How do I even do this without losing either of them?”

It was like that feeling Roxanne described in Italy. The feeling of wanting something so desperately and then feeling guilty immediately after for wanting it in the first place.

I don’t want to feel guilty for wanting Roxanne.

My dad takes a step back from me, just so he could get a better look at me. I don’t often see him surprised, but he is undeniably surprised right now. “You fell for a woman? As in, you love her?”

I rub my face. “I don’t know,” I say almost angrily, because it’s so frustrating not even knowing how love is supposed to feel. To the point where I can’t even distinguish if it’s even truly present.

My dad leans on the island table again, arms crossed as he looks at me. He’s silent for a moment, soaking this in, and then he says, “True love finds you with no ultimatums.”

“So you’re saying I don’t like this girl because an ultimatum is present?” I ask, like he doesn’t make sense.

“What I mean is, if Beckett truly loved you, he would let you love without making you choose between him and her. He would let you have both of them.”

I’m already shaking my head. “Beckett’s not that accepting.”

My dad shrugs. “For you, he might be. He might surprise you.”

“Or he might dig the knife deeper.”

He tilts his head, a challenge in his eyes. “And why would he do that?”

I let out a frustrated breath through my nose. He knows. It’s obvious. So I just plainly tell him, “I broke a promise. It’s myfault. If I don’t lose him because of this girl, I’ll lose him because of this f*cking promise.”

“Promise or not, Charlie, we can’t help who we fall for. Promises are words. Oaths. But love is a feeling, and no matter how hard we try, sometimes we just can’t fight it.”

I shake my head like he’s wrong—though, I don’t even know anymore. And that sucks. I look away from him, down at the broken shards of glass on the floor. “It still feels wrong. It still makes me feel like sh*t. Like I don’t deserve to be his brother. Not anymore.”

“I know,” he softly says. I begrudgingly drag my gaze back to him. “Beckett is the most understanding of you all. But he’s also the most untrusting to outsiders. So, I know. But if you truly want to fight for this, then you need to fight, Charlie. Even if it hurts him.”

My eyes burn. No.

My dad can already see the way I’m retreating, so he calmly adds, “Love can be worth it, Charlie.”

“Not at the expense of Beckett,” I choke out.

“So you would willingly live a loveless life if your brother wanted that for you? You’d let him scribble over the lines of your story? Let him control it?”

I harden my jaw. I was just talking about this with Roxanne earlier. I’m so f*cking hypocritical. I told her that she can’t let people do that to her. That she’s in charge of her own story. Normally, I follow that mindset. I believe in it. But I just can’t hurt Beckett. I can’t.

I stifle a sigh, running a hand through my hair. I glance down at the polished floor, at the droplets of my blood on the surface of it. I drag my gaze back to the glass and the broken liquor cabinet.

My dad follows my gaze. Sensing I’m done talking. He gives me a pointed look for the broken cabinet.

“I’ll pay for it,” I deadpan.

We both know it’ll just come out of his pocket regardless of who pays for it.

Which is why the corner of his lips lift. “You should get some sleep. It’s almost 4am.”

“I know how to read the time.”

He smiles as he walks towards the exit of the kitchen. “I know.”

When he’s gone, I hop off the counter and clean the blood, glass, and my hand. Just so my mom doesn’t wake up in the morning and freak out over the mess. Can’t promise anything with the broken cabinet though.

This conversation with my dad—it did well in easing some pain, but it didn’t banish it completely. I’m suddenly afraid of waking up in the morning. Because I know that this hurt will still linger. And I really f*cking wish it wouldn’t.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIXTEEN — Charlie Cobalt

I didn’t go to sleep. But I didn’t drink anymore either. So. Small accomplishments, or whatever the f*ck.

I just laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling for hours. Pathetically. I wondered if this was how I was after a break up considering I’d never had one before. I had never cared about losing any other girls prior to Roxanne anyway. A small, masoch*stic part of me was a little glad I was famous. So I didn’t have to open up my heart to women all the time and get that same heart broken just as much.

It was sad.

Footsteps descend down the stairs, quick and eager. From the sound and the pressure of the footsteps on the floor alone, I already know it’s Audrey long before she descends into the living room.

Her feet hit the ground and she gasps. “Charlie! You scared me!”

I turn my head on the cushion of the couch. “Good morning.”

She beams, her chest expanding. “Good morning.” She’s in her Dalton Academy uniform, already dressed for school, with her orange hair tied in pink ribbons. “What are you doing here?” She looks around the room almost hopefully, as if wishing to find another one of her brothers lurking around here.

“Rejuvenating,” I flatly say.

Audrey frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Toujours.”

“Menteur,” she says. Liar. My lips quirk up.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I raise a brow at her.

She mouths a curse and races into the kitchen. I shut my eyes for ten seconds before she’s already coming back. “Will you be here when I get back?” she asks, biting into an apple slice.

I peek an eye open at her. “No.”

She frowns. “But why? I’ll skip cheer practice today. We can play chess. I’ll even teach you the version Ben and I made up. And we can play backgammon. And I’ll bake you something.”

A heavy sigh leaves my lips as I sit up on the couch. Heartbreak makes you exhausted, but I think the ache would just deepen if I denied Audrey my company. She would never have asked this of me if Ben were still here. But she’s lonely. It’s obvious.

Which is why I say, “Fine.”

Her chest rises, beaming. “Really?”

“Yes.”

She smiles more, bouncing on the tips of her feet, more excited to come home after school now. She holds out the bowl of sliced apples. “Would you like one?”

I shake my head.

“Okay!” Nothing can dishearten her. She practically skips to the front door. “Bye, Charlie!”

I don’t respond. I just fall back onto the couch.

Lying on a pink pool float in the middle of my parents pool in nothing but short swim trunks, I impassively smoke a blunt beneath the wave of heat from the sun.

The weed calms me down. Lessens the rapid beating of my heart and the thousands of thoughts in my head that run at 100 mph.

I’ve done nothing all f*cking day. That’s not like me. I would’ve left the house way sooner, but I knew if I did, there was a chance I wasn’t going to come back. And that would hurt Audrey.

But it’s making me go f*cking mad. At this point, I’m not even going to be good f*cking company by the time she gets home.

It’s why I’m smoking a blunt in the first place. It’ll make things slower.

I hear the backdoor slide open and closed, shoes hitting the pavement. I don’t open my reddened eyes behind the tint of my sunglasses to see who it is. I’ll find out anyway when they open their mouths.

“Charlie.” Oscar.

I take another lazy drag and blow smoke upwards. Ignoring him.

“You’re not going out today?” he asks. There’s an edge of concern in his voice.

“You can go. You’re off-duty until further notice.”

“I didn’t come here as your bodyguard. I came here as your friend.” He pauses for a few moments before saying, “This thing with choosing between Roxy and Beckett… I mean, Charlie, it’s love. And that’s 100% yours. Not anyone else’s.”

I harden my jaw, numbly blinking up at the clear sky. “If I wanted your advice, I would ask for it.”

The backdoor slides open again just as I bring the blunt back to my lips. The all too familiar sound of my mom’s vigorous heels click against the stone as she walks to the edge of the pool.

I don’t look at her, but I imagine she’s staring at me with her hands on her hips and this fire in her eyes. Determined to physically wretch away the storm cloud that resides over my head. My dad telling my mom about last night was expected. So it doesn’t surprise me that she’s here.

I slowly blow smoke into the air.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asks Oscar.

Oscar pauses. “He’s just high.”

“I meant emotionally,” she snaps.

Oscar doesn’t answer. He hesitates for a long moment.

My mom grows impatient. “Client-bodyguard confidentiality doesn’t exist in my house. Not when it comes to my children. Tell me.”

Oscar sighs. Defeated. Traitor. “He got dumped.”

I can practically feel the way my mom bristles. “By who.”

“Don’t answer that,” I flatly tell him.

Oscar thankfully listens. “Just text me when you leave.” I hear the unspoken message in there. Because you can’t avoid New York forever.

I won’t avoid it forever. But it felt suffocating there. I just needed a change of scenery. And maybe I could’ve flown off to a different country, but I wasn’t really thinking too much when I told Oscar to drive me to Philly.

I just wanted my dad.

Oscar finally leaves, but my mom remains standing there. Staring at me. I turn my head to the side and meet her eyes behind the tint of my sunglasses, taking another drag.

Her head is held high, her shoulders are stiff, her eyes are blazing. She’s so familiar. “You have girl problems, I can help you.”

“I wasn’t aware you had experience in dating women,” I deadpan.

“I don’t,” she snaps. “But I am a woman. So I can provide insight.”

I look at her for a long moment. Normally I wouldn’t say anything. But she’s my mom. “She’s not like you.” I pause. “She’s more like Aunt Lily, actually.”

My mom’s chest expands. “Well good. Because Lily has a tremendous heart.”

“So do you.”

She lets out a breath through her nose, her eyes filling with emotion she tries to hide. “Do you need advice, gremlin?”

I worry she’ll think her advice isn’t up to par, and she’ll feel like she let me down by not being able to help. So I say, “No.” And I mean it.

She hardens her jaw, trying to appear indifferent about my rejection. “Well what do you need?”

Perhaps I do need advice, but the right advice isn’t going to come from my mom. My dad offers the right words when it comes to the frustrations in my head, and it’s because he’s experienced that same feeling. My mom isn’t like me in this department. She knows of love, but she didn’t fall in love being famous from birth. None of my aunts and uncles did.

The only person who might be able to help me understand this feeling… is Moffy.

The very first of us to have fallen in love despite a lifetime of fame.

“You look like sh*t,” Moffy plainly tells me, retreating further into his townhouse. He bends down to pick up one of Ripley’s stuffed toys on the floor and tosses it onto the couch. “This couldn’t have been discussed in a text?” he asks me over his shoulder.

I give him a blank look. And it’s not because I’m still marginally high.

Oscar shuts the front door behind him and lets out a low whistle at the sight of the newly furnished townhouse. The last time we were here, they had barley unpacked. “It’s so… Marrow.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Moffy asks, serious.

“It’s all subjective, Hale.” Oscar goes over to the kitchen to help himself to food.

“Don’t listen to him, wolf scout,” Farrow grins from his spot on the rug, Ripley and Cassidy with him, and their dog, Arkham, lying nearby. “Oliveira can’t distinguish good and bad. It’s why he makes such dumb decisions.”

“Not true,” Oscar refutes. “Marrying Highland was a pretty f*cking good decision.”

Moffy nods like this is true. “He’s got a point.”

Farrow rolls his eyes into a smile.

Moffy looks over at me leaning against the arm of the couch. My eyes are on Ripley, who colors in the tattoos on Farrow’s arm with markers. Streaks of color mark his tiny hands too. Cassidy lays beside them on a cheetah print blanket—which was undoubtedly gifted by my older sister—and tries to eat her hand.

There are too many kids in this house. It’s too messy, and too loud, and I’m sure it’s exhausting as f*ck carrying on the responsibility of unfledged human beings. I’d be more envious if I didn’t already have children to watch over. Like my brothers.

“Again,” Moffy says, sitting on an arm chair across the room, his elbows on his knees, “this couldn’t have been discussed in a text?”

“I want to hear what you have to say in person,” I admit.

“About… what?” He raises a brow at me.

Oscar comes back from the kitchen and leans against the threshold, unwrapping a granola bar.

“How did you realize you were in love?” I ask him. Unabashedly. Unflinching.

Moffy practically freezes, his entire body tensing up. He blinks at me, and then slowly shifts his gaze to Farrow. Who is grinning.

“Go ahead, wolf scout. How did you realize you love me?”

Moffy feigns confusion. “I realized that? Pretty sure I haven’t yet.”

“He’s still falling for me,” Farrow teases, his smile wide. He leans back on a hand, still letting Ripley draw on his other arm. He gives his husband a slow once-over.

Moffy grimaces to hide his smile, shakes his head at his husband, and then turns to look back at me. “Are you in love?” he asks me.

I give him a irritated look. “I wouldn’t be bothering with this if I was.”

Moffy leans back in his chair, running an irritated hand through his hair. He sighs and rolls his eyes, trying to tamper down the growing annoyance. “Alright. So you want to know how it feels.”

“I don’t just want to know how it feels. I want to know how it feels being who we are.”

Moffy’s eyes soften a fraction, understanding coating his eyes. He nods a few times, trying hard not to stare at Farrow as he says, “Well… As cliche as it sounds, you know when you know. You’re just… overwhelmed by their existence. Like taking them out of your life is the most agonizing thing the world could do. You don’t even remember how life looked before them, and you can barely imagine it after. Everyone falls in love differently, but each time is just as powerful as the next.” Moffy pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts. His chest rises just thinking about his love for his husband. “For me… For us—at least for Janie and I—one of our biggest realizations of love was through the love of our family. Like…” he sighs, a bit embarrassed, and lowers his voice, even though Farrow is right there, “Farrow and Thatcher would do anything for our family. That was the most important thing. To love us was to love the family too, and… it meant everything.”

He finally turns to look at Farrow, and they share this heavy look that holds so much more than words can express. I never doubted that they love each other. I was just bitter, and envious, and would look at them and think, I want that, and would hate that I didn’t have it.

For the first time in my life, it’s within reach. And I’m not just going to let it go.

I do what I want when I want. I pride myself on honesty.

I need to be honest to Roxanne.

I need to be honest to Beckett.

And honestly, I don’t give a f*ck what people think about me. They’re going to perceive me regardless. But Beckett and Roxanne are the two people in my suffocating life that mean the most. And the thought of hurting either of them destroys me.

“Thank you.” I stand up.

Moffy stands too, nodding. “I might not be the most qualified for it, but if you need advice, or… whatever you need… I’m here.”

My lips raise a fraction as I stuff my hands into my pockets and head for the door. “I’m not prideful enough to decline that, but I also won’t need it. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I know,” he says. He means that. And I’m grateful.

Our relationship was strained for a long time, and admittedly, a lot of that stretch was due to me. He caused me pain without even knowing it, and in turn, I’d caused him pain too.

But the lines between that heartache, bitterness, and disdain have blurred tremendously, and a big part of me is grateful for it. We may disagree with our entire hearts in the future, but there are moments like these ones where he understands me and I understand him, and it feels good to have my friend again. To separate who Moffy is to the bitterness in my heart. To understand that he can’t change who he is, as I can’t either. And there is no choice but to live with that fact and accommodate as best as we can.

My family needs Moffy, and according to today, sometimes I do too.

Everyday, I’m learning to come to terms with that.

Audrey and I sit on the picnic-style patio table in our backyard, the pool and the outdoor bar in view. A chess board sits between us, and to the side, a plate of heart shaped cookies—her staple. Still, she called them rejuvenation cookies, which admittedly made me chuckle.

She had finished explaining the amended rules to her and Ben’s version of chess a while ago. I told her it was stupid. She said she knew I wouldn’t appreciate how they changed the game play. I told her she was right.

I learned it quickly anyway, which doesn’t correlate to it being any less stupid. The knight being allowed to move in an A shape rather than an L? It’s asinine. It’s unorthodox.

And yet. “Checkmate.”

“I…” Audrey blinks at the board. “Impossible.”

I hold a hand to my chest. “Your underestimation wounds me, Audrey.”

“Menteur. Nothing wounds you.” Not true. “I taught you the rules thirty minutes ago. How is this possible?” She holds the back of her hand to her forehead. “I feel faint. How is it that I lose to my own game?”

“Your version makes the game easier, therefore it’s easier to beat you.” I slide the plate of cookies closer to her, and she takes one, biting into it.

She waits until she swallows before she replies, “But you beat me despite the alternative rules!”

“Because you’re bad at it.”

Her brows bunch and she pouts. “But I’m better than average, right?”

I look at her like she’s illogical. “Toujours. You’re a Cobalt.”

She nods, more confidently. “I am.”

Her phone vibrates in a quick succession at the end of the table. It lays face down on top of mine, our phones stacked on top of one another. It was a rule she insisted on so we didn’t preoccupy ourselves with our phones—which we wouldn’t have done regardless. But now that her phone is seemingly blowing up, she shifts in her seat and eyes it warily.

I pick up a cookie. “You can look at it.”

She sighs dramatically, like she was holding her breath. “Thank you.” She grabs her phone and turns it on, her eyes quickly flitting across the screen as she reads whatever is being sent to her.

I don’t pay her too much attention as I grab my phone and slip it back into my pocket.

Audrey gasps and texts back quickly, but she doesn’t remember to spill her news to me, too invested in whatever drama she’s indulging in.

But I’m better than average, right? The words make me think of Roxanne, of how she sucks at chess, and an unwelcome ache overcomes my heart. I miss her. I miss her tremendously. And in time, she’s going to know how much. I’m not letting her go that easily.

I run my hand through my hair, pulling at the strands, and the movement makes Audrey looks up from her phone. She clears her throat and turns it off. “I can’t tell you what that was about. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”

“Okay,” I flatly say. There’s about a 98% chance it involves nobody but her girl squad, and I couldn’t care less about what they do.

Audrey fiddles with her uniform blazer and glances from her phone to the chess board. And then she blurts out, “Xander had sex.”

I raise a brow at her. “And this is your business because…?”

“That’s the thing, Charlie, it’s not! Please don’t tell anyone. People already don’t trust me because of the Hot Santa video leak. Everyone treats me like a baby. Do you even understand how positively lovely it felt for Beckett to trust me to run his Instagram account? Out of everybody?”

I heavily sigh, rolling my eyes. “Relax. It’s a sh*t secret anyway. Everybody has sex.”

“But it’s Xander.” She says it like it’s asinine. Unorthodox.

But Xander is growing up. In more ways than one. He’s moved up to New York with his best friend, Easton, which he never would have done a year ago. I always figured he’d move on at some point. People always believe the Hale’s are weak, and sometimes they are, but they always seem to persevere. There is strength in that.

I take a bite out of a cookie. “Is Xander not allowed to have sex?”

“You know what I mean,” she mutters, shaking her head. She stares at her phone for a long moment. I study her.

I think the idea of Xander finding someone trustworthy enough to f*ck gives my baby sister hope that she could find the same thing. Well f*ck that. She’s too young. She’s too naive. No boy is getting close to Audrey without first getting murdered.

I finish off my cookie before I bluntly ask her, “Have you had sex?”

She stares at me with big eyes, blushing. The reaction alone pisses me off. “No!” She jumps off the bench and grabs the plate of cookies, walking fast to the door. “A-And even if I have, I would not tell you!”

“Why?” I know why.

She slides the backdoor open, and I follow her through it, closing it behind me.

“Because you would kill him!” she exclaims dramatically.

I roll my eyes.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Charlie,” she huffs, setting the plate of cookies on the living room coffee table.

“Yes, you are,” I flatly say, sitting on the couch.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

She holds her hands to her hips. “I’m sixteen! When did you first have sex?” When I don’t answer her, she says, “See?”

I roll my eyes, tugging at my hair. I had sex long before sixteen. My brothers too—and unfortunately, I happen to know that Jane did as well. But the thought of Audrey and some random f*cker? It makes me f*cking murderous.

“You’re right,” I deadpan. “I would kill him.”

She gasps like I’ve already committed the f*cking crime.

My parents descends the staircase together, hand in hand. My dad asks me, “Who are you killing?”

“No one,” Audrey quickly answers for me.

“Did something happen?” my dad asks.

“If you need help killing this no one, I will gladly rip his balls off, roast it over an open flame, and shove it down his throat,” my mom icily says.

Audrey’s lips lift, and admittedly, mine do too.

My dad gives her a look. “No one is killing anyone. And how are you so sure it’s a male anyway?”

“Because only males are deserving of murder, Richard,” she snaps. “Charlie wouldn’t threaten murder to a woman, right, gremlin?”

I grin. “Never.”

My dad grins at my mom, completely enamored by her. After all these f*cking years.

I want that. My smile dies.

“Are you staying for dinner?” my mom asks me.

“No.” I stand up.

She plants her hands on her hips and glares at me. “Why?”

“I have to get back to New York.”

My parents share a look like they know why I have to go. And truthfully, whatever they’re thinking is probably right.

“You’re leaving now?” Audrey sighs, disappointed.

“Yes.”

“The Spring Gala for Beckett’s company is this Sunday, Audrey,” my dad tells her.

Audrey’s face lights up. “That’s right! Can I please stay in New York until then? It’s just the weekend. I’ll room with Ben!”

Ben began living with us at Hell’s Kitchen a while ago, with Eliot and Tom now rooming in one room. He dropped out of Penn to come to New York, but he’s absent from the apartment a lot. At school presumably. It’s not like I’m there a lot either.

The less we see each other, the better. It would cause nothing but chaos otherwise.

I lean against the arm of the couch, sensing this may take a while. My parents see it as an invitation on my part. It’s why my dad says, “Of course, little one.”

Audrey lets out a delighted scream and hugs our parents. “Thank you, thank you!”

“Be good.” My mom awkwardly pats her back, not one for hugs. But it doesn’t mean she hates our hugs. I imagine she’d be pretty devastated if we ever stopped hugging her.

As Audrey races up the stairs to pack, my mom points a threatening finger at me. “Wait for her.”

My lips lift. “Toujours.”

She eases a little bit.

In the meantime, I send a text to a group chat I have with all of my brothers.

Me: Audrey is coming to New York.

Tom: Huh? How when where why? Is she already here?

Me: I said she is COMING to New York, idiot.

Tom: [GIF of a person clenching their chest in pain]

Beckett: Did mom and dad approve? Or is this a rebellious thing?

Me: I’m in Philly.

Beckett: Oh, I see.

Ben: ???

Beckett: She’s coming with Charlie.

Ben: She can room with me.

Me: She was going to room with you no matter what.

Ben: Maybe she can room with you. Since you’re never home anyway. It’ll be like sleeping in a guest room.

Tom: Burrrrn.

Ben: I wasn’t trying to burn him. I’m just saying.

Me: She wants to room with you anyway.

Ben: Fine with me.

Beckett: She’s coming for the Spring Gala?

Me: Yes.

Beckett: :)

Once Audrey and I are in the car with Oscar and her bodyguard, who introduced himself as Vlad Kosko earlier, she tells me, “Thank you for letting me come, Charlie.”

I tell her, “You’re our baby sister, Audrey. You’re welcome anytime.”

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN — Roxanne Ruiz

“I’m not avoiding her,” I tell Leo for the third time as we make our third round throughout the dress store.

He lifts the tulle of a teal dress and grimaces at it. “Yes, you are. The only question is why.”

“That’s none of your business.”

He rounds the rack of dresses I was looking at and stands on the other side. “Ha! So you are avoiding her. Now I have to know. Beth Anne is one of the nicest ballerinas in the company next to you. So something had to have happened to cause your fall out.”

I try to glare at him. “We didn’t fall out! It’s just…” I roll my eyes at myself, “It’s not her. It’s me.”

“Jesus. You sound like my ex.” I sigh, moving over to a new rack of dresses. Leo follows me. “I just don’t get it, Roxy. It’s obviously been bothering you and now it’s bothering her. So talk to me.”

I hold up a midnight blue dress. “How about this one?”

“If you wear that dress to the Spring Gala, I am never talking to you again,” he says, every part of him serious.

I grin at him, on the verge of laughter. Midnight blue is Beckett’s favorite color.

I hang it back on the rack. “Nothing actually happened between Beth Anne and I. I’m just going through some stuff,” I quietly admit. Leo frowns.

I pretend to act interested in the dresses I’m looking at, avoiding his eyes. I do that a lot these days—pretend. It gets easier every time I do it, but my chest still aches on the inside. I feel like every good thing I get in this life gets taken away from me. Like I don’t deserve that bit of happiness in the first place. Not only is ballet so close to getting stripped away, but… I lost Charlie too.

I try to convince myself it’s better this way, but if it is, then why am I in this constant state of agony?

I miss him so much, but I can never put him in a position where he has to choose between his twin brother and me. It’s unfair. It’s heartless.

I just don’t want to be a burden to either of them.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Leo asks, leaning against a table of accessories.

“It’s hard to talk about.”

“The hardest topics of our lives are often the ones that feed off of us like parasites. Especially if you let it fester inside of you.” He gestures to himself. “Share your concerns with me, my friend. I am at your disposal.”

My lips lift. “Not without a price.”

He sits up. “What’s your currency this time, Roxy?”

“I’ll only spill if you name one thing you like about Beckett. Just one.”

Leo rolls his eyes and stands to walk away.

I grab his arm. “Hey! Is it really that hard to name one thing?!”

He looks back at me like the answer is obvious. “Why would I stoop down to the level of complimenting the Cobalt? It’s like asking me to chew on rusted nails.”

I cross my arms over my chest, my dark green sweater pushed up to my elbows. “Human decency.”

“According to you.”

“According to society.”

“Well, society is not accustomed to Beckett Cobalt like I am.”

“One thing. Or no drama.”

Leo sighs like it’s extremely hard to name one thing he likes about Beckett, but it’s equally as hard to pass up the opportunity to listen to some drama. “I guess I like his brother.”

I tense at the mention of that. He has four brothers, so there’s only a 25% chance he could be talking about Charlie. But I’m very aware that Charlie is very different around me, and while I think he’s amazing, I’m not so sure a lot of people would agree.

“Which brother…?”

“Tom.”

“Good to know. I like him too. But that doesn’t count.”

Leo rolls his eyes again. “His double saut de basque to fourth arabesque is kind of good.” I start smiling. Leo glares. “Kind of.”

“I can work with a kind of.” I nod to him.

Leo turns, and how he pretends to be examining the dresses while I pretend not to notice how much it irked him to admit that. “Your turn.”

“I… heard some staff talking about Beth Anne and I, and they were comparing us. They think she’s great enough to promote, but…”

Leo is glaring. “What? They don’t think you’re good enough?”

I shrug, suddenly embarrassed.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Well, f*ck them.”

“They’re professionals who see thousands of dancers in their lifetimes. I can’t help but think they’re right.”

“f*ck. Them.”

“But—”

“You think I didn’t have a rocky start either? Or every other dancer in the company? We get judged all the time, Roxy. It’s their job to judge us. Imagine if we let their opinions knock us down. None of us would be standing still.”

I look down at my shoes. “It just didn’t feel good.”

“Of course it didn’t feel good. Bur hey, you’re still here, aren’t you? That means something.”

“Unless I don’t get a contract renewal,” I mutter.

“f*ck that. You’ll get one. I’ll manifest it everyday until the next renewal in the summer.”

“You believe in manifestation?”

“I do now.”

A small smile edges on my lips. “Can you manifest a friendship between you and Beckett?”

His glare is back now. “You know what? Go ahead and buy that ugly blue dress after all.”

I laugh as I follow him deeper into the store.

I just finished zipping up the dress I bought while shopping with Leo today when my phone rings.

I glance at the screen, where a foolish part of me hopes I’d see Charlie’s name flashing—but it’s not him. I’m not petty enough to block him or delete the pictures I have of him on my phone, but it only leaves the hurt lingering. I’m not masoch*stic enough to call him either, but apparently I’m masoch*stic enough to hope he called instead.

But why would he? I’m the one who ended things. And he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who cares about winning back a woman. Move on and forget—because it’s not like I was the one for him either. Especially since I work with Beckett.

The thought makes me frown. I need to stop thinking about him. At least until this call is over. It only hurts.

I pick up the FaceTime call from my mom and lean the phone against the wall of the bathroom counter.

“Roxy!” She gasps at my dress—a dark and long maroon dress with a slit up my thigh. “Is that what you’re wearing to the Gala?”

I glance down at my dress and smile a little. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. Dimitri!”

I groan. “Dad’s gonna make some comment about the slit. Watch.”

My mom laughs, and a few seconds later, my dad enters the frame. “Do you like Roxy’s dress?”

My dad narrows his eyes. I stand within the camera frame so they can see most of the dress. “It’s nice.” He pauses for a bit. “That slit is pretty high though, isn’t it? Camila, isn’t it f*cking high?”

I roll my eyes into a smile. “Told you.”

“Don’t listen to him. It’s gorgeous,” my mom gushes.

“Make sure to glare at the people who stare too long,” my dad tells me.

I grin. “Obviously.”

“Or maybe Charlie will do all the glaring for you.” My mom wiggles her eyebrows.

My smile wavers. I don’t have the heart to tell my parents that Charlie and I are no longer… whatever we were. They saw how happy he made me, and I just don’t want them to be hurt on my behalf. I’m carrying enough of that hurt already.

That’s the only reason I say, “Right.”

We talk for a few more minutes, and I painfully watch as they make jabs at one another, or smile lovingly at each other, and even though they’re hours away from me, I can feel their love from here. It makes this feeling in my chest heavier—watching their consuming love.

I want that.

I tell my parents I have to go and we hang up shortly after. I take off my dress, place it neatly on the arm of my couch, change into something more comfortable, and plop down onto my bed with a heavy heart.

Even being in my apartment is agonizing. Charlie is everywhere in here. His presence lingers in my kitchen, where we’d sit on the counters and eat takeout late into the night. He lingers in my living room, where he’d beat me at chess time and time again and we’d watch reruns of The Bachelor since he hates the newest season. He lingers on my bed, where we’d lay and talk for hours, and in our most bold nights, we’d forgo the talking altogether to make out instead.

I pull out my phone and do something stupid: I look back at the pictures I took of him in Paris. My chest falls in a heavier breath and I shut my phone off and toss it onto the comforter.

I realize something as I bury my face in my pillow and pathetically cry.

I don’t want this consuming kind of love with just anybody.

I want it with Charlie.

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN — Charlie Cobalt

“Champagne?”

Eliot and Beckett take a flute, thanking the server at the entrance.

Audrey of all people takes one too. “Thank you,” she sweetly says.

We make it two more steps into the theatre before I pluck it from her hand and down the glass in one go.

“Charlie,” she whines.

“You’re too young to drink,” Beckett kindly tells her.

“I’m too young to do anything.” She practically pouts as she ditches us to go find her girl squad, her bodyguard trailing close behind.

My cousins, aunts, and uncles already finished with the red carpet long before my family did. We have a bigger family. It’s expected that it’d take longer, especially with all the f*cking interviews that I barely bothered with. This entire event is being tolerated for Beckett.

And Roxanne, too—but in a crowd this big, finding her will be hard. But not impossible.

I follow my brothers deeper into a large room that radiates the aura of spring. Tables decorated with fresh orchids in vivid magenta, blush pink and baby blue hydrangeas suspended from the ceiling, and pink and purple lights casting a warm, romantic glow over the entire room.

“Are those flowers real?” Ben asks, gesturing to the hydrangeas on the ceiling.

Normally I’d make some smart-ass remark, but I’m too distracted scoping the venue for a certain head of curls.

“It appears so, brother,” Eliot says, sipping his champagne. We make it to our table, our family sitting nearby, and he turns to Tom. “You’re not drinking?”

Tom rubs his hands together almost nervously. “I need to stay sober.”

“For?” Beckett pulls out a chair and gracefully lowers himself onto it. I pull one next to him and slouch onto it, slipping sunglasses over my eyes.

“For…” Tom looks at Eliot and Eliot nods, understanding—though, there’s a wicked smirk on his face that never promises great things.

“For the performances, of course,” Eliot finishes.

Tom nods just as the rest of my brothers take a seat. We’re all dressed formally, and yet still so different. The first few buttons of Tom’s black button down are undone, Beckett’s in all black, Eliot in all gray, Ben in all navy blue, and I’m in a sand Havana suit with the first few buttons of my button down undone.

“I had no idea you were such a lover of ballet,” I deadpan to Tom.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I love Beckett’s performances.”

“Beckett isn’t even performing tonight.”

“And yet the point still stands.” Tom grins. “My brother brings out my love for ballet. Let it be known.”

“It is known,” Eliot agrees into a grin.

“Who is performing tonight?” Ben asks Beckett. “The corps?”

“Yep,” my twin brother simply answers. “Half of the corps will perform two new ballets and join the party later. The other half will enjoy the party now and then dance on the theaters promenade.”

Roxanne will perform the first half. Between rehearsals for Swan Lake, she’s been practicing for the Gala. But performances don’t start until seven. I had hoped to catch a glimpse of her before than.

“We should mingle,” Beckett says, standing up.

When Ben doesn’t move, Beckett pats his shoulder, and Ben frowns but eventually stands up. It’s kind of odd actually, his apparent disdain, considering Ben is the most social among us.

“Great idea. I need to network,” Eliot says, standing too.

“Go steal their hearts, brother,” Tom says into a grin, but doesn’t follow him.

“With my bare hands, brother,” Eliot dramatically bows and then disappears into the crowd.

And then there were two.

Tom turns to me and says, “I need advice.”

I tense, blinking at him. It is a rarity that any of my brothers ask me for advice unless it’s Beckett. Their go-to is Moffy. Sometimes I can’t blame them, because my advice is sometimes things they don’t want to hear—and that’s only because it’s the truth, and the truth often hurts.

But still. I’m their older brother. Which is why I say, “Ask away.”

Tom glances around the room and then leans in to lower his voice. “Say, hypothetically, I were to hook up with someone in Beckett’s company. You think Beckett would mind?”

Oh my… f*ck. My throat nearly clogs. “Yes,” I manage to tell him.

Tom groans. “So I shouldn’t pursue this guy?”

I tug at the strands of my hair. “Not unless you’re willing to fight your own brother for some dick.”

“f*ck.”

“Who is this guy?”

Tom narrows his eyes at me. “Like hell I’m telling you. You’re just gonna go tell Beckett.”

Months ago, I might’ve jumped at the opportunity to tell Beckett like Tom claims, but it suddenly doesn’t feel right considering I’m harboring my own secret from him. But it’s a secret that won’t be one for much longer, so maybe Tom has a point after all.

Commotion and laughter draws our attention across the room, and every muscle in my body tenses at the sight of Roxanne walking through a back entrance with Leo Valavanis, Beth Anne, and some other dancer I don’t know. Dark skin, tall, a blinding smile—and he’s all up on Roxanne like a f*cking parasite, an arm wrapped around her shoulder.

I harden my jaw and wrench my gaze away. I look at Tom, who looks over at that group of dancers, and I put the pieces together quite easily.

“Beckett would have an aneurysm if you hooked up with Leo Valavanis,” I plainly tell him.

Tom tenses. “Who said it was him?”

“You’re obvious.” I drag my gaze back to Roxanne, who looks absolutely lovely with her curls pulled up in messy up-do and smaller strands framing her face. She laughs at something this guy says and I feel both my heart clench and my blood boil.

“Howdy!” Luna bounces over to our table with Donnelly in tow. She throws up a Vulcan salute.

Tom grins so wide as he watches his best friend and her boyfriend sit down with us. “Hey there, Luna Hale. Donnelly.”

“Hey, man,” Donnelly nods to him.

The strap of Roxanne’s dress slips down her shoulder, and she doesn’t even notice it. But this f*cker next to her does, and he reaches out to tug it back up. Roxanne nearly flinches back, and yet she plasters on a grateful smile.

f*ck. This.

I push out of my chair and scale the length of the venue towards her. I take off my sunglasses, hooking them onto the collar of my button down, and barley acknowledge the way the crowd practically parts for me like I’m a f*cking deity.

Roxanne notices me quickly. It’s hard not to. We’re basically magnets—this I won’t deny.

I slow my pace once I’m in front of her. She stares at me, taking in every detail like she’s seeing me for the first time in forever, even though it’s only been a couple days of radio silence. And shamelessly, I do the same.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” she breathes.

My eyes linger on the locket around her neck for a longer beat before I drag my eyes to the man standing next to her. He’s a bit shorter than me, at maybe six feet, and there’s nothing but cautious politeness in his eyes.

I reach a hand out to him. “Charlie Cobalt.”

He smiles and shakes my hand. “Roosevelt Jackson.” He sounds like he could be a f*cking president. “But people just call me Rosie.”

Roosevelt “Rosie” Jackson. You’ve just entered my sh*t list.

I drop his hand and turn to Roxanne again. “We need to talk.”

“About?” she tentatively asks, glancing around the room—as if she’s worried Beckett is going to pop out of the crowd and reprimand us right here.

But this—me and her—it is 100% ours and no one else’s. And I need to fight for it. Even if it hurts him.

“Come with me and find out.” I co*ck my head toward the back entrance she just came through, and start walking through the crowd. She hesitates for a second, but she eventually says bye to Roosevelt and leaves him to follow me.

When she catches up to me, I reach back and brush my fingers down her forearm before slipping my hand into hers.

She sucks in a breath and looks around. “People are looking.”

I don’t give a single f*ck what people think. One way or another, whether it be days, weeks, months, or years from now, the world is going to know Roxanne Ruiz.

It’s why I risk everything and tell her, “Let them look.”

Because I am never letting her go again.

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

CHAPTER NINETEEN — Roxanne Ruiz

Charlie practically drags me through the deserted hallways of the Koch Theater until we’re heading backstage where the dressing rooms are.

The further we get from the party, the more nervous I become. I’m hopelessly addicted to him—to his smell, his voice, his heart—and it’s so hard to stay away. But I still get so nervous around him that I feel like I might throw up.

I glance down at our hands. The cold bite of his ring burns my skin, but it’s so familiar that it aches my chest. I brush my thumb against his hand—just instinctively—and he squeezes back as if in answer.

“S-Sir.” I glance up to see one of the theater staff at the threshold of the backstage entrance. “Charlie Cobalt,” he breathes, and then shakes his head, “Sir. You’re not allowed back there.”

Charlie reaches into his pocket and wordlessly shoves a few hundred dollar bills into the man’s chest, and then brushes past him. I glance back to see him fumbling with the money and then gaping at us with wide eyes and a dropped jaw.

“Sorry,” I sheepishly apologize. I tug on the sleeve of Charlie’s blazer. “That was rude.”

Once we’re out of sight, he tugs me close to him and rotates me so my back hits the closed door of one of the many dressing rooms in this hallway. “He just made six hundred dollars tonight. Far from rude, if you ask me.”

“There are better ways to execute it,” I nearly whisper, captivated with how close he stands in front of me. I gulp staring at his lips, and my heart nearly bursts out of my chest when his hand meets the door by my head.

“No use wallowing in the past,” he murmurs.

I intake a deeper breath. “What are we doing, Charlie?”

His eyes search mine, and mine his. He bares his heart to me time and time again, and I have the greatest privilege of seeing the rawest parts of Charlie that no one else pulls out of him. Right now, his eyes are bathed in anguish and deep, unadulterated longing.

“I can’t do this,” he whispers. “I can’t just let you go. I need this. I need you. And don’t give me that bullsh*t about how my guilt will surface for every second I’m with you, and how it would cause me nothing but pain. That—That is tolerable, but losing you is not. The hole that your loss created has consumed me whole and I can’t bare it, Roxanne. I can’t bare it.” He buries a hand into my hair and leans his forehead against mine. I shut my eyes, my heart heavy and my breaths equally as much. “Please, please—don’t do this to me. God, what are you doing to me?”

I clutch his shirt and let out a shaky breath. “I can’t,” I breathe.

I start to shake my head, but Charlie tugs on my hair and stops me. “No. Please. He will understand. I will make him understand.”

“Charlie,” I say in a pained whisper.

“Don’t fight it. Don’t fight me. Mon cœur comprend le tien,” he begs me to understand.

I glance down at my hands, at my feet, and try my hardest not to shake. “I don’t want to hurt him,” I say, my voice cracking.

I look back up at Charlie, his eyes reddened, and he slowly shakes his head. “I don’t want to either,” he whispers. “But I can’t subject myself to a life where I don’t have you at the expense of others.”

I bury my face into his chest. He’s right. I know he’s right. But it just… hurts. More than anything, I wish this didn’t have to happen. That this pain didn’t have to play such a huge role in our relationship. I want easy. I want happy. But whether we get that is all in the hands of someone we both care deeply about.

“Me too,” I admit in a breathy whisper. “Gosh, I hate this.”

Charlie strokes my nape gently and eases me back so he can look at me. “I’m telling Beckett tonight. I promise. I just want to give him the rest of the event.”

I nod, understanding.

Charlie studies me. “Does this mean you’ll try?”

I lean against the door and purse my lips, still so unsure about so many things. I voice it all to him. “You’re famous,” I point out.

“An unchangeable variable. Is that a problem?”

“Of course not,” I admit. “But I’m scared.”

“I know.” His voice softens a fraction. “People will do stupid things for as long as you live. There will be easier days, but it’s usually all f*cked up. They’ll harass you and your family to no end, and… f*ck, I sincerely apologize in advance for it.”

I shake my head and softly say, “It’s not your fault.”

“I am who I am. There’s enough fault in that.”

“Shut up,” I mutter. His lips lift. I look into his eyes almost tentatively as I shyly admit to him, “I’m not the kind of person who just signs an NDA and moves on. Which you already know…”

“I’m not asking you to sign anymore NDAs, Roxanne. I’m asking you to be my f*cking girlfriend.”

My heart soars. The grin that overtakes my face is so bright. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever had a girlfriend before?” I tease him.

“No.” He raises a mocking brow at me. “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

I find myself laughing. “Touché.”

“Is that a yes?” He slides his hands onto my hips and up my waist.

I intake a sharp breath. “Yes.”

“f*cking amazing.” He glances up and reads the name on the dressing room door. “Suzanne Hill. Forgive us for our sins,” he jokes and then he presses his lips against mine.

I clutch onto him, pulling him closer as our mouths move together in a desperate, heated kiss. He reaches for the doorknob and twists it open, and we fall back into the small dressing room together. He shuts the door and locks it just as quick, all while he slips his tongue into my mouth and groans at the taste of me.

I blindly reach out to flick the lights on, and the vanity bulbs illuminate the room shortly after.

Charlie pulls away for a second to tear off his blazer and toss it onto the floor, and then his hands are back on me, lifting my legs around his waist and slamming his lips back onto mine. Oh my god. I tug onto his hair and moan into his mouth as he backs us up against the vanity.

He swipes the stuff lying all over the surface of the desk onto the floor, and sets me down on it. I barely pay attention to whatever clatters to the ground as he hungrily kisses me and selfishly rolls his hips into mine.

His palms come over my thighs, spreading them further around his waist, and he slips his hands beneath my dress to inch higher and higher. He abandons my lips to suck and lick my neck instead, and I throw my head back into a moan as he clutches my ass and greedily pulls me closer to him.

“Charlie,” I breathe, tugging at his hair.

“f*ck me. You are devastating, Roxanne. f*cking devastating.” He toys with the band of my panties as he bites the spot between my neck and shoulder, and a pathetic whimper leaves me. “Tell me what you want. I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you whatever you want,” he rasps against my skin.

Greedily, I grab his hand and slowly inch it into my panties where I ache for him most. “Touch me.”

“f*ck,” he groans. He lifts my dress up higher and glances down to watch his fingers slowly—agonizingly—circle my bare cl*t. “f*ck.”

He sinks two fingers into me, his thumb teasing my cl*t, and I moan at the filling feeling.

Gosh, it has never felt like this before. What is happening to me?

Charlie kisses me as he slowly moves his fingers, and I whimper against his mouth, bucking my hips against his hand. He sucks on my tongue, bites onto my lip, all while he pumps his fingers in me faster.

“Oh f*ck f*ck f*ck,” I whine. “Charlie.”

He groans against my mouth, and then he drops to his knees and I nearly faint right f*cking there.

He tears my panties down my legs and ankles and stuffs the black fabric into his back pocket. I watch, dazed, as he spreads my legs further, and wastes no time with pointless words as he kisses down my inner thigh and then swipes his tongue over my aching puss*.

“f*ck. Yes.” I thread my fingers through his messy hair as he sucks on my cl*t, and he groans against me in such carnal approval. I throw my head back into a piercing moan, shutting my eyes tight.

He adds his fingers next, and the second he curls them inside of me, I come apart. That trail of fire bursts inside of me. My legs shake. My heart pounds.

I slump against the vanity mirror, breathless, as Charlie drags his hands up my body and stands again. He swipes his mouth with his thumb and leans in to kiss my lips once before trailing gentle, slow kisses down my neck.

I reach forward, hooking my fingers into the waistband of his slacks, dragging him closer to me. His tongue comes over my skin just as I lower my hand and palm his hard co*ck over the material of his pants. Oh my god, he’s so… Oh my god.

He groans, bucking his hips into my hand like he just can’t help himself, but then he seems to remember something, because he grabs my wrist to stop me.

“No time. You have a performance soon,” he rasps.

I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s 6:20 and I needed at least an hour to prep for the performance at seven. I’m still a little breathless as I say, “I can make you come in five minutes,” I say confidently, even though I’m not even sure.

Charlie laughs, looking at me with this endeared expression that makes my stomach feel funny things. “Next time.”

“Promise?”

“Sure.”

I huff, and then glance down at the desk I’m sitting on and the things thrown haphazardly to the floor. I suddenly remember we’re in a dressing room—one that is not mine.

“sh*t.” My face falls. “Suzy’s going to kill me.”

Charlie backs away from me and begins to pick up the things he swiped off the desk—makeup brushes and compact mirrors and pointe shoes and so many other things. “Suzy won’t know sh*t.”

I hop off the desk and begin cleaning too—which includes myself. I fix my hair in the mirror and straighten my dress. “She will,” I try to tell him.

“Only if you tell her. Which, knowing you, you just might.”

I groan, snatching his blazer off the floor. My face still burns at the image of what we just did and the sexy way he had stripped his jacket off in the first place.

Boyfriend. Charlie is my boyfriend.

Holy… f*ck.

I slowly turn and hand his blazer to him. He slowly takes it with one hand, and with the other, he holds my hand, gently brushing his thumb over the inside of my wrist. He tosses his jacket onto the desk and holds my eyes as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a balled piece of fabric. He places my panties in my palm and I burn, suddenly feeling very, very shy.

He tugs me closer and softly kisses my forehead. “I’ll go first.”

I nod, every inch of me burning.

He picks up his jacket and backs away from me, smiling. He gives me a slow once-over, and says, “Merde,” wishing me luck, before twisting open the door and slipping out.

A small smile tugs on my mouth.

Mon cœur comprend le tien.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY — Charlie Cobalt

The Koch theater has three balconies stacked on top of one another surrounding the perimeter of the lobby where the Spring Gala is held. I stand on the second balcony after Roxanne’s performance—which she had danced beautifully in—and impassively watch the guests below as they crowd the dance floor to some sh*tty mainstream song.

With my elbows on the railing, I lazily flip the lighter in my hand, bored of the reality around me. All I keep thinking about is Roxanne—about how over an hour ago, I asked her to be my girlfriend and then proceeded to f*ck her with my fingers and my tongue. It circles my mind for every minute since then. I already jacked off in the bathroom once after I left her. I’d die before I did it again.

Because I’d much rather it be her hand instead. Or her mouth. Or her puss*.

f*ck.

I can’t believe this is my reality. It’s such a rarity that I find myself unable to pinpoint the emotions within me. I’m either ecstatic, anguished, terrified, or all of the above. All for different reasons and all for the same, too.

Girlfriend. I can’t believe I asked her to be my f*cking girlfriend.

I run a hand through my hair and tug at the strands.

I don’t regret it. I just didn’t think it though as thoroughly as I would’ve imagined. I knew I wanted Roxanne more than air itself, but I always pictured that proposal to be different. More romantic and less angst-ridden.

But she’s mine now, anyway. And there is a lifetime of romance despite it all.

Around the corner, I can hear Oscar speaking into his mic. Even over the booming music. He hasn’t bothered me so far. We spend so much time together that he can tell when I want to be alone. Even if he has to “leave me alone” from a distance.

He also keeps guests from approaching me. I’ve already listened to him tell a handful of people, including two little girls—presumably high school freshmen—to f*ck off.

Okay, well he didn’t actually say those words. But I did. In my head.

I made sure to tell him that the only girl allowed near me—one who isn’t my family—is Roxanne. He just held in a smile and nodded. But I knew he wanted to smirk his ass off.

I finally see Roxanne exit the back entrance with her corps members, re-dressed from their show. She smiles at something Beth Anne says. She’s so beautiful. Beth Anne parts with her to follow a few corps members onto the dance floor. Roxanne lingers in a spot on the toes of her feet, her head held high, and her eyes searching the crowd. I start smiling. She’s so cute.

But then Roosevelt f*cking Jackson approaches her and touches her arm, and it wipes the smile right off my damn face.

She nods to something he says. She even smiles.

And I know they’re just friends. Of course I f*cking know that. Her hands were on me just an hour ago. But we were also friends once too. And now we’re not. And I don’t f*cking like how Roosevelt looks at my girl.

I pull out my phone and dial her number. It rings against my ear as I watch her pull her phone out of her clutch and stare at the screen. She smiles apologetically to Roosevelt, says something to him, and then answers my call.

“Where are you?” she asks right away.

“Look up.”

She tilts her head up, her big eyes scanning the length of the balconies. When her eyes land on me, her smile grows. “So mysterious, all alone up there.”

I lean my elbows on the balcony’s railing. “I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.”

Her eyes narrow in that adorable thinking face she does. “Was that Thoreau?”

My heart sings. “Yes.”

She grins. “Knew it.”

Roosevelt taps her shoulder and says something in her other ear. She nods along to whatever he’s saying, half invested. I plainly tell her, “I don’t like your friend.”

“Sorry—Rosie. I got to go. I’ll see you later? Or tomorrow? Yeah. Okay. See you!” She walks away from him, weaving through the crowd toward the stairs. “And Charlie, you don’t even know him.”

“I know he wants to f*ck you,” I deadpan.

“Ew. Don’t say th—Sorry, excuse me. Sorry.” She pauses for a second and sighs. “He’s like a brother to me.”

“To you. But are you so certain he sees you as a sister?”

“Even if he didn’t, why does it matter? I choose you.”

I feel a shudder run its course down my body as her words echo in my head. It takes me a second to answer her, but once I do, I know it’s not something she wants to hear. “Still don’t like him.”

“Yeah, I figured.” She sighs. “I think he likes men, anyway.”

“You think?”

She pauses for a second. “Yes?”

“Roxanne.”

“He compliments everyone’s looks—men and women alike. It’s not like I ask him about his dating history. We’re just coworkers! You’re on the board for HMC Philanthropies, right? Do you ask your board members who they’re screwing?”

I roll my eyes. “Okay. I get it.”

“I’m glad,” she tells me honestly. “Hi, Oscar.”

I turn to look down the hallway and there she is in all her beautiful glory. She smiles at something Oscar quietly says to her, and then she walks over to me.

I lean against the railing. “Your beauty overwhelms me,” I tell her over the phone. Even despite her being close enough to hear.

A small smile edges her mouth, desperate to keep it at bay. Once she’s within arms reach, we pocket our phones and our hands naturally gravitate toward one another. Like magnets.

“Beth Anne asked me about you earlier,” Roxanne admits. “She saw you drag me backstage.”

I run my fingers over her soft knuckles. “And what did you say?”

“I told her you wanted to talk.” She blushes, recalling all the talking we did. “She tried to pry for more, but I… don’t know what I can and can’t share.”

“Use your best judgment,” I say, trusting her. “I’m not going to parade you on social media, but I’m also not going to keep you a secret.”

She nods, staring at our hands. “I won’t share intimate details with anyone. That’s for us only.” She looks back up at me. “I don’t really care if the world knows. I do, however, care about the people you love.”

“Why?”

“Because they matter to you,” she tells me like it’s obvious.

I guess it’s just odd realizing she cares about my family when I don’t really care about hers. I’d extend a hand to them, if they needed it maybe, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to impress them.

The boat? Yeah. I just wanted to see Roxanne again, and she’d only come if her family did. I don’t need them to like me, but… I guess I can’t help that they do already.

A shout louder than most comes from downstairs, and I peek over the railing to see something that sours my mood in an instant.

The Rochester’s are here.

And Wesley Rochester is currently yelling at my little brother, Eliot. And Eliot is yelling right back.

Roxanne’s hands squeeze my own. “Friend of yours?” she tentatively asks, noticing my hard glare.

The world doesn’t know the Rochester’s were the ones behind The Royal Leaks. And that includes Roxanne.

“No,” I say, and then I tug her toward the stairs.

Oscar quickly leads the way. He turns back to tell me, “I don’t know much. Epsilon’s being vague.”

“That or they don’t know,” I grind out. I look beside me where Roxanne keeps pace, worried. “You okay?”

“I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“Not sure yet,” I admit.

Whatever the f*ck Eliot got himself into will determine that.

Oscar listens to his in-ear as we descend the stairs. “Argument about Winnifred,” he informs me.

What the f*ck is Eliot doing indulging in that?

He needs to learn how to choose his battles. And I know Eliot fights where his heart takes him, but to land in a den of snakes is just f*cking foolish.

We make it to the first floor and Oscar pushes a path for us toward the fight. People murmur and gossip, too engulfed in the drama that unfolds.

I break through the circle and immediately spot Tom and Moffy. Tom’s got a hand on Eliot’s arm, as if he’s afraid his brother is going to pounce any second. Moffy’s got one on his shoulder, shooting daggers at Wesley.

I scan the area. Winnifred sits at the table in front of them, her phone frozen in her hand and her wide eyes on Eliot. Like she just can’t imagine why he’d be yelling at her older brother on her behalf. Seemingly.

I find Jane, her fingers to her lips. I squeeze in next to her. “What’s going on?”

“Charlie,” she says. Her eyes glance over to Roxanne beside me, then down to our hands. I can feel Roxanne retreating, but I hold onto her tighter. Jane blinks and looks back at me, as if she’s remembering the situation at hand. “Pippy said something about how Wesley was trying to get Winnifred to dance, and it made her uncomfortable, so Eliot stepped in.”

“Why?” I glare.

Jane shakes her head and frowns. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

Wyatt pushes through the crowd and grabs Wesley’s shoulder. He holds a hand up to Eliot’s face. “Just mind your own business, kid,” he snaps.

“How f*cking ironic coming from you,” Eliot sneers.

“You really want to do this here? At your brother’s event?”

“You’re the one intruding on this event, so might as well.” Eliot holds his arms out.

Wyatt glares and steps up to Eliot, and Tom pushes Wyatt back with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Wait, wait, dude, let’s not.”

Wesley jumps in. “Don’t f*cking touch him!” He pushes Tom. He stumbles back.

f*cking hell.

That sets off Eliot. Like a bomb.

“Eliot, Eliot,” Moffy tries to grab him, but Eliot grabs Wesley by the collar and socks him in the face.

The crowd gasps. Winnifred slowly stands, stunned.

“f*ck,” I mutter under my breath. I turn to Roxanne. “Just… wait.”

She nods, understanding that I have to be there for my brothers, and she lets go of my hand.

The two are on the ground in a brawl, and Moffy tries to separate them. Security breaks through the crowd—Farrow, Oscar, Vance. They tear them apart.

Wyatt tries to step in, but I grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him back. “f*ck off.”

Wyatt’s eyes flash and he charges for me. But Oscar is quick to redirect his attention, and he grabs Wyatt’s collar and shoves him back. “You don’t want to do that,” Oscar says, his voice hard. His other hand holds my shoulder in place.

Wyatt scoffs. “All of you and your f*cking bodyguards. Can’t even fight your own f*cking battles. It’s pathetic.”

That pisses me off. Because I f*cking hate it when Oscar has to take care of me any more than he’s supposed to. And I f*cking hate it when people underestimate our strength.

Wyatt turns his back to me, walking away, and Oscar’s hold loosens.

Normally I fight my battles with words. But I’m in the mood to hit something tonight. Maybe it’s the stress.

I shrug myself out of Oscar’s touch and take two steps toward Wyatt. I grab his shoulder to spin him around, and then I deck him in the face.

“Charlie!” Oscar shouts.

f*ck, that hurt.

Wyatt falls to the ground, clutching his bloodied nose. He groans, “I’m gonna sue you!”

My chest rises and falls in deep bursts of anger. “Go ahead.” I pluck a champagne flute from a nearby tray and take a long, agonizing sip, and then I tilt the glass over Wyatt and pour the rest onto his head.

Without another word, I drop the glass onto him, and then walk away.

Our apartment in Hell’s Kitchen is tense tonight.

All of SFO is here. And I don’t know why.

I get why Farrow is here. He’s currently bandaging the cut on Eliot’s chin. I know why Thatcher is here. He’s Jane’s husband. Everyone else? They can f*ck off.

Our parents and the younger kids rented a penthouse in Upper Manhattan, so they’re all there with Moffy and Sulli’s kids. Moffy is noticeably missing, unable to part with his children. Banks is also gone and is with Seven.

But Akara, Sulli, Luna, Donnelly, Oscar, Quinn, Frog—even Jack?They’re all here.

I tug a hand through my hair. I just want ten f*cking minutes alone with Beckett and then I want to fall face first into my bed. But my cousins and security has chosen my apartment as their after party spot.

“What the f*ck even happened?” Sulli asks from the couch. She sits next to Beckett, who shares a carton of fries with her.

I study him for a bit. He looks mostly fine, but there’s an irritable edge to him. He’s either exhausted or annoyed this all happened in the first place. At his event. Where celebrities, philanthropists, and a sh*t ton of other important people were in attendance.

“The Rochester’s happened,” Tom mutters.

Sulli tenses.

Luna sits between Tom and Eliot, and she rubs Tom’s back. I may not show it often, but I do appreciate how well those three know each other. Like how Luna knows not to touch Eliot, who is too busy fuming to accept that kind of comfort.

“You got into a fight with a Rochester?” Luna asks Eliot.

Eliot sighs through his nose. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he f*cking deserved it.”

“Eliot,” Farrow says.

Eliot stops moving. “Sorry. Proceed.”

Farrow continues to clean his wound and then carefully sticks a butterfly bandage on his cut.

“Which brother was it exactly?” Sulli asks, tentative.

“Wesley and Wyatt,” Tom says.

Sulli’s eyes are wide. “You fought both of them?”

I roll my eyes.

“No,” Eliot says.

Farrow stands and heads over to the kitchen, where all of security gathers, away from my siblings and cousins—except for Jane, who joins security with her hands on her hips and her attention zeroed in on their conversation.

Farrow silently glances back at me once, and then turns to look away.

Weird.

“Wesley’s face met my fist, but Wyatt’s bloody nose is all because of this unforeseeable f*cker,” Eliot continues into a grin, gesturing to me.

“What did he do to you?” Luna asks me.

“Nothing.”

Her face pulls in confusion.

“Your professor was just being an ass,” I add.

“Ex-professor,” she corrects, holding up a finger.

“He’s always an ass,” Ben mutters. He sits on the floor with our niece, Maeve. She’s sitting on his lap, playing with his long fingers. Trying to eat them.

Why are babies always trying to eat something? Is she not being fed enough? Is she hungry?

“Must be genetic,” Tom muses, his lips lifting.

“Will wasn’t an ass,” Sulli informs us.

“You can’t defend your ex when you’re married. To two men, might I add,” I tell her hotly. I’d just f*cking hate it if Roxanne defended an ex in front of me.

She narrows her eyes at me. “I’m not defending him. I’m just saying.”

“Sure. However you want to justify it.”

“f*ck you, Charlie.”

I lazily hold my hands up in mock surrender, and then I flip my hands around and stoically offer her two middle fingers.

She rolls her eyes.

Farrow returns just as I drop my hands onto the arms of the armchair I sit in. He walks right up to me and holds out an ice pack. “For your hand.”

I blink for a long second. Slowly, I take it from him. “Thank you.”

He nods, his lips lifting, and then he goes back over to the kitchen.

Farrow and I aren’t friends. But he tries to be good to me for Moffy’s sake, I think. Could be fatal, could be whatever. Not my problem, though. It’s his funeral.

I place the ice pack on my knuckles just as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish out my phone and read the name on the screen, my lips instantly lifting.

Roxanne: How is everyone? Eliot? Beckett? You???

I text back with one hand.

Me: Fine. Beckett just looks tired.

Roxanne: Did you really have to hit him???

Me: He was being an asshole.

Roxanne: I’m sure he was, but you didn’t have to HIT him…

Roxanne: I hated it. And I especially hated it when you poured champagne on him.

I sit there for a moment, unable to respond. I never care what people think, but when opposing opinions come from Roxanne… it leaves an uneasy feeling in me.

Roxanne: Partly because it was rude. Mostly because I thought it was hot and had to rethink a lot of things about myself.

f*cking hell.

Me: Do you enjoy causing me pain, Roxanne?

Roxanne: Whatever do you mean???

Me: I thought you were mad at me.

Roxanne: I’m not mad at you, Charlie. You were just defending your brothers.

Me: Initially. But I hit Wyatt to defend no one.

Roxanne: What did he say to you?

Me: I’ll tell you in person.

Roxanne: Okay :)

Roxanne: On a scale of 1-10, how high is your pain level?

Me: A solid 4, Dr. Ruiz.

Roxanne: A SOLID 4??? I’m calling 911.

My lips lift into a grin. She’s so endearing.

Me: Please do. I’m seconds away from flat lining.

Roxanne: NOOO!! Not a Cobalt!!

“So what, I’m just supposed to let that asshole harass his little sister? In public?!” Eliot asks hotly. I glance up from my phone.

“She’s a Rochester,” Beckett argues like it’s obvious.

“She’s a human being,” Eliot refutes.

“A human being who terrorized our family and aired private information to the world.”

“She didn’t do that. Her family did.”

“And how do you know that?” Beckett asks, exasperated.

For a moment, I’m unsure if I want to lay out the news of Roxanne and I tonight when Beckett is this annoyed.

“I just do!” Eliot nearly shouts, standing up off the couch.

“You just do,” I flatly say.

His eyes flash at me. “I don’t know! But enemy or not, I’m not just going to stand by when someone clearly needs help.”

“I think it’s admirable,” Luna says into a nod.

“Brave,” Tom agrees.

Eliot’s shoulders relax. “Sensible people.” He gestures to his best friends.

Beckett doesn’t argue anymore. And I’m almost certain it’s because Luna is defending Eliot. She was personally affected by The Royal Leaks. Even though she doesn’t remember how it made her feel.

But I remember. And so does everyone in this room. Moffy, Thatcher, Jane, Farrow, Luna—they got it bad, and at one point, a Royal Leak even came out about me (a stupid one, might I add) (If they’re going to go to such lengths to bug the pets, they should’ve gotten something juicer than the fact I’m skilled at the piano). But Sulli got it worse. And that’s probably where Beckett’s flame fuels from.

Akara suddenly walks over to us, the rest of security in tow. “Security tried to deescalate the media attention, but a video or two already slipped onto the internet. The world is speculating that your family and the Rochester’s are at war,” which we are, “but more specifically, that it’s all because Eliot and Winnifred are together.”

Great. f*cking great.

Eliot falls back onto the couch and buries his face in his hands. “f*ck.”

“It’s just rumors. It can easily be handled,” Jack reassures him. He suddenly looks at me. “Speaking of rumors… uh… there’s some pictures of you at the event that’s circling beneath all the Eliot and Winnifred attention. With a girl?”

I tense. “What pictures?”

“Nothing bad.” Jack smiles reassuringly. “Just you two holding hands and stuff.”

I instantly relax. For a moment, I thought Suzanne Hill had bugged her dressing room with cameras.

I tug at my hair and slouch back onto the armchair. I look at Jane. She looks equally knowing and curious. I look at Beckett. Who is fully curious.

“People are spreading rumors about how she’s your girlfriend,” Jack continues. He opens his mouth to say more, but I cut him off.

“They’re not rumors. She is my girlfriend.”

The room tenses. Everyone freezes.

Ugh. Audrey’s gonna kill me.

Tom is the first one to speak. All he says is, “What the f*ck?”

“Rewind!” Eliot jumps to his feet. “How long have you had a girlfriend?!”

I rub my temples. “Three hours, give or take,” I grumble.

“Who is she?” Ben asks.

“She’s very beautiful,” Jane tells them.

Luna gasps. “Like out of this world beautiful?”

“Of course.” Jane grins.

“You met her?” Tom gawks.

“I saw her,” Jane corrects.

“Did you know?” Akara turns to look at Oscar, who leans against the arm of the couch.

Oscar just shrugs, plopping a chip into his mouth. “No idea what he’s talking about.”

My lips lift. Technically, it isn’t a lie. He knew I liked Roxanne. He just didn’t know the other part of it.

They continue to talk over each other as I pull out my phone. I quickly text Audrey.

Me: Pics came out tonight about a girl and I. I couldn’t tell you first, but I’m telling you now that she’s my girlfriend.

Audrey texts back immediately.

Audrey: WHAT???? 😱😱 CHARLIE!!!

A few seconds go by and she texts again.

Audrey: [photo attachment]

Audrey: Oh, she’s positively lovely, Charlie!!! 💖❤️😍😍✨

My lips lift at the image of us holding hands when I had been dragging her backstage. You can’t even see her face in it.

Me: I know :)

I look up at Beckett. He’s quiet, fingers to his chin and eyes on the floor. I frown.

“I can’t even imagine what kind of girl you’d date,” Sulli says, crewing on a fry. “Is she a bitch like you?”

I glare at her. “No. She’s kind and loving, and would never struggle to choose between me and another man.” A direct hit at her.

Sulli glares right back. “Never say never.”

“What’s her name?” Akara asks.

I shoot up to my feet, and my leg stings—not prepared for the sudden urgency.

I look at Beckett. He looks at me. “Beckett.” I co*ck my head toward my bedroom and leave without another word.

I drown out the conversation, the lingering questions thrown into the air, and the incessant talking. I open my bedroom door and slip inside, turning on a bedside lamp.

I sit on my bed and run my hands through my hair, my elbows on my knees. A second later, the door clicks shut and I look up to see Beckett standing there. He slowly walks over and sits beside me on the bed. Silent.

I don’t know what he’s thinking. And I usually always do. So it’s really f*cking unnerving.

My good leg bounces. I play with my fingers and stare at the painting on the wall.

I glance at Beckett. He stares at that same painting.

“What?” I finally say.

“I don’t know.” His voice comes out soft. Quiet. For some reason, it makes my heart hurt.

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know,” he groans into his hands. He runs his hands through his dark hair and keeps his hands on his neck. He glances over at me. “Do you love her?”

“Don’t… Don’t ask me that.”

His brows pull together. “Why?

“Because I don’t know.” An irritated tone rips out of me. Not irritation at him, but at me. He knows this.

He nods a few times, and then he sits up. “Is this the same girl from Lady Macbeth’s funeral?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

His knee bounces. “Her name?”

I brace myself for it as I come right out and say, “Roxanne Ruiz.”

Beckett freezes. He stares at me—eyes flashing in a whirlwind of emotions. Shock. Betrayal. Hurt. Anger. Confusion. Curiosity. Wonder. Protectiveness.

“Charlie.” He stands suddenly, pacing the room. “What the f*ck? What the f*ck?”

I stand too, almost panicked. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

He runs his hands down his pained face. “You—You promised me. You, of all people, broke a promise to me.” He points at his chest.

I flinch. My eyes burn. “Beckett.”

“Promises don’t mean sh*t if you break them. What if I broke a promise to you? What if I went back to cocaine?!”

I briefly shut my eyes, breathing heavily. I rub my hand over my chest. “Love.. is not the same as that.”

“C’est tout aussi toxique.” It’s just as toxic.

“Pas pour moi.” Not for me.

Beckett’s chest rises and falls—angry. He’s angry. He slides his feet back to my bed and slumps down onto it, burying his face in his hands. “I know,” he murmurs.

I pinch my eyes and join him on the bed.

I always say emotions are destructive. And while cocaine destroys the body, emotions are definitely capable of destroying the heart. The soul. So maybe they are more lethal after all.

“Please don’t make me choose between you and her,” I nearly whisper, my voice cracking. “Because I will choose you. And I can’t… I can’t bear to hurt her.”

Beckett shakes his head in his hands. He wipes his eyes a few times and lifts his head. “That’s not…” he sighs, his reddened eyes staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t want you to choose, Charlie. That’s sad*stic.” He looks at me finally, his brows pulling together. “When Luna and Donnelly got together, I was an ass. I was jealous and afraid that she was stealing him from me. And I felt so guilty after it.” He pauses for a bit, gathering his words. “I don’t want to feel that way again with you, but I’m also f*cking terrified.”

I tense, worried. “Why?”

“Because,” he deeply sighs—nearly groans. “There’s this deep insecurity that’s been building inside of me since high school. Where you’ll fall in love with some girl and she’ll steal you away from me.”

I’m shaking my head right away. “Did you not just hear me say I’d choose you over her?”

“It’s different. Or… I don’t know. Like she’ll come to family events and you’ll just be hanging out with her. And I can’t even hang out with Sulli either because of her husbands. So what the f*ck am I supposed to do? I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

I roll my eyes. “She’s your friend, Beckett. If anything, she’s going to choose you over me.”

Beckett scoffs into a lazy grin. “Right. Okay.” He pauses for a bit. “I’m not going to forbid you from seeing her or anything… I’m actually afraid you’d resent me forever if I did.”

“I wouldn’t,” I strongly tell him.

“Yes, you would,” he refutes. “At least, some part of you would. You’ve wanted love your entire life. What kind of person would I be if I took that away from you?” He shakes his head, staring off. “That would truly be the lowest I’ve ever stooped if I did that.”

A few beats of silence pass until I say, “I’m so sorry.”

“I know…” he murmurs. He falls back to lie on the bed, and I follow suit. We stare at the ceiling, on our backs. “That was really sh*tty of you, breaking that promise. And you’re gonna have to make it up to me somehow. But I get it. You didn’t have to give in. But if you didn’t, you may have spent the rest of your life wondering what could’ve been.”

I start to smile. I elbow his side. “That’s exactly what I’d been thinking.”

“When exactly were you thinking this? What exactly happened?”

“We bumped into each other in Italy. Literally.”

“Huh.”

“The realities of New York couldn’t touch us there…” I quietly say. “It was easy to get lost in one another with everything else so far away.”

Beckett’s quiet for a moment, and then he asks, “When you told me you didn’t like her, were you lying to me?”

“No,” I tell him honestly. “I didn’t know her then. But I know her now. And I like what I’ve learned.”

Beckett nods. He sighs. “You can’t hurt her. I’m serious, Charlie.”

“I swear to never intentionally hurt Roxanne Ruiz.” I draw an X over my heart.

Beckett’s lips lift. “Good. She’s soft.”

“I know.”

We’re silent for a long moment before Beckett says, “You know our siblings are going to 100% do to Roxanne the same thing we did for Jane and Thatcher, right?”

I just drape an arm over my face and groan.

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE — Roxanne Ruiz

The minute hand shifts to 10:30AM right when I stumble through the threshold of the Rose studios.

I’m cutting it late. Extremely late. Because I usually arrive thirty minutes before class begins, but I had missed my alarm, dropped my phone in the running sink trying to text and brush my teeth at the same time, and stubbed my toe in the kitchen trying to eat breakfast.

“Nice of you to join us, Roxanne,” one of the artistic staff says.

“Sorry.” I wince.

I hike my bag higher over my shoulder and find a spot at the barre in the back corner next to Beth Anne and Nicole. They’re currently wrapping their toes in paper towels when I drop my bag and sit beside them.

Beth Anne and Nicole whisper to one another as I get out my pointe shoes. I’m entirely too focused on prepping my feet that I don’t even notice how everyone in the room is whispering too.

I blink up and glance around. Eyes are on me. Some eyes abruptly turn away.

Confusion whirls in my head.

What’s going on?

It’s 10:31 when Beckett walks into the studio, all calm and graceful. Definitely not all panicked and rushed like I was.

His eyes meet mine from across the room. I lift a hand in greeting and smile.

Beckett blinks, hesitating on his feet. It confuses me. It confuses me even more when he turns away without acknowledging me any further.

My hand falls to my lap and my smile dies.

Rosie abandons his spot to come over to me. He sits right beside me on the floor and loosely wraps his arms around his knees. “Hey,” he says.

I offer him a light smile. “Hi.”

“You doing okay?”

I slowly nod. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Rosie raises a brow, confused. “Do you not know?”

“Know what?” I slip one of my feet into a shoe.

He looks at me like I’m crazy. It’s almost patronizing, actually. “Roxy… You’ve been trending online since like, nine.”

I freeze. “What?”

I’ve been off social media since before the Gala. With everything that happened last night and every clumsy thing that happened this morning, I haven’t had time to see anything.

“Pictures of you have been circulating since last night, but people finally found out your name this morning.”

My heart beats wildly in my chest, and my skin tingles uncomfortably. “What… What pictures?”

Nicole scoots closer to me and wraps an arm over my shoulders. She offers me a sympathetic smile and flashes me her phone screen. “Here.”

I weakly take her phone from her hand, my fingers shaking. My full name trends at #3, right below Charlie’s at #2, and #RoxanneRuizDie at #1…

What… the hell…

Pictures of Charlie and I holding hands in a variety of different angles floods the timeline. You can barely see my face in most of them, but people made the connection about who I am through the red carpet pictures I took with some corps members that was posted to the company’s Instagram. There’s an entire Twitter thread matching my dress and hairstyle to the photos of Charlie and I.

“Oh god,” I quietly breathe. It’s overwhelming. I don’t want to freak out about it.

I obsessively read some comments under the photos.

@callowayzrulz: Okay, but you have to admit they’d make a cute couple.

@Iluvcharliecobalt: she’s not even that hot ughhh #RoxanneRuizDie

@LionsTigers_andHales: Guys!! They’re probably just f*cking!!

@Iluvcharliecobalt: THAT DOESN’T MAKE IT ANY BETTER!

@WAC77Lover: When has Charlie ever been caught with a girl in public tho???

@Oslie4Ever: He could do SO much better than her ugly ass #Hope4Oslie

@charliezbiggestcrush: I’ve seen her dance before. She f*cking sucks. #RoxanneRuizDie

@LionsTigers_andHales: I’ve seen her dance too. She’s DOESN’T suck.

@Coballoway_Child: THEORY! She works as a ballerina at Beckett’s company, right? What better way to ensure her spot in the company than to date/screw his TWIN BROTHER?!?

@beckett_is_mine: So she slept her way to the top?? This is pure nepotism! This is sexpotism!! Disgusting. #RoxanneRuizDie

@moomoopants242: HER WHOLE FAMILY WORKS IN THE CIRCUS [link attachment]

@connorcobaltseyebrows: holy sh*t her dad’s hot

@GirlsinPink: Forget her dad, look at her cousins 😍😍

@AvengeMe17: CIRCUS FREAK!!!!! #RoxanneRuizDie

@CobaltsNeverDie: The poise and elegance of The Cobalt Empire would be completely tainted by a bunch of circus freaks! This cannot be happening…

@MarrowIsLife: idk. i stan.

@moomoopants242: Yeah, the Cobalt’s could be humbled every once in a while LOL

@CobaltTwinsStanAccount So… how do I become a NYCB ballerina?

@Charlie_Does_Me: BACK OFF CHARLIE, whor* #RoxanneRuizDie !!!!!!

I shut my eyes and inhale a deeper breath, handing the phone back to Nicole. I can do this. I can handle this.

Nothing is even confirmed and people are already wishing death upon me.

That’s not even the most alarming part of all of this. My chest pounds fast at the fact that they know about my family living and working at the Masquerade in Vegas. I have no real power to stop people from harassing them—or worse, hurting them.

They can hold their own. I know they can. My cousins can be intense. But it doesn’t stop me from worrying any more than I already am.

And when the world realizes that Charlie and I are a lot more than just a one night stand, I’m truly afraid of the lengths people will go to in order to keep us apart.

Beth Anne places a hand on my knee. “You okay?”

I weakly nod. “Fine.”

“Don’t listen to them,” she says. “They don’t know anything. You two were just talking, right?”

I place my elbows on my bent knees and cover my face with my palms. I just nod into my hands.

Charlie told me last night that he was going to tell Beckett about us after the event. I wonder if he upheld that promise. I wonder if that’s why Beckett can barely look at me. I wonder if they’re okay. With each other and with themselves.

“Charlie stans are so brutal,” Nicole winces, still scrolling through comments. “They’re really running with this whole sexpotism thing. This person wants to send letters to the company.”

Rosie reaches across me and snatches Nicole’s phone from her. “Enough. She doesn’t need to hear this sh*t.”

Nicole grabs her phone back. “I’m just informing her. Jesus, Rosie, chill out.”

“You can’t tell me to chill out when the entire world wants our friend dead. And Charlie gets no repercussions. It’s all f*cking bullsh*t.”

Charlie shouldn’t get punished. He did nothing wrong.

You did nothing wrong either.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight.

“It’ll pass,” Beth Anne reassures me.

No. No, it won’t.

After classes, we had rehearsal for Swan Lake for four hours before being dismissed to our two hour dinner break. When that’s over, we’ll get called to the theatre and perform our show tonight.

I’m not really… confident about it.

Because now that my face, my name, and my occupation has been blasted on the internet, I’m suddenly hyper aware of the idea that the people in the audience would have come to see me. And if I mess up…

I will truly die like the people want. Of embarrassment. I’d bury my own grave.

I walk through the halls of the Rose building, ready to go home. I plan to soak my feet in some water, eat nearly everything in my fridge, and avoid social media entirely.

I still haven’t even had the chance to read texts from anyone today. I didn’t get the chance to read anything before I dropped my phone in the sink, and had to prioritize other things. Like cleaning it. And ensuring it still worked.

I slow my steps toward the front doors, where beyond the glass, there are hundreds of screaming fans. For one miserable moment, I imagine that these people are here to see Beckett. But I know that’s not true. Because their screams grow when they see me, but these are not screams of adoration. These are screams of protesting. Of anger and hatred.

I take a single step back, my heart pounding.

“GO TO HELL, BITCH!”

“WE DON’T WANT YOU HERE!”

“GO BACK TO THE CIRCUS, FREAK!”

“GOLD DIGGER!”

“Hey.” A gentle hand touches my shoulder and I flinch, turning around.

Beckett.

He holds his hands up. “Sorry. It’s just me.”

I exhale a deep, shaky breath. I rub my tired eyes. Beckett just watches me, every so often sparing glances outside. “I made sure Lincoln Center security kept the doors locked. So leaving might be tricky,” he tells me.

“It would’ve been tricky even without the locked doors.”

“Yeah…”

“OH MY GOD, SHE KNOWS BECKETT!”

“TWO TIMING BITCH!”

Beckett glares at the crowd and tugs the strap of my bag. “Come on.”

“OH MY GOD!”

“HE TOUCHED HER!”

Once we’re out of view from the fans, I follow Beckett through the building toward the dressing rooms. We don’t speak. There’s not much to say, really. I’m trending online. The building is surrounded by fans. The impending doom of tonight’s performance lingers above our heads. It’s all known.

What I don’t know is where we’re going. But I quickly figure that out when I see Beckett’s bodyguard, O’Malley, standing outside Beckett’s dressing room door. That’s not what surprises me though.

What surprises me is that Oscar is also here.

“Oscar…” I swallow. “Hi.”

He nods once. “Hey, Roxy.”

Beckett opens the door to his dressing room and co*cks his head. “Roxy.”

He disappears inside, and I blink before slowly following him in. “Nice seeing you, O’Malley,” I call out over my shoulder.

O’Malley smiles sadly at me, nearly wincing. “Likewise.”

Beckett’s dressing room isn’t big and grand. It’s like everyone else’s, only it’s significantly neater. Vanity bulb lights illuminate the space and a couple chairs messily placed around take up the room.

Beckett straightens one and sits in another.

Charlie is pacing the length of the room. He stops when he sees us enter, his chest rising and falling beneath his button down, wrinkled and untucked from his slacks.

His eyes flash. “You haven’t been answering your phone,” he snaps.

“I…” My eyes widen. “I’ve been busy…”

He says nothing. He just takes two steps toward me and pulls me into his arms.

I stand there for a moment, frozen, and then Charlie whispers, “Are you okay?” and it completely thaws me.

My chest caves. I bury my face into his chest and slowly wrap my arms around his waist. “Not really,” I shakily admit.

I really want to be able to handle this. I’m a Ruiz. I’m a Kotova. I’m strong.

But at the same time… I’m scared, and hurt, and human.

Charlie pulls away and holds my shoulders. “What do you need?”

A wipe away a few stray tears. “Some food would be nice.”

“Way ahead of you.” He grabs my hand and tugs me deeper into the room, and at the feeling of his hands, I softly brush my thumb over his knuckles. They’re a little bruised. A little swollen. I frown at the sight.

Charlie urges me to sit in a chair and then hops up to sit on the vanity desk, digging through a brown paper bag.

Beckett sips a can of Fizz, his elbows on his knees, and stares between the both of us. “This is so weird.”

“Is it?” I ask, worried—serious. I don’t want Beckett to feel any emotion falling on the negative scale when it comes to Charlie and I.

“He’s being dramatic,” Charlie says, shooting his brother a look I can’t decipher.

Beckett smiles a little. “No, I’m not.”

Charlie hands me a takeout container.

“Thank you,” I quietly say. His lips lift.

He hands Beckett another one. They’re different shapes, different smells—different foods. Food gets passed around, containers get opened. Fries, pastries, pasta.

I open the container Charlie handed me. Pelmeni.

I start to smile.

I’ve only told Charlie I loved the Russian dish once back in Europe. I can’t believe he remembered.

Actually, I can. Because he’s Charlie. And for some reason, he cares about me.

He hands me a plastic fork. I share a coy smile with him as I take it.

“I’ve never seen you so…” Beckett gestures to his brother, “smitten.”

“Maybe there was never anything to be smitten about.” He steals one of Beckett’s fries.

I stab a dumpling and bring it to my mouth, hoping that chewing it will shield my smile. But eating pelmeni only reminds me of home, and that smile slowly starts to diminish.

“Roxy?” Beckett says, concern lining his face.

Charlie stares at me.

I swallow. They know where my family lives. They could buy tickets to their shows and harass them from the crowd. They could throw things on stage and disrupt their performances. Possibly injure one of them. They could find their hotel rooms. They could invade their privacy.

I blink long and hard, letting out a breath. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.” Charlie nudges my leg with his own.

“I’m thinking a lot.”

“Think out loud.”

“You first.”

Beckett chuckles.

Charlie rolls his eyes.

“Do you think they’ll cancel the performance tonight?” I ask Beckett to change the topic.

He leans back in his chair and thinks for a moment. “I doubt it. Your sudden fame will boost sales.”

“Or cause chaos,” I mutter.

Charlie holds his hand out for my dumplings, and I hand him the container. He eats a dumpling and I find myself entirely too focused on his reaction. Does he like it? Does he hate it? What even is his favorite food?

His lips lift as he chews, watching me watch him, and then he hands the pelmeni to Beckett, who takes it without pause.

“I really hate that you’re going through this, Roxy,” Beckett sighs.

I cross my legs and fiddle with my fingers. “It’ll be worse when it’s confirmed.”

“It’s already worse. Charlie’s fans are crazy.” Beckett bites into a dumpling and hums of satisfaction. “These are f*cking good.”

I start to smile. “Aren’t they? My uncle’s really good at making them from scratch.”

“Have you talked to your family yet?” Beckett asks. He eats another dumpling and hands the container back over to me.

“I haven’t been on my phone all day. I was already running late this morning when I dropped my phone in the sink—which, by the way! The staff didn’t even scold you when you showed up late!”

Beckett makes a what the f*ck face. “Did they scold you?”

“They made a comment.”

“What did they say?” Charlie’s eyes flash.

“Relax.” I place a hand on his knee. “It’s normal.”

“No, it’s not. Your ballet staff are assholes.”

Beckett nods like this is true. And I guess it kind of is. But what am I supposed to do about it?

“No use wallowing in the past,” I say. Quoting Charlie.

He shakes his head and digs through a smaller paper bag.

“Speaking of family,” Beckett clears his throat. “When are you going to come meet ours?”

Charlie tenses. I only notice it because my hand is still on my knee. I slip my hand off. “Um… I’m not sure.”

“Do mom and dad even know?” Beckett asks Charlie.

Charlie pulls a chocolate chip cookie out of the bag and splits it in half. He hands one half to me and the other to Beckett. “If not from the internet, then from any one of the people who were at our apartment last night.”

I take a bite out of the cookie. “What happened at your apartment last night?”

“He announced your relationship to everybody.” Beckett’s lips lift in a light smile.

My eyes widen and I look at Charlie who just rolls his eyes. But I catch the faintest hint of pink on his cheeks.

How endearing.

“What were their reactions?”

Beckett tilts his head and leans back in the chair. “Surprised. Disbelieving. Jane thinks you’re pretty.”

“I believe the exact words were very beautiful,” Charlie adds.

I shake my head into a smile.

I want to ask what Beckett thought about it, but I’m not entirely sure he’d admit it in front of Charlie and Charlie in front of him. That conversation, it was theirs and only theirs. And with the way he avoided my eyes this morning, I’ve already been assuming all day that he didn’t take the news very well anyway.

It only makes me wonder why he’s being so normal with me now. Does he pity me because of the fans outside? Is this dynamic truly okay with him?

I don’t want our love to burden him.

Our love…

…

Charlie pokes my temple with a finger. “You’re doing that thing again.”

I glance at Beckett, who blinks down at the Fizz can he fiddles with in his lap.

I stand up suddenly, placing the container of pelmeni on the vanity. “I need to take care of some things.”

Charlie stands too. “I’ll come with you.”

“No need.” I shake my head and start to walk to the door.

“Roxanne.” He huffs.

I hold my palm out to him, the other on the door handle. “Stay.”

He rolls his eyes. “Woof,” he deadpans. But at least he listens.

I laugh as I exit the dressing room into the hallway. Oscar and O’Malley immediately stop talking at the sight of me, and I offer them a light smile before walking further down the hall.

I pull out my phone, seeing the handful of texts from family group chats and missed phone calls. My cousins have been texting me nonstop. My parents, uncles, and aunts too.

Mom: Roxanne?? Call us when you have the chance.

Dad: Don’t worry about us. How are you??

Aunt Thora: Roxy, we’re worried!! Please call!!

Uncle Nikolai: Do you need us to call our lawyers?

Uncle John: f*ck everyone. Don’t listen to them.

Uncle: Timo: CALL ME!!!

Uncle Luka: Let us know if you’re okay, Roxy.

Aunt Baylee: We’re here for you, Roxy.

Aunt Katya: You’re a Ruiz AND a Kotova. You’ll show them!

A bunch of my aunts and uncles from both of my parent’s side texted me too. I simply text my parents back that I’m fine, knowing they’ll pass on the message to the rest of the family, and then I send a quick text to one of my closest cousins, Zoya. She’s one of the eldest of us and is usually at the center of us all. It’s a blessing and curse. There are a lot of us.

Me: Is everyone doing okay?

Zoya: Aside from the fact that everyone is freaking out about these rumors, everyone is fine. Are YOU okay???

Me: Never better. No crazy fans outside the hotel?

Zoya: Small groups. Nothing to worry about. Security won’t let them in.

Me: Be careful anyway.

Zoya: I always am.

Zoya: Is it true? What they’re saying?

Me: I didn’t sleep my way into the company, if that’s what you’re wondering.

Zoya: I wasn’t. Of course, I wasn’t. I’m talking about you and Charlie Cobalt dating.

Zoya: Is it true?

Zoya: Roxy??

I trust Zoya with my heart. It’s the only reason I reply with what I do.

Me: Yes. It’s true.

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO — Charlie Cobalt

The door shuts behind Roxanne and Beckett lets out a deep sigh.

“This is so weird,” he repeats.

I tug at my hair and sit in the chair Roxanne abandoned. “Which part? The fact that I’m dating your friend or the fact that she’s getting harassed because of it?”

He winces. “All of it?”

“I’m not choosing her over you. You just got a taste of this dynamic, and it’s fine. We’re fine.”

“You were just about to follow her out there.” He weakly gestures to the door.

“Because she needs someone, Beckett.”

“You just said everyone is fine.”

“I retract my statement. She’s not fine. But she’s doing one hell of a job pretending.”

Beckett runs a hand down his face, stressed. It’s contagious when it comes from him, as if his body leaks of agony and flows right into mine. “I’m trying to be okay with all of this, but it’s hard. And I hate that it’s hard.”

My skin prickles uncomfortably. “You shouldn’t have to change because of this.”

“That’s exactly what I should do, actually. Adapt, or… at least accept it.” He groans. “This is so f*cking weird.”

“So you’ve said,” I flatly say, leaning back in the chair.

“Because it is. I know how to be friends with you both separately. Together is just different. You two are so different.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” I fiddle with my ring, keeping my eyes down. “She makes my head quiet.”

Beckett softens like the aftermath of a storm. Calm waters and the ambiance of peace. He nods a few times, blinking away emotion—like he’s finally starting to understand it. Like those five words opened his mind a bit. “She’s the one then?”

Leaning my elbows on my knees, I run a hand through my messy hair and shrug. “I hope so.” So desperately. Now that I’ve had a taste of this aching passion, I can never just let it go. Days without Roxanne made me feel like death might’ve been a better option. I don’t want to go through that again.

I wouldn’t die for Roxanne. I would live for her.

Beckett starts to smile. It’s the first real one I’ve seen today.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deeper breath. “I’m happy for you then. I mean it.”

My chest aches as I stare at him. “Thank you.”

He dramatically sighs, clearing the grim mood. “It’s probably good that you ended up falling for one of my friends. I would’ve hated her otherwise, but it’s Roxanne. No one hates Roxanne.”

That makes me smile. I know Roxanne would’ve loved to hear it. “She’s doing okay here? Socially, I mean.”

He nods. “Yeah, she’s great. She’s friends with nearly everyone.” He pauses for a second. “The… staff, though…”

I’m suddenly glaring. “Are assholes,” I finish.

“Yeah.”

“I was thinking about doing something, but I wanted to run it by you first.”

He eyes me warily. “What?”

“All the staff who call her Bad Anne—I want them gone.”

Beckett’s face falls. “That’s nearly all of them.”

Frustration builds in me, and I groan, rising off my seat. “Then they’re all f*cking gone. I’ll make sure they all get f*cking fired.”

“Charlie.” Beckett stands too. “Be rational.”

I shoot him a look.

“If you get all the staff and masters fired, who is going to teach the choreography and assist rehearsals?” he continues, exasperated. “You have to think about how this will affect the company. The production. Think with your head, not your heart.”

I roll my eyes and lean against the desk. “I was going to find replacements and wait until after the production of Swan Lake.”

“Still. Some of these people have been working here for decades.”

“Maybe it’s time for their retirement,” I deadpan.

“Maybe they’re respected enough in the industry that people would fight for their guidance. Fight for them to stay,” he refutes.

“Or maybe they’re unprofessional considering how often they badmouth their dancers,” I snap. “Who’s side are you on?”

“My career’s side,” he calmly tells me, lowering onto his chair. “And Roxanne would be too. With her career. Yeah, the staff aren’t the greatest people in the world, but the dancers have a routine with them. If you took that away, it could disrupt everything. They don’t like change.”

“They or you?”

He shoots me a look—one that many have coined his what the f*ck face. “Ouch.”

“You seem like you’re projecting,” I bluntly tell him.

“So what if I am? I’m a dancer,” he gestures towards the door, “they’re dancers. We think the same things.”

“No one thinks the same things.”

“You know what I mean,” he sighs.

I tug up the sleeves of my button down. “Fine. I won’t get them fired.”

“Thank you,” he breathes.

“But I’m telling your director to get his staff in order or I will resort to getting them fired.”

“Charlie,” he groans. “You’re going to threaten him?”

“It’s not like it’s beneath me.” I grit out a smile.

He shakes his head a few times, staring off. “I know you want to make it easier for her here, but imagine if telling off our director makes things worse? Then the staff and the other dancers find out it’s because of you, and they’ll just give her a harder time.”

I breathe out my frustration. “Then what do you suggest I do?”

“I know it sounds impossible, but you have to leave it alone for now. Ballet means everything to Roxy and I.”

I pause for a second like I’m thinking, and then I say, “You’re right. That is impossible.”

I want to try for their sake, but I can also barely withstand picking up the pieces of Roxanne’s heart, crushed by her company staff. Not because I’m incapable of it, but because it physically pains me too. Her pain is my pain, and I’m sick of allowing this pain to seep into this thing she loves with her whole being.

These rude words, the staff’s doubt—it taints her love for ballet. And that fuels me with rage. With sorrow.

She’s not supposed to be thinking about all these negative things when it comes to something she loves. I want to take all the bad things away. I want to ensure her love remains pure.

Beckett sighs like he’s finally conceding. “At least wait until after Swan Lake concludes.”

“Sure,” I say halfheartedly.

Beckett’s phone starts to ring, and he grabs it off the surface of the desk. “It’s Eliot,” he tells me before picking up the FaceTime call. “Hey.”

“Brother. Is Charlie with you?”

Beckett rotates until his front camera shows the both of us. “Present.”

Eliot only shows his face, his brown, wavy hair styled perfectly. But the camera is closer to himself than usual. And I know he likes to look at himself and all, but it just makes me suspicious now.

“Tell me it isn’t so,” Eliot says, eyes wide. “Are you truly dating the tiny ballerina?”

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. I say nothing.

“And he won’t even admit it,” Eliot dramatically sighs. “The horror. Poor Roxanne.”

“Maybe he’s shy about it,” we hear Ben say off camera.

I roll my eyes. That is so far off.

“You’ve met her?” Ben adds, asking Eliot.

“At Tom’s birthday, yes.”

“What was she doing at Tom’s birthday?”

“What we were all doing, little brother. Celebrating.”

“Well, obviously, but I didn’t know you guys were friends with Beckett’s ballet people.”

“They’re cool people,” Tom says. Also off camera.

“And Roxanne is too?” Ben wonders.

“She is,” Tom confirms. “Bubbly. Kind. Definitely someone you wouldn’t expect to be Charlie’s type.”

“But we love a surprise!” Eliot declares.

“Hang up,” I tell Beckett.

“Let’s hear them out,” Beckett says. “Do you guys need something?”

“Confirmation would be nice,” Tom says.

Beckett looks back at me and we share a look. Like he’s silently asking for permission to speak about Roxanne on my behalf, knowing that I won’t.

Although she isn’t publicly confirmed to be my girlfriend, she is trending for even being seen with me. My brothers would have made the connection sooner or later. It’s the only reason I nod to Beckett.

He turns back to the camera. “Him and Roxanne are together.”

Eliot grins. “You hear that, brothers? One of us have finally risen above.”

“Dude, don’t talk about him like he’s a god. You’ll inflate his ego,” Tom teases.

“Perhaps finding love in a world like ours is worthy of that.” Eliot leans his phone against something, leaving his hands free. “Toutes nos félicitations.” He begins to clap.

I mask my grimace with a glare. “Seriously. Hang up.”

“Don’t!” Tom steals Eliot’s phone and angles the camera toward his face. Unlike Eliot, his golden-brown hair is messier, like he’s been running his hands through it for the past hour. “Charlie. Out of curiosity, what is Roxanne’s least favorite food?”

The question is random. It comes from a place of mischief and devilry. And I know—they’re currently making the cards.

“Pelmeni,” I say dryly.

Tom shares a look with Ben and Eliot off camera, gauging if I’m telling the truth or not. He decides I’m not when he shakes his head and says, “Forget about the least favorite. Does she like spicy food?”

“Yes.”

“Write no,” Tom tells one of our brothers.

I let out a frustrated breath.

Beckett tries not to smile. “Anything else?” he asks our brothers.

“Everything else remains untold until further notice,” Eliot says. “But Roxlie’s fate awaits our appraisal.”

Beckett’s face scrunches. “Roxlie?”

“It’s their ship name,” Tom says like it’s obvious. “Luna made it up.”

Of course she did.

“And it’s a great ship name,” Eliot says. “Wouldn’t you agree, Ben?”

“It’s nice,” he simply says.

“It is,” Eliot agrees. “Alright,” he grabs his phone back, “we’ll leave you now. The impending doom awaits. And Charlie, you can’t run off and hide in different countries.”

“I can try,” I deadpan.

“We will find you,” he throws back. “This is crucial. It was crucial for Jane, it is crucial for you.”

Beckett nods like this is true. Even though he already knows Roxanne. “What?” he says when I shoot him a look. “The games don’t apply to you or something?” he jokes. “They’ll apply to everyone else when they get serious significant others.”

“Unless Roxanne isn’t serious.” I can practically hear the way Tom grins.

“Fine,” I snap. “Make the damn game. But we play it in Philly.” I don’t want Jane and Audrey to travel too far for something like this.

“Fine with me,” Eliot grins. “Farewell, brothers.”

Beckett smiles. “See you.”

Eliot hangs up first, and Beckett puts his phone back on the desk.

He looks back at me like he’s actually excited about this. That look on his face, it’s the only reason I even contemplatetrying to be excited for it too.

Because I would absolutely dread it otherwise.

Hm. How hypocritical of me.

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE — Roxanne Ruiz

I’ve never wished for a performance to be canceled, and I won’t start now.

I lean the back of my head against the wall and flutter my eyes shut.

People can think what they want to think about me. So long as I know my truth, everything should be fine. Right? Is that naive of me to think? Is being with Charlie going to affect me in a way I never even knew possible?

I always thought I would be able to handle the mean words, but the subtle ache in my chest says otherwise.

“I need to talk to you.” Despite his hard tone, Charlie slides a gentle hand around my waist and settles his palm on the small of my back.

I open my eyes. He stands right in front of me, towering over me. Unafraid. Unflinching. Maybe not 100% brave, but confident nonetheless.

I lift my chin and square my shoulders. I can handle this.

He slips his fingers beneath my shirt, his warm hand meeting my skin. “We can walk you to the theater, but there’s a lot of risks.” Like the confirmation of us to the world. A rumor becoming reality. Harsher words. An explosion of stronger opposition.

His other hand slips underneath my shirt, and he soothes my skin at my hips and lower back tenderly. It makes me melt against him, letting out a deeper breath. “Whatever you want,” he adds.

I fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. Some of them are in the wrong holes, like he couldn’t have been bothered to do it correctly. And I guess that’s just a perfect example of who Charlie is, anyway. A nonconformist at heart.

But why am I thinking about that right now? Charlie knows how to distract me without even trying.

I instinctively fix his buttons. “Normally I would choose the safer option, but cowering from the world also seems like… I don’t know. It would just suck.”

“You should follow your head instead of your heart.”

“But what if they’re synced?” I look up at him.

“Then they’re synced,” he says. “What are they telling you?”

My shoulders meet the wall. “That I would rather have you with the repercussions than to not have you at all.”

One of his hands abandon my waist to rub his chest. Over his heart. Like maybe he wants to get rid of the ache within. ”Okay,” he breathes. “We’ll walk there. Ensemble.”

Together. I nod.

Charlie buries a hand into the curls that fall past my shoulders, tilts my head back, and kisses me. Slow and deliberate, and yet still so hungry and eager.

I breathe him in, wanting more of him as I push my body against his. He mouth moves against mine in a deeper kiss, unamused by the push and pull, and he just presses his body deeper against mine so I’m flushed against the wall.

God. The weight and pressure of his body against mine feels insane. I’ve always dreamed of this mind-numbing passion, but I never thought it would feel like this. My stomach dropping, my heart pounding, my skin heating, my head going all fuzzy. Like every thought in my head just floods out of me.

Charlie nips my lip at about the same time he wedges his leg between my thighs and nudges it higher against my heat.

Oh my… f*ck.

I gasp. “Charlie.”

“What?” He smirks against my lips and presses harder against me.

I bite down a moan and push at his chest. His brother is around the corner. Their bodyguards too. They’re giving us “space” but I don’t doubt they can still hear us.

“I like privacy,” I whisper, our faces still inches apart.

He makes a show of pulling away and glancing both ways down the hallway. “Looks pretty private to me.”

I pull him to me and kiss his jaw. “I want you in a bed.”

His eyes heat into a glare—one of pent up lust—and I just smile innocently.

The scruff of footsteps on the polished floors echo around the corner. “Charlie. Roxy. You guys ready?” Beckett’s voice calls out to us.

“Almost,” Charlie says. He takes a single step away from me and grabs my hand, sliding the hairband off my wrist.

Beckett and the two bodyguards round the corner just in time to see Charlie gather my hair in his hands and bunch my curls into a messy bun on my head. He secures it all with the hairband and then steps back to assess his work.

He nods once and looks at Beckett, who blinks back into reality. “Ready.”

I flush under their gazes. While Oscar looks amused and Beckett looking like he just stepped into an alternate universe, O’Malley does a really bad job of shielding his shock. Like seeing Charlie do something kind is the most bizarre thing in the world.

I kind of hate it.

I don’t question why Charlie tied back my hair. I already know why. I’ve listened to my mom and aunts rage about the crowds that swarm his family. I know Charlie’s mom once had her hair get caught in a crowd of fans and paparazzi. She had to yank out her hair to keep Jane safe. My mom still cries hearing that story.

So I get it.

I tuck some loose curls behind my ear. I notice right then that Beckett is carrying my ballet bag over one shoulder, his other shoulder carrying his own. I reach out for it. “I can take that.”

“I got it,” he says seriously. “I don’t want to give them more things to tug on, you know?”

“Oh.” My hand falls limp at my side. “Okay… Thank you.”

Beckett smiles and shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

We begin to walk through the hallways toward the front doors. Charlie leaves my side to exchange a few whispered words with Oscar ahead of us. Beckett walks beside me, and O’Malley trails behind us.

I think a part of me had wished that things wouldn’t change between me and Beckett once Charlie and I started seeing each other, but things inevitably has. We can smile and talk about things like we used to, but there’s still this tension in the air that I can’t pinpoint.

I feel like I have to tiptoe around Beckett. I care more about upsetting him than any of their other family.

Beckett was my friend before Charlie was. I want to exist with the both of them, but I don’t really know how to, and a large part of that is because I get the feeling that Beckett doesn’t know how to either.

The whole walk to the front doors is awkward. At least it is for me. I’m nervous to step outside. I’m scared to. I keep fiddling with my fingers and adjusting my clothes even though they’re fine. I don’t care about making a good impression for the cameras. I just don’t want to draw too much attention and taint their image.

It doesn’t matter if they don’t care about their image. I care about their image. Because I know it could lead to ugly stuff. I’ve seen it happen to their family before.

People are so cruel.

“You can still change your mind,” Beckett tells me, even though we’re already in view of the glass doors. Fans see all of us together and start to scream. Flashes from paparazzi go off in quick succession, and I instinctively shield my eyes. “We can create a diversion so you can cross the plaza unnoticed.”

“I…” I rub my arms sheepishly. “I don’t want to be alone,” I admit.

I would rather have the security of Oscar and O’Malley nearby than to walk to the Koch Theater with no one. I glance over at them. Oscar and O’Malley whisper to one another.

Beckett nods, understanding. “Alright. It’s like a… three minute walk at most, anyway.”

“Two, if we walk fast,” I add.

We share a smile.

“Beckett,” O’Malley calls, co*cking his head toward the doors. “Let’s go.”

Beckett nods and steps toward the doors. When I don’t follow, he turns and says, “Come on.”

I inhale a deeper breath and follow him toward his bodyguard.

Charlie and Oscar stand at the doors, and Charlie glares at the people on the other side of it. He sees me approach from the corner of his eye, and without breaking his glare, he reaches back and grabs my hand.

“OH MY GOD, THEY’RE HOLDING HANDS!”

My next breath comes out shaky.

Charlie turns back and says, “Don’t let go.”

I weakly nod.

Oscar stands in front of Charlie and opens one of the doors. The people step back only to let us outside, and once we do, they encroach our space again.

“ROXANNE! LOOK HERE!”

“CHARLIE, CHARLIE! LOOK HERE, CHARLIE! ARE YOU DATING ROXANNE?!”

“HOMEWRECKER!” someone screams.

I try to keep up with Charlie’s quick pace and practically glue myself to his back.

Hands reach out to touch my arms, to tug on my shirt, but they lose their grip as we walk.

“STAY AWAY FROM OSLIE!”

“CHARLIE, PLEASE f*ck ME!”

“whor*!”

My heart beats wildly in my chest, and my breaths come out choppy.

I trip on my feet and nearly fall to my knees, but a hand reaches out from behind to stabilize me.

O’Malley’s hand leaves my arm just as fast. I don’t have time to thank him with all the chaos. I’ll thank him later.

But I risk a glance behind me to check on Beckett. He’s safe with O’Malley as they maneuver through the crowd. Professionals. They’re all professionals when it comes to this kind of life. They were born into it.

I shut my eyes for a long moment and then snap them open as more questions come hurdling at us.

“ROXLIE, WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE SEX POSITION?!”

We haven’t had sex.

“ROXANNE, ARE YOU DATING BOTH OF THE COBALT TWINS?!”

Absolutely not.

“ROXANNE, WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT CONNOR AND ROSE’S SEX TAPES?”

It was horrible, what they went through.

“ROXANNE, IS IT TRUE YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH CHARLIE TO SECURE YOUR SPOT IN THE COMPANY BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH ON YOUR OWN?!”

Okay, ouch. That one hit a nerve.

Charlie stops in his tracks and whirls around at the paparazzi who screamed that question. “What did you say? f*cking repeat it.”

I gape at Charlie.

The man has the audacity to actually repeat the question. Word for word.

Oscar grabs a fistful of Charlie’s shirt to stop him, but it’s too late. Charlie grabs the lens of his camera and shoves it back into his face. It rams into his nose and he falls back into a crowd that gasps.

“f*ck you,” Charlie sneers before tugging me to walk in front of him this time.

When we finally breach the doors of the Koch Theater, Beckett waits until we’re backstage before he exhales a tense breath and tells his brother, “It’s like you’re actively trying to collect lawsuits.”

“We can afford it,” Charlie plainly says. Almost like he’s bored.

But I’m not bored. I’m not anything but mildly freaked out. My heart is beating so incredibly fast like I’m on an adrenaline high that I want to disappear.

I untangle my hand from Charlie’s and pull out a foldable chair, sinking down onto it and ignoring the other dancers and staff nearby.

“Roxanne.” Charlie’s voice softens considerably as I place my palms on my cheeks and inhale deeper breaths to calm my heart. He crouches down in front of me and places a hand on my knee, the other grabbing my wrist to pull my hand away from my face.

“I’m okay,” I reassure him. The crowd was fine. Okay, it wasn’t fine, but I handled it fine. I’m more worried about Charlie, if anything. “He could press charges. Criminal charges,” I whisper into a pained frown.

Charlie stares at me for a long moment. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“What else would I be worried about?”

“Literally anything else.”

I rub my aching chest instinctively. “I don’t want to lose you.” Not to broken promises, or misunderstandings, or criminal charges.

He gently rubs my wrist with his thumb. “You won’t.” His lips tip up, seeing me so agonized over this. “We have great lawyers.”

“You have to stop hurting people,” I beg.

Charlie bites down, clenching his jaw, almost like he’s stopping himself from disagreeing with me. He takes a long moment to respond, but he finally says, “I’ll try.” And all I can do is weakly nod.

He grabs my hands and stands with me, and as he does, he lets out a deeper breath—something like a wince rooted in deep frustration.

“What?” I quickly scan his face, then his body. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he grits out.

“Liar.”

He stares at me for a moment. Actually, he’s kind of glaring. “It’s just my leg.”

“Your leg…” I knew he injured it a while ago from the car crash. It was all that aired on national news for weeks. I didn’t, however, know that it still bothered him to this day. I wonder if I would’ve known had I kept up with his family on the internet. For some reason, I suddenly feel sort of bad that I haven’t.

“It’s not a big deal,” he tells me.

I choose to believe him. “Okay.” I nod.

He blinks a bit, like he didn’t expect me to not push. I care about him. I do. But if he wants to carry his ordeal with his leg all on his own, I’ll let him. He probably won’t ask me to help him ever. But I’ll always be here for him despite that.

“Roxy, you ready? Curtains in an hour,” Beckett calls out.

I turn around. Beckett leans against a nearby wall, still carrying our bags. He was probably watching the whole thing. I blush thinking about it.

“Yeah.” I step away from Charlie and immediately loathe the distance. But I have to get dressed and do my makeup before the show. A show that I’m extremely nervous about. I turn back to Charlie and lightly smile at him. He looks so.. wow. “See you after the show.”

Before I can fully walk away, Charlie tugs my hand and steals one last kiss from me. I melt into it. He pulls away slowly and says to me, “You dance beautifully. You always will.”

My heart sings. “I know,” I say softly. Believing it. And that’s the best part.

His lips lift. He says a couple words in French that I don’t know, and then he takes a step back. Letting me go.

I’m still smiling when I approach Beckett. He hands me my bag and I slip it over my shoulder as we walk deeper backstage.

“You know French?” Beckett causally asks me.

“He tries to teach me, but I don’t know much,” I admit. “Do you know what he said back there?”

Beckett smooths down his smile. “He quoted Shakespeare. Though she be but little, she is fierce.” He laughs a little. “I think he’s right.”

A smile edges on my lips.

I hope he is.

Chapter 24

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR — Roxanne Ruiz

A few days after technically going public, I’ve had to resort to disguises and sneaking in and out of the rehearsal studios and the theater to avoid crowds and paparazzi.

I try not to stick around Beckett like glue, mostly because I don’t want to burden O’Malley with protecting two people instead of just one. I already thanked him for catching me when I tripped the other day and he said not to worry about it. But I’m not his client. Beckett is. And he needs to focus on Beckett. Not his client’s clumsy friend.

Some days are easier than others. Avoiding crowds work most of the time. Sometimes I get stopped, and cameras and microphones get shoved in my face. Not that I indulge in their absurd questions in the first place.

And since I take buses around New York, sometimes I’m followed all the way home. If not because of that, then it’s because of the internet that people have found out where I live.

My landlord must hate me considering how much hate mail I receive.

That’s the only thing that gets past the front door though. You need to be buzzed in in order to be let into the building, and everyday I pray that none of my neighbors buzz up my next hater.

I’ve also been receiving texts from unknown numbers. Most of them are stupid. Some ask for sex. Some slu*t shame me for the sexpotism rumors and the speculation that I’m sleeping with both Charlie and Beckett. Some spam me with angry faced emojis. Some write paragraphs about how Charlie would never, ever love me because they seemingly know him so well.

None of them have really affected me. I just block them with a sigh.

But that was before one person in particular began to text me.

I don’t know who they are. But their messages are a lot more alarming than the others. They hit a sore spot in me that I just couldn’t ignore.

They threaten me to stay away from Charlie and his family or else they’re going to hurt mine. They explain in horrid, graphic detail what they’re going to do to my cousins, my aunts, my uncles—by which they name them all by their full names. They add to their credibly by sending me some of my cousin’s addresses. Sometimes they send pictures in the Masquerade. All followed by the threat of “if you tell anyone about this, they’re all dead.”

Naturally, I called my mom right away.

I told her to spread the word quietly. I didn’t want this getting out to the media, but I wanted my family to remain vigilant. They’re all loyal to a core. That’s the whole depth of the Kotova’s and Ruiz’s. Love. Family. We protect each other. It’s what we do.

My mom wanted to fly out to New York to be with me, but I said no. At least not yet. If this stalker finds out she’s traveling, I’m afraid they’ll think it’s because of them. And then they could hurt her.

The people of this world are capable of cruel things when it comes to their greed. They want me to stay away from Charlie, and they’ll do just about anything to achieve that.

I stare at the newest text message from this morning from the one unknown number I just can’t seem to block. It’s my day off, and I’ve been holed up in my apartment all day. And for good reason too.

Unknown: Guess where I am? [photo attachment]

I haven’t answered any of their text messages since I started receiving them. I’m almost tempted to answer this one, though.

Because they had sent a photo of the outside of my apartment building.

I want to beg them to leave me alone. I want to beg them to understand that love between two human beings is not deserving of all of this. I want to ask them who they are, even though I know they would never tell.

I’m afraid. I’m so afraid.

My building’s intercom suddenly buzzes, like someone is at the front door for me. And I think, oh my god, they found out my apartment number.

I’m breathing wildly when I lock myself in my bathroom and slide down onto the floor against the bathroom door, clutching my phone to my chest and resting my forehead on my knees.

The buzzing continues behind the locked door and I screw my eyes shut.

Go away, go away, go away.

Please, please, please.

I don’t know how long it goes on before it finally stops. Silence engulfs the air for a long moment, and then the shrilling sound of my phone ringing startles me so much that I bang the back of my head against the door.

“f*ck,” I hiss, clutching my head.

I glance down at my phone in my other hand, clutched to death in my grip.

Charlie.

I pick up and hold the phone to my ear. “Hi.”

No, I haven’t told him about any of it. The people who follow me home, the journalists who stop me in the streets, the hate mail I throw out every day, and the threatening text messages.

I will eventually. There’s just never been a right time. I might break down if I spill it all to him. And I just don’t really feel like that’s fair considering his family goes through much worse.

I don’t know.

“Where are you?” he asks.

“Home.”

“Is there a reason you’re not answering your intercom?”

I’m silent for a long moment, just staring at my shower curtain. “That was you?”

“Yes, it was me. Are you going to let me in?”

Another beat of silence passes. “Can we FaceTime?”

“Roxanne.” He’s losing his patience.

I shut my eyes. “Please.”

He lets out a sigh. “Fine.”

It’s not long before the screen shifts to Charlie’s contact wanting to FaceTime with me. I answer right away, and sure enough, he is standing outside my apartment building. He makes a show of panning the camera all around him so I’ll know it’s truly him who rang.

He raises a brow as if saying see? and I scramble to stand and unlock my bathroom door.

His eyes narrow at the camera as I go over to my front door and buzz him in. “Were you sitting on your bathroom floor?” I hear the front door click open, and through the phone, can hear two sets of footsteps echoing in the stairwell as they walk upstairs.

“Maybe. What, you’ve never sat on your bathroom floor?”

“When I’m high, maybe,” he plainly says. “I’m outside your door.” And then he hangs up. Just like that.

Curt. To the point.

Well. That’s my Charlie for you.

I peek through the peephole, and sure enough, Charlie and Oscar are on the other side.

I open the door and my eyes immediately travel down the length of Charlie Cobalt. He’s in black slacks, the first few buttons of his button-down undone with a pair of sunglasses hanging on the collar, even despite the fact that the sun is close to setting. He has his suit jacket thrown over his shoulder as he goes through the same act of checking me out, only I’m in sweatpants of all things.

He doesn’t seem to mind. He never does.

“You’re all dressed up,” I point out. He dresses like that all the time, so it’s not very surprising. But the blazer throws me off. So does the fancy watch.

And his other hand is mysteriously behind his back.

He steps into my apartment and leans down to kiss me. Just once. “Because we’re going on a date.” He reveals what’s in his other hand and holds it right in front of me.

A bouquet of pink roses and baby breaths.

All the tension in my body just completely melts.

“Charlie,” I say into a breathy whisper, gently taking the flowers from him. They’re beautiful. I start to smile. So wide. My heart beats annoyingly fast as I look up at him and wrap my arms around his neck, kissing his cheek, then his lips. I start to chuckle through our kiss. “You’re so cute,” I say fondly. “Thank you. I love them.”

His fingers slip beneath the hem of my thin strapped tank top at my waist. He likes to do that. “Does this mean you’ll indulge in this date?” he softly asks. Smiling.

I kiss him again. I just can’t help it. “Of course,” I grin against his lips. But then I pull away completely as a sudden realization hits me. “I’m not even…” I trail off as I look down at my outfit.

“I’ll wait. I can be a very patient person.”

“Right. Like you were so very patient downstairs?”

He lightheartedly rolls his eyes and side steps me to walk further into my apartment.

I let him go and smile at Oscar. “Hi, Oscar.”

He’s leaning against the stairwell banister across the hall, smiling. “Hi, Roxy.”

“Come in.”

Oscar glances around. “I—”

“Please,” I nearly beg. I hate it when Oscar waits in the hallway. Yes, sometimes Charlie and I want privacy, but today is different. Way different.

Oscar glances over my shoulder, probably sharing a look with Charlie, and then finally concedes. “Fine. But I’m raiding your fridge,” he jokes.

I’m grinning as I shut the door behind him. “I would expect nothing less.”

True to his word, Oscar does actually help himself to my stash of snacks as I head over to my closet and appraise the variety of cool colored clothes neatly hung and folded. For a moment, I just stand there in front of my closet, smiling at the flowers in my hand and delicately brushing my fingers over the rose pedals.

I’ve never received flowers from a boy before. Not unless 2nd grade counts and the flowers were weeds pulled out from the grass.

Is it weird that I might start crying?

I look over my shoulder at Charlie, who leans against the arm of the couch, watching me. As if I’m more entertaining than anything else.

“Where are we going?” I ask him. I want to be prepared with the right attire. But I think no matter where we go, I’ll both enjoy it and dress up regardless.

If there’s one thing I love as much as ballet, it’s getting to dress up all pretty.

“It’s a surprise.” He busies himself by grabbing the journal I’d thrown on the couch cushions earlier. “Why do you think I didn’t tell you I was coming?” He flips through the pages quickly, but starts to slow down once he realizes the pages are filled with my handwriting.

I hurriedly and gently place the bouquet on my bed, and rush up to him and slam the book shut. “About that. You have to text me next time or something. Give me a heads up.”

He stares at me for a long moment. Actually, it’s more like he’s staring into me. He does that a lot. Read people. And he’s really good at it.

It’s a blessing and a curse. On my part, at least.

He doesn’t let go of the book as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say right away.

“Liar,” he practically whispers, narrowing his eyes.

“I’ll tell you after the date.”

He faintly shakes his head. “Tell me now.”

“I don’t want to ruin it.”

He lets out a sigh through his nose. “You won’t ruin anything.”

I bite down on my teeth as our eyes remain glued to one another. I know I’m being stubborn right now, and I know that he really hates it. But if I tell him now, I worry that he’ll just spend the rest of the night worrying too.

“If I tell you, you have to promise me something.”

Without pause, Charlie immediately says, “We’ll see.”

I shift on my feet and hold in a sigh. “You shouldn’t have to obsess over it tonight. I want you to enjoy whatever you planned. I want you to live in the moment…” I bite my bottom lip. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t exist, but can you at least do that for me?”

“It depends on what you’re about to tell me,” he says seriously.

I expected as much, so I just come right out and say, “I think I have a stalker.”

The muscles in his jaw twitch. “You think?”

“I know?”

“Tell me.”

I slowly dig my phone out of the pocket of my sweatpants. “Here.” I hand it to him unlocked. “It’s not a big deal,” I say quickly.

Charlie says nothing as he scrolls through the long text thread. But at least he abandons my diary, and I slickly slide it out of his grasp. Whether it goes unnoticed by him is to be determined, but knowing Charlie, it probably didn’t. He will definitely come back to it later.

I walk over to my bed and place the diary on the nightstand. “They’re probably all empty threats. I mean… they wouldn’t be the first. It’s not like they’ve done anything yet.” I’m rambling. At this point, I don’t know if I’m trying to convince Charlie or myself.

Without a word, Charlie lifts his head and looks at Oscar. They exchange a silent look, and Oscar walks over and takes my phone from Charlie’s outstretched hand.

I start to panic. “Really. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

I start to walk toward them, aimed for my phone. “You don’t have to—”

Charlie stands and blocks my path. “Roxanne.” His tone is hard. Finalized. He places gentle hands on my waist and forces me to take a physical step back. “You don’t have to feel guilty for utilizing my family’s resources. You think Beckett doesn’t notice how you actively avoid his bodyguard? Just let me help you,” he practically begs.

My chest beats faster. “If they find out security knows, they could hurt my family.”

“Not if security finds out who this person is first.”

I start to shake my head. “They know where my family lives. Where they work. They know nearly all of their names. I don’t want to risk anything.”

“All of that information is accessible through the internet, Roxanne.”

“But they send photos of themselves in the Masquerade. Outside my apartment.” I start to breathe heavier, and Charlie holds my face in his hands.

“So let us put an end to it.” The expression on his face is so anguished. So desperate. I nearly cave right there, but I’m scared. And so I say nothing. Charlie sighs. “We should cancel tonight.”

“No.”

“Roxanne—”

“You promised.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Charlie.”

He stares up at the ceiling and groans. “Fine. Go get ready.”

I linger for a moment as Charlie goes back over to Oscar and shares a couple hushed words with him. “Please don’t tell your lead yet,” I tell Oscar. His head lifts. “Just… let me think about it. I know Charlie is your client, but this is my family on the line.”

Oscar blinks into eyes that soften. But before he can say anything, Charlie says, “They could hurt you too.”

I know. I’ve known that ever since they landed in New York and sent me a photo of my apartment building. But I’m not that worried about myself, even though I should be. My family comes first.

“I’ll be fine,” I say.

And I try to believe it.

The second we get in the backseat of the car—with tinted windows and a partition separating the rear of the car from the front—Charlie corners me against the door and kisses the living hell out of me.

I meet his kiss with just as much hunger, clutching the lapels of his jacket and tugging him closer to me. He’d been unable to take his eyes off me the moment I stepped out of the bathroom in the backless dress I’d thrown on—white and long with thin straps and intricate gold designs running down the length of it.

His gaze makes me feel like I could very well erupt in flames.

He looks at me like I’m the most beautiful creation in the world. I hope I look at him the same. Because I sure think it a lot.

Charlie groans against my lips, “I’m so obsessed with you.”

Oh, god. My heart is humming his name. Over and over again, it just sighs, “Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.”

He kisses down my jaw and buries his face in my neck, sucking, licking—all the while he slips a hand under my dress and slides his palm along my thigh, traveling dangerously close to my panties.

“Charlie,” I whimper just as his fingers brush the spot between my legs. I clutch his hair in my hand as I breathe out, “How long is the drive?”

“Long enough to make you come,” he rasps against my neck, and then he bites down on my skin and licks it after, and a pleased moan slips passed my lips.

My entire body trembles as he comes back up, his lips hovering just over my own. Our eyes don’t break from each other as he rubs me over my panties. His breath deepens, feeling how soaked I am. My lips part in arousal; my brows draw together for the same reason.

He already makes me feel like this, and he’s not even inside me. I’m burning, shaking—my stomach has dropped and my body hums with this aching need.

I clutch his arm as he presses deeper against my cl*t, a strangled whine leaving me. He slowly rubs me a few more times before he’s shoving my panties to the side and coating his fingers in my arousal.

“f*ck,” I pant, throwing my head back against the seat.

Charlie uses his other hand to grab my face, and just as he sinks two fingers into me, he roughly covers my mouth with his own.

Our kiss is needy. Selfish, almost. He pumps his fingers in me, and I try to focus on the way he slips his tongue in my mouth, but f*ck. It’s hard. My body melts—giving out, and I let out a helpless moan against his lips.

“Charlie, Charlie,” I gasp into another moan, squeezing his bicep. “Oh my god.”

I nearly sob. His fingers feel so good. I can’t even begin to imagine how his co*ck would feel instead. The thought dizzies me.

I need to touch him. I want to touch him. I still haven’t yet, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t fantasize all the time about the idea of me making Charlie come.

My hips instinctively grind into his hand as he kisses my neck, and I blindly reach my hand out to his lap.

Charlie shudders into a rough moan as I palm him through the material of his pants. He’s so hard.

“f*ck,” he breathes. His freehand shoots out to grab my wrist, and at first, I think he’s going to stop me like he did last time.

But Charlie covers my hand with his own, and pushes my hand harder against his erection.

Ohmyf*ckinggod.

He curls his fingers inside of me and rubs my cl*t with his thumb while I stroke him over his pants. Our heavy breaths begin to fog the windows, and our quiet moans and grunts fill the backseat.

I fiddle with the zipper of his pants just as I nearly hit my peak. But before Charlie can give me the org*sm he promised, something hard thuds against the window and it completely sobers me.

I flinch against him, a terrified gasp leaving me.

Charlie freezes despite the heavy rise and fall of his chest. We look outside the window together.

Traffic. We’re suddenly in traffic. Which means we’re stopped on the busy streets of New York. Which also means that if these windows weren’t tinted, people would’ve had a front row seat to our… activities.

There are people surrounding the car. Paparazzi begin to crowd it. They must’ve seen us enter the car back at my apartment and have been tracking it ever since.

“Charlie…” I trail uneasily. He’s still inside me. Well… his fingers are.

What if human eyes can’t see through the car windows, but these expensive cameras can?!

He must sense my complete shift in mood, because Charlie slowly pulls his fingers out of me. “It’s okay,” he tells me, noticing my growing panic. “The windows are very much tinted. It’s okay.”

I nod, believing him. I take deeper breaths to ease my pounding heart.

God, I hate this. But it would be so much harder without Charlie, and I’m just thankful he’s here. With me.

My eyes dart among the people outside the car, their muffled screams drowned out from the fact that they’re screaming over each other.

Charlie squeezes my hand reassuringly, and it snaps me out of this anxious cycle of newfound fame.

I glance over at him. He doesn’t pay a single ounce of attention to the paparazzi outside. His eyes are on me and me only.

I start to smile at the sight of my lip gloss smudged on his lips. I reach out and wipe it away with my thumb.

“I’m okay,” I softly tell him. I think being around Charlie calms my heart. The confidence that radiates off of him—confidence that we will prosper—it does its job of blanketing me in that unyielding feeling too.

Charlie wordlessly nods, believing me, and then he kisses me softly. Gently. No more of that lustful, clothes-pulling urgency. This kiss is filled to the brim with pure adoration.

I start to smile into the kiss, simply because I feel happy. Paparazzi, rude fans, and crazy stalker aside, I am happy. Charlie makes me so very happy.

I think I could live through lifetimes of this so long as he’s in every one.

Chapter 25

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE — Charlie Cobalt

“I don’t know why you bother reapplying that when I’m just going to kiss it off of you again.”

Roxanne pauses, the wand of her lip gloss frozen on her lips and a rising blush spreading on her cheeks.

I love making her blush. I love doing a lot of things to her.

She slowly twists the cap of her lip gloss back on and sinks back into the seat, right up against me. “You’re crazy,” she says into a shy smile.

“For you, yes.” I pull her hand onto my lap and interlace our fingers.

“Where are we going?” she asks again.

“Dinner,” I vaguely admit.

I’ve been constantly thinking about buying out ridiculous buildings all to ourselves so I could throw my own personalized, romantic, and private dinner for her. Manors. Museums. The Eiffel tower might’ve crossed my mind…

Maybe another time.

I don’t want to overwhelm her. So, simple is the route tonight.

Roxanne’s smile grows. “I love dinner.”

“Another commonality for us,” I muse, a teasing smile on my face.

We feel the car roll to a stop then, and I glance out the window to see the trailing paparazzi cars hastily pull up to the curb and hop out of their vehicles to swarm our car.

I harden my jaw and look back at her, but Roxanne isn’t looking at the cameras and people outside. She’s only looking at me.

I didn’t realize I was tensing until her eyes soften me. “Before we go,” I quietly say, “I need to tell you some things.”

She eyes me warily. “Okay.”

“This will be private. This will be ours. But…“ I run a hand through my hair. “People will take pictures as we walk in.” I study her face, trying to look for signs of apprehension. For her eyes to tell me she changes her mind about all of it. About this date, about the sudden fame, about being with me in the first place. “A part of me wants them to,” I admit in a deeper breath. “A part of me wants them to take all the pictures in the f*cking world.”

She slowly nods along to every word I say, processing this. “So…” she lets out a breath, fiddling with the ring on my finger as a nervous habit, “you want to do this?”

This, as in completely lock this in. This will be the first time since the Gala that we will be seen together in public, alone. Without Beckett or any of her other ballet friends. The cracks within this rumor will solidify even more once we walk out these doors.

Granted, there are pictures surfing the internet during the past few days of us being spotted in Paris from months ago. Now that the world knows Roxanne’s face, they’ve begun to make the connection that she was with me even then.

What they say about her—I don’t f*cking know. I don’t read those sh*tty tabloids unless I need to. Celebrity Crush grates me in unspeakable ways.

“Yes,” I answer her question. I angle my body towards her and say, “But it’s not about me. This is about you. We can do something else. Or if you want to turn around and go home, I’m okay with that too.”

She’s shaking her head right away. “I want to do this. I want to go on a date with you. We should be able to go on a date without fearing the world.”

I don’t fear the world, I nearly say. But I stop myself. Because lately, I think I might’ve come to fear it a good amount. Not the world itself, but the people in it. They’re capable of vile things, and I’ve seen firsthand the ugliness of humans my entire life.

The harassment. The stalking. The greed. The Royal Leaks. O’Malley taking a beating for Beckett. Aunt Lily. Luna. The kidnapping.

I shut my eyes and take a deeper breath. “You’re right.” I open my eyes again to see her studying me this time. “We should.”

She smooths her lips together as she looks at me and says, “What were you thinking about just now?”

The chokehold incident. Nate. The townhouse fire. The HaleCocest rumors. The hate comments towards Jack. The Summerfest shooting. Akara getting stabbed for Sulli. Luna’s stories being leaked. Ace Steel.

I let out a breath. “Fear.”

The partition suddenly slides open after a knock and Oscar peeks his head through, sitting in the passenger seat. “You guys ready? Paparazzi will only grow from here.”

Roxanne nods—but it’s more to herself than anything, as if she’s preparing herself for the crowd. “I’m ready.”

The driver looks back at us too. Gabe. SFO’s floater. “Roxanne, right? I’ll be behind you.” His eyes flit to me quickly. “Protecting you,” he emphasizes for good measure. Like he’s trying hard not to piss me off.

I’m not pissed off. I just give him a flat stare.

“Oh.” Roxanne looks mildly surprised there’s a second bodyguard with us tonight, but she doesn’t voice it. She just sits up on the seat and asks, “What’s your name?”

“Gabe Montgomery.” He flashes her a small, friendly smile.

“Nice to meet you, Gabe,” she says, and then she turns to look at me. To give me a narrowed look, and I know she’s definitely going to bring it up to me later.

But she needs a bodyguard despite whatever excuse she’ll give me. Especially now more than ever before considering I’ve just learned she has a f*cking stalker.

Gabe and Oscar get out of the car first, pushing through the paparazzi.

“Also,” I hurriedly add, “don’t look at the building.”

Her brows bunch in an almost excited kind of confusion. “Alright…”

The backseat door opens a second later, and I file out of the car with Roxanne close behind. I keep ours hands locked together as paparazzi swarm us, encroaching our personal space, bumping into bodies and screaming into our ears.

“CHARLIE AND ROXANNE, CAN YOU CONFIRM THE DATING RUMORS?”

“CHARLIE, WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY ABOUT ELIOT AND WINNIFRED?”

“CHARLIE AND ROXANNE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE AT THE—”

I tug Roxanne to walk in front of me and behind Oscar, and blatantly cover her ears with my hands. She doesn’t need to hear what any of them are saying, and I don’t need any of them spoiling sh*t.

A fan wedges herself between the paparazzi and reaches out to tug on my blazer. “Charlie! Can I have a picture?!”

I shake her off of me with a glare. “No.”

She lets out a breathy, “I love you.”

“Back up!” Gabe shouts from behind me.

We walk fast past the paparazzi, and once we make it inside of the building, there is finally peace. The shouting numbs, the touching stops.

I slip my hands down to Roxanne’s shoulders and step in front of her. “Ty v poryadke?” Are you okay?

She nods, letting out a breath and slipping her arms around my waist. I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it. “It’s easier with you around,” she quietly admits, and then she looks up at me with these big eyes and shakes her head. “Not that you need to be around all the time.” She grimaces. “I mean. I do like it when you’re around, but I don’t always need you.” She shuts her eyes and softly groans, pressing her forehead to my chest. “That’s not what I meant.”

A ghost of a smile peeks out. I soothe my thumb over the back of her neck and ask, “What do you mean then?”

She can’t look at me as she says, “I don’t want you to feel like I’m incompetent without you. I don’t want you to shadow me out of obligation. I don’t want to trap you.”

Roxanne. I tilt her head up. “You don’t trap me,” I whisper.

She studies me with these adorable, innocent eyes that make every part of my body melt. “If I ever do, you have to tell me.”

I doubt I’ll ever have to. Being around Roxanne is unexplainable. I could travel all over the world, explore every crevice of this earth and try to run from the frustrations of walking backwards, but she continues to remain on the forefront of my mind. She’s her own raw piece of artwork, and there is no other painting, or statue, or performance that could ever amount to her beauty.

There are continents to explore. Cities to see. But Roxanne is my world.

I only tell her, “Okay,” because I know it’s what she wants to hear. She wants that reassurance. I’ll give it to her. “Now close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?”

I nod. She flutters her eyes shut with a coy smile. “Don’t open them until I say so.”

“Yes, sir,” she says into a teasing grin.

I take her hand and carefully lead her through the building. Oscar and Gabe keep a lengthy distance from us, which I requested earlier. They don’t even need to be close. The whole reason I bought out the building for tonight was to keep people as far away as possible.

This date is ours. I don’t want to share it with anyone else.

“Can I guess where we are?” she asks into a smile, eyes still closed.

I turn to walk behind her and place my hands on her hips. “And ruin the suspense? Hell no.” I nuzzle my face into her neck and sigh out, “Pochemu ot tebya tak khorosho pakhnet?” Why do you smell so good?

She shivers against me. “It’s Chanel.”

“Do you wear Chanel everyday?”

“No.”

“Then it’s not because of Chanel.”

Her hands fall over mine on her hips, and she giggles through the soft kisses I leave on her neck. “Are we almost there? Can I open my eyes now?”

“Not yet.” We breach an entrance, the lights dimmed to a cool and dark blue. I stop us at the edge of the room and keep my hands on Roxanne’s hips, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “Open.”

She flutters her eyes open to the scene before her. A floor to ceiling glass wall swallows the entire back wall, and beyond it is an ocean of fishes and sharks and manta rays, gently coating the room in its deep blue hue.

Just in front of the aquarium sits a candlelit dinner, with pink rose pedals scattered throughout the white tablecloth around plates of food and burning candles. I’d spent hours stressing over every f*cking detail earlier today. Even the angle of the square table and the position of the chairs, which are on adjacent sides instead of across from each other.

Because I want to be closer to her. Sue me.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, hands on her cheeks.

I fiddle with the material of her dress, nervous. Does she not like it? Was she expecting something more? Was she expecting something less?

She abandons me to take slow, dazed steps towards the table. Her light golden-brown skin is bathed in the hue of blue, delicately brushing against every inch of her. She looks so… wow. Every reflection of the ripple of water dances on her skin with the kind of fluidity she possesses herself. She looks so…

I am so f*cked.

“Do you like it?” I rub my hands together, slowly following her. “Most of the food is your favorites. I had a private chef cook them so we don’t get poisoned. We won’t get poisoned.” I pause, smoothing my lips together. You’re rambling, Charlie. “The alcohol is for show, really. You don’t have to drink it just because it’s there. You don’t have to do anything, actually. We can just do something else if that’s what you want.”

She reaches out to grab my shirt and softly says, “Stop it.” Seeing the smile on her face instantly makes my shoulders loosen. She takes two steps towards me and slips her arms around my waist. “I love it. I love everything about it.”

I grab her face in my hands and lightly brush my thumbs beneath her eyes. “Why are you crying?” My voice is so unnaturally soft. I almost don’t even recognize it. But it perfectly captures the way my heart feels right now.

Roxanne crying is always a punch to the gut. But these tears are different. She looks at me like I’m different.

“Because I love it,” she whispers. She rises on her toes to lightly kiss me and then says, “No one has ever done something like this for me before. But then again… you are also the first guy to ever get me flowers.”

“In that case, I’ll get you flowers every day.”

She giggles into a grin, shaking her head at me. “You’re crazy.”

“For you.” I lean down to kiss her again, because let’s be honest. It’s hard not to. When she looks like this, and speaks like this, and feels for me like this.

She kisses me a few more times, smiling into each one before pulling away to ask, “Did you do this by yourself? Besides the cooking part, of course.”

I reluctantly let her go to pull out her chair. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” she echos, sinking onto the plush seat. “It’s all so lovely,” she says as I sit in the other chair. “What if I’d said no? What would you have done then?”

“You wouldn’t have said no.”

“I might’ve. I could’ve.”

“But you didn’t. So I was right after all.”

She softly smiles at me like I’m the greatest thing in the world. “It’s hard to say no to you.”

“Mostly because I leave no room for otherwise.”

“That is true,” she muses, eyes flickering to the floor to ceiling aquarium in front of us. She smiles at the thousands of aquatic creatures within. “Why an aquarium?” she turns back to ask me.

My answer comes right away. “There’s art in everything. The art in front of us just so happens to be moving beautifully.” Just like you. “What’s not to love?”

She grins at my answer, and turns to look back at the water. “Jesus, that manta ray is huge.”

My own grin comes as I tell her, “The owner told me her name is Samanta.”

Roxanne laughs, her eyes twinkling in amusem*nt.

I didn’t give a flying f*ck when the aquarium owner told me that, but I tucked the information away for later anyway. Because I knew Roxanne would love to know that.

“She’s lovely,” she says into a chuckle. Her eyes flicker to the bottle of expensive champagne in the ice bucket and she points to it. “Can I pop that open?”

“Please do.” Because I’d love to see her try.

She excitedly grabs the neck of the bottle and begins to peel off the golden foil. “I can hear the underestimation in your voice, Charlie, but I’m gonna do it. Trust me.”

My smile grows. “Toujours.”

She blushes a little as she sets the ripped foil onto the table and works on twisting off the wired muselet. “I’ve done it before,” she informs me.

“And how did that go for you?”

“My dad had to loosen it for me.”

“And so my underestimation is now justified.”

“I’m not weak,” she says into a laugh.

I reach out and obnoxiously feel up the muscles in her bicep. She immediately flexes. “Wow,” I let out a breath. “What a turn on.”

Her laugh draws a grin out of me. She momentarily abandons the champagne bottle to say, “Let’s arm wrestle.”

I blink at her. “You want to arm wrestle,” I flatly say.

She pushes up imaginary sleeves like a complete dork and places her elbow on the table. “What? Scared I’ll beat you?”

“More like I’m scared I’ll break you.”

“I’m indestructible.”

“You’re also 5'2,” I refute. “With an incredibly high amount of confidence in that tiny body of yours, by the way.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She motions with her hand to give her mine.

“Maybe it is when you’re bound to lose.” I grab her hand despite myself, placing my elbow on the table.

“I work out everyday, Charlie.” She tilts her head. “Do you?”

I smirk at her as I say, “Touché.”

“Don’t go easy on me,” she warns.

“I would never.”

She chuckles as she says, “Okay. Three… two… one!”

The muscles in my bicep strain as we push through in opposite directions. Damn. Gotta give it to her. She’s strong. There’s no doubt about it. And why wouldn’t she be, when she’s a f*cking ballerina?

I push harder, stealing glances at her face. She has her teeth gritted, brows bunched. She’s so determined. A breathy laugh flies out of me. “You’re so cute.”

“No, I’m not,” she strangles out. Her arm shakes as she tries to fight against my strength. “f*ck male hormones,” she groans in near agony.

I just laugh. And I keep on laughing as I win, her hand falling limp on the table top.

“Damn it,” she sighs into a breathy laugh. “I take it back. You should’ve gone easy on me.”

I take her hand in mine and brush my thumb over her knuckles. “Then I’d be lying to you. And I’d never.”

“You don’t really lie to anyone,” she softly tells me.

“Not true. I lie a lot.”

“I meant…” she shrugs, “you don’t lie about who you are. And stuff.”

“And stuff,” I echo with a growing smile. “Right.”

Her lips lift as she says, “I like that about you.”

“So you’ve said.”

“It’s the truth.”

I inhale a deeper breath. “I’d hope so.”

She’s silent for a few moments, just watching me as I stroke her hand with my thumb, and then she finally says, “About the bodyguard. Gabe. Is he…”

I raise a brow, waiting for her to finish that sentence.

She lets out a breath and just plainly asks me, “Is he important?” She grimaces. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, like… does he have a client of his own?”

“No.”

“So, what… He’s like a… stand-in?”

“Exactly. He’s a floater,” I inform her. “He floats. For Farrow, mostly.”

“And today he’s floated to your detail,” she states like she’s trying to understand it.

“To protect you, yes.”

Her lips pull into a frown, thinking. It makes me almost nervous. “I don’t really… like that.”

Now I’m frowning. “Why?”

“I know you told me to accept your family’s resources, but… bodyguards are people. It feels weirder that way. And Gabe could be somewhere that actually matters. Like…” she thinks for a moment, “the babies. You know? Jane and Maximoff’s children. They need bodyguards, right?”

“Yes,” I say slowly. “But you matter, too. And Jane and Moffy’s kids aren’t the ones being harassed and stalked like you are.”

She winces at reality of my words, and I immediately feel like sh*t—but she needs to know this. The truth often hurts. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“I beg to differ.”

When the f*ck did the roles reverse in this ‘I don’t need a bodyguard’ bullsh*t? I never thought I’d see the day where I, of all people, encouraged a bodyguard on another person. How hypocritical of me.

Roxanne sighs. “Is this a one-time thing?”

“I was debating it before today,” I admit. “But now that I know about this stalker, I’m not okay with you being without one. A bodyguard, I mean.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” she repeats.

“You’re alone in this city, Roxanne. Your entire family is in Vegas. You need someone protecting you. Oscar and I can’t always be there, and the same goes for Beckett and O’Malley.”

She frowns, fiddling with the ring on my finger. “I can’t afford it, Charlie,” she nearly whispers. A blush coats her cheeks at the vulnerable admission, as if she’s just now remembering how different we are in terms of class. She doesn’t need to be embarrassed about our economic differences. I couldn’t give a sh*t about that.

“I would be paying for it.” I lace our fingers together. “Naturally.”

“I can’t hog Gabe like that. He’s the floater. He needs to be there for Farrow and Maximoff.”

I roll my eyes. “They can handle themselves.”

“He’s more famous than me. He needs Gabe more than me.”

“Roxanne. You have the stalker. The random text messages, the people who follow you home, the hate mail—yeah, I know about that. Moffy is fine. He would want you to hog Gabe all you f*cking want.”

Roxanne blinks at me. “How do you know about the hate mail?”

“That’s not important. You’re skirting around the point.”

“Indulge me for a second.”

I let out a sigh. “Earlier, the mailman conveniently happened to be stopping by at the same time Oscar and I came into your apartment. He had a sh*t load of stuff for you, Roxanne. I heard your tenant telling him to throw it all out.”

She nods to herself, staring at her lap. “I told my tenant to do that.”

“So you see then. How horrible this is. How crucial a bodyguard is.”

“I know…” she sighs, shutting her eyes. “Just let me think about it.”

“I’m going to talk to security about you, Roxanne,” I say softer this time. “You can think about it all you want, but if they approve of you having your own bodyguard, I’m ensuring it happens.”

She sighs again, this time heavier. “I really don’t like this. They work for your family.”

“And you’re my family now. So they should work for you, too.”

She shifts, blushing. “Charlie…”

“I’m serious.”

“I haven’t even met your parents yet. I’ve only met your brothers a couple times.” She brings a hand to her forehead as she says, “Oh god. What if they hate me? What if they don’t want me to have a bodyguard? What if they don’t want you paying for that?”

I grab her hand off her forehead, now holding both of her hands in mine. “They will. They’ll want you protected. They’ll want to pay for it. They’ll love you.”

She shuts her eyes and inhales a few deep breaths. “What are they like?” she softly asks.

“My parents?” She nods. I immediately admit, “They’re intense.” Roxanne squeezes my hands. “My dad loves a selected few people. My mom is more open to love. They would do anything to protect these loved ones. Anything.” I tuck a few loose curls behind her ear, softly trailing my fingers down her cheek as I pull away. “You don’t have to be afraid of them. They’ll see your heart, and they’ll love it.”

She lets out a shaky breath. I can tell she’s nervous. I can tell my parents intimidate her. But she nods anyway, believing me.

It’s naive how susceptible she is to lies. It makes me want to protect her. To shield her, to tell her that she can’t believe everything just anyone says.

And yet… it feels so f*cking good when she puts her belief in me.

She believes in everybody, actually. She is so full of hope for everyone in the f*cking world but herself.

I have never been this kind of guy before, but I feel this deep, painful urge to pour this hope—stolen from the company staff—back into her. Even though I barely have any to begin with.

She needs to know that I believe in her. In anything that she does.

I co*ck my chin toward the forgotten champagne bottle on the table. “You gonna pop that or what?”

Roxanne lightly smiles again, and my chest lifts at the sight. I hate it when she’s down. I hate it so much, I can hardly breathe. I’m always thinking, “Smile again. How do I make you smile again?” So when she finally does—when I’m the one to make it happen—it somehow softens me completely.

She grabs the champagne bottle again and tries to pry the cork off the lip with her thumb. “Don’t fret, everyone. I got it.” She struggles for a long moment, her face twisting as she wraps her hand around the cork and tugs it with all her might. She even places the bottle between her legs and tries to yank the cork off.

“Careful,” I say into a smile.

I don’t want that sh*t popping on her face.

“I got it, I got it.” She tries to twist the cork off and groans when it doesn’t budge.

She struggles for a few more minutes before I ask, “Do you need help?”

“No,” she breathes. “I think you’re my kryptonite. You make me weaker.”

“Likewise, Ruiz,” I drawl, amusem*nt coating my eyes as she continues to struggle. There is this glint in her eyes like she’s ten seconds away from conceding. And I’m proven right when she lets out a deep sigh and wordlessly hands me the bottle.

I’m smiling as I take it. She watches me loosen the cork until it’s nearly popping, and once it’s loose enough, I hand it back to her to finish the job.

The glee in her eyes as she takes it is so rewarding. She twists her body away from the fishes and holds her arms out with the bottle in her hands. She edges the cork off, and flinches when it finally pops open, the sound echoing off the walls.

She laughs then, and I just soak it in.

“I loosened it for you,” she informs me—serious. I just grin, not denying it, not at all, even though the truth is far from that.

She pours champagne into two flutes and hands me one. “To…” she trails off, holding her glass in front of her.

I grab her free hand and tug her off her seat to sit on my lap instead. She blushes as she sinks onto my good leg and wraps an arm around my neck. “Us,” I finish.

A smile threatens to break from her mouth. “To us,” she whispers.

We sip our flutes, never once taking our eyes off each other. Her gaze makes my heart pound wildly. Makes my breaths more heavy. I can’t take it anymore. I set my glass onto the table and gently take hers to do the same. She lets out a wavering breath as I wrap an arm around her waist and cradle her jaw with my hand.

“Charlie…” she whispers against my lips.

I kiss her without another word, and she completely melts against me. f*ck, we haven’t even eaten the food. All I want to do is eat her.

She kisses me back with so much fervor, it’s almost overwhelming. Her fingers run through my hair, her tongue brushes against my lips. Kissing Roxanne is like dying and coming back to life over and over again. Maybe that’s a sh*tty analogy. I can hardly think when her tongue’s in my mouth and mine is in hers.

My hands are everywhere. On her hips, her back, her hair, her thighs. She moans into my mouth. Soft, breathy moans that drive me f*cking wild.

I could kiss her for hours. We have made out for hours before.

I’ve never f*cking done or felt that with anyone else. No one else was ever worth all that time.

Roxanne abandons my lips to trail kisses on my jaw, and I throw my head back with a dazed breath. I’m shaking, I realize, as she kisses down my neck, her tongue darting out to lick me, her teeth lightly grazing me—driving me insane insane insane.

“God,” I helplessly groan. It comes out more like a whine. Like a trembling, rough whine.

I love this. I love this. f*ck.

My phone vibrates against my leg. In my pocket. And Roxanne is sitting right over it, so I know she feels it too. She pulls away, a little breathless, and whispers, “Do you need to get that?”

“No,” I choke out. I want her lips back on me.

“I think you should,” she says, completely oblivious to how f*cked I am. Her eyes are just rooted on my vibrating cell. “It could be important.”

Nothing is more important than this.

“Ignore it,” I practically beg.

“You always say that.”

“I always feel it.”

“What if it’s one of your brothers? They might need you.”

They might need you. f*cking hell.

I let out a sigh, conceding, and pull my phone out of my pocket. Roxanne leans closer to see the screen, and we both watch as Eliot’s contact flashes.

“Pick up,” she says.

I do. I put it on speaker.

“Brother,” Eliot breathes, sounding winded. Panicked. “Don’t kill me. But I need you home. Now.”

I almost groan. Almost. Because staying on this date with Roxanne sounds more than ideal, but being there for my brothers will always come first.

But it’s still a nuisance. Babysitting them. So I sigh instead. “I’m on my way.”

Chapter 26

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX — Roxanne Ruiz

I have Charlie’s blazer wrapped over my shoulders as I sit in the backseat of the car, my back to the door and my legs draped over his lap. I watch him light a cigarette, eyes focused especially hard on the glowing ember and the way his lips wrap around the end.

I know smoking is bad for you… but it’s really hot when he smokes.

He exhales a breath of smoke towards the cracked window closest to him, being conscious of me. Of not hot boxing this car with his fumes. His hand is on my calves, thumb gently soothing my skin. Even despite his gentle touch, I can tell he’s aggravated.

He didn’t like how abruptly this date ended. And he also doesn’t like how he’s dragging me back to Hell’s Kitchen with him.

It’s not because he doesn’t want my company or anything. He want me there because he can’t leave me alone, knowing there is someone out there threatening me. He doesn’t want me there because he doesn’t want me to deal with whatever problem Eliot needs his help with.

We don’t talk the majority of the ride back to his apartment. The longer it takes to get there, the more annoyed I can see him getting. Like he keeps thinking about how inconvenient it is to have to deal with his siblings all the time.

A part of me gets it. A part of me doesn’t. I had younger cousins and older cousins. I was somewhere in the middle. I would look out for my younger cousins, of course. Help them with whatever they needed. But there were older cousins who usually filled in that role, so it left me with not much responsibility at all.

But Charlie is their eldest brother. They need him. And he drops everything to be there for them. And I love that.

When we finally pull up to the apartment, Charlie gets out without waiting for Oscar or Gabe. He does, however, turn to grab my hand and help me out of the car.

He tosses the cigarette on the pavement and briskly walks to the entrance. I’m not alarmed by his fast pace. He’s always walking like he has places to be and not enough time to get there. But I do worry about his leg.

When we get into the elevator, Oscar and Gabe hurry after us and squeeze in just in time. Charlie presses 21st button.

I realize then… that this will be the first time I ever enter their apartment.

I let out a breath. Okay. Not nervous at all.

“Ty v poryadke? Eto normal’no?” Charlie quietly asks me. Are you okay? This is fine? I only know he’s asking me because he’s speaking in Russian. I don’t know if Oscar and Gabe know the language.

I nod. “A ty?” And you?

“Ty delayesh’ eto proshche,” he admits, squeezing my hand.

You make it easier. I start to smile, my heart clenching in beautiful ways.

The elevator dings open on the 21st floor and Charlie steps out, dragging me with him. The hallways are a deep red color with industrial lights lined up along the length of it. I like it. It’s pretty.

When we stop outside apartment number 2166, the gold numbers on the door, Charlie turns to Oscar and says, “You can go.”

“You sure? I can—”

“I’m sure,” he curtly says, clearly tense.

He doesn’t want Oscar dealing with his brothers either. It’s not a pride thing, I realize. It’s more of an… offering of some sorts. He protects Charlie all day, and Charlie doesn’t need Oscar doing any more than that. For his own sake.

Oscar slowly nods, moving further down the hallway. “You know where to find me.” He co*cks his head. “Gabe.” Gabe follows behind him.

“Bye, Oscar,” I call out with a friendly wave. “Bye, Gabe.”

Gabe blinks back at me and then smiles. “Bye.”

“Bye, Roxy,” Oscar says into a smile.

Charlie lets out a deeper breath once Oscar and Gabe disappear into the apartment. I place a hand on his bicep and ask, “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just annoyed.”

“With what?”

“With everything. Not you,” he quickly amends. He tilts his head back to glare at the ceiling, and then mutters, “Let’s just get this over with.”

He unlocks his apartment door and swings it open, dragging me inside. The first thing I notice: It’s massive. With vaulted ceilings over the kitchen and living room. Dark, leather furniture. A fire place. Huge full-length windows. Dark wooden floors. Tons of books.

It would probably look amazing had it not been so clearly messy.

Charlie fumes beside me, still gripping onto my hand. He glares at the broken glass coffee table, the tilted crystal chandelier, the emptied trash on the floorboards—which are being soaked in a thin layer of water—the books thrown on the ground, and the furniture wildly crooked. His anger intensifies when he sees the windows, though.

Spray painted on the glass windows in big red letters are the words TWO TIMING CIRCUS slu*t.

My chest caves.

This is my fault.

Charlie turns to look at me, and at my torn expression, he softens a fraction. “Don’t, Roxanne.”

I don’t listen to him. “Someone did this because of me?” I say into a pained breath.

“Stop. Don’t do that.” He pulls me into his arms and holds the back of my head, keeping me against his chest so I’m not looking at it anymore. “It’s not your fault,” he soothes me.

“But—”

“You’ve been with me all evening, Roxanne. Are you telling me you’re the one who trashed the apartment?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Exactly. Not your fault.”

“But they were prompted because of me.”

“No. They were prompted because they’re idiots without a sensible bone in their f*cking body,” he seethes. He pulls back to lean his forehead against mine, and his voice softens as he says, “The hatred of other humans is not your fault. It never is.”

I nod past the tears in my eyes, desperately trying to convince myself of his words.

But I still feel guilty. It’s the human in me.

“Please tell me you two weren’t on a date.”

Charlie and I pull away to see Eliot exiting the hallway with a mop, in nothing but gray pajama pants rolled up to his knees and shoes to keep his feet dry from the water. He’s wincing, eyes traveling over the length of our attire.

Charlie ignores him and asks, “Where’s Beckett?”

“Charlie,” Eliot nearly begs, eyes flashing in guilt.

I want to ease his worries. He’s had enough to worry about already.

“We were already finished,” I tell him.

Without missing a beat, Charlie says, “She’s lying.”

I lightly hit his abdomen with the back of my hand. “No I wasn’t.” He’s swift to grab my hand and slide his fingers with my own.

Charlie’s lips lift in a coy smile, and then he turns back to Eliot and asks again, “Where is Beckett?”

“The gym. He’s due home any moment.” Eliot runs a hand through his brown, wavy hair, panicked eyes flitting around the mess of the room.

Charlie walks further into the apartment, kicking aside the sopping trash with his expensive shoes. “What the f*ckhappened?”

“I propose we clean first, ask questions later,” Eliot says.

“I second this!” Tom suddenly appears from what seems to be a bathroom with rubber gloves on his hands, wearing only a t-shirt and boxers. His underwear. Dear god. Tom is smiling. Full on grinning like the apartment isn’t a mess. But then his smile dies at the sight of me, and his eyes flit from me to Charlie. I shift on my feet, suddenly nervous. “sh*t,” he says. “You two were on a date.”

“You’re right,” Charlie grits out. “More cleaning, less talking.”

“Did you hear that, brother? Charlie just admitted I was right,” Eliot snickers.

“Dude.” Tom’s eyes are wide. “That date must’ve changed lives.”

Charlie grimaces and turns to me, giving his brothers his back. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I can help,” I softly say right away. I think I need to help. If not for them, then for me. Those words on the window are a direct hit at me. Even though I didn’t physically commit the crime, I’m still the reason this person made this mess in the first place.

“You should go,” he says.

I pause for a moment. “Do you want me to go?”

He stares at me for a long beat. The annoyance and frustration in his eyes never subside, but he ends up wordlessly shaking his head anyway. He was fighting an internal battle between letting me walk out that door to the danger that awaits or making me clean his brother’s mess.

Cleaning his brother’s mess was tedious, but it wassafe. It’s why he ultimately lets me help. Lets me stay.

“You can…” Charlie trails off to let out a deep sigh, “right the furniture and clean the books. Stay away from the broken glass.”

“Sure.” I smile at him, and his eyes flicker to my lips to watch me smile. He softens a bit.

The four of us spend the next 30 minutes wordlessly cleaning the apartment. Eliot mops the water off the floors, Tom cleans the strewn trash thrown around, Charlie cleans and discards of the broken glass, and I spend a long while blow drying the wet, delicate pages of all the books that were thrown to the ground.

All the while, Charlie and I don’t know what the hell happened or who did this.

The lock suddenly clicks on the front door, and all three of the Cobalt’s noticeably tense as it twists open.

I don’t think. I just do. And since I’m closest to the door, I move on impulse and wedge myself through the crack and shut the door behind me.

Beckett startles, sweaty from his workout in only workout shorts and nothing else—though his shirt is noticeably tucked in the pocket of his shorts. He pulls an AirPod out of his ear and gives me his classic what the f*ck face. “Roxy? What are you doing here?” He shakes his head and takes a step back. “Actually, that was stupid of me to ask. You’re dating my brother. Of course you’d come here.”

“Where did you go?” I ask with a curious edge to my voice. I already know he went to the gym, but I want him to tell me that.

“The gym. This apartment complex has a great one.” He stands there for a moment, awkwardly shifting on his feet. “Are you gonna let me into my apartment?”

“Actually, I was hoping you could show me this gym.”

Beckett’s lips lift, confused. “Okay,” he slowly says, and without questioning it further, he co*cks his head down the hall and says, “Come on.”

I trail after him in only my dress, Charlie’s blazer long gone now, and fiddle with my fingers.

sh*t. Stalling. That’s what I was doing, and I didn’t like it one bit. Because I don’t know how to stall. Because it involves lying. And I don’t want to lie. Especially not to Beckett.

When we enter the elevators, he presses the 15th floor, and we descend in silence. The air is strained. Tense. It’s not his fault or mine, it’s both of ours. I hate it.

I let out a sigh, breaking the tension. “I hate this,” I voice out.

He shifts uncomfortably. “Hate what?”

“This,” I motion between the two of us. “This awkwardness. This tension. It makes my heart hurt, Beckett… How do I help us?”

Beckett leans against the far wall of the elevator and stares at the floor. “I don’t know, Roxy,” he quietly mutters.

I stare at him with a pained expression. “I want us to try. We pretend like we’re okay, but we’re not. I feel like I have to tiptoe around you, because I’m afraid of messing it all up. I don’t want to trade in a relationship for another, that’s not what I signed up for, Beckett. I just want us to be able to peacefully exist this way.”

Beckett groans, running a hand over his face. “I want that too, Roxy, but it’s f*cking hard.”

“Tell me what’s hard about it.”

“You can’t just fix it. It’s not fixable.”

“I wasn’t thinking about fixing anything. I just want to understand you.”

The elevator dings open, but neither of us move a muscle. Beckett stands there, shoulders ridged, uncomfortable, and it makes me so sad.

We let a few moments of silence pass. It’s not until the elevators slowly shut again that Beckett finally speaks.

“I’ll get over it,” he quietly admits.

I frown, my chest aching. I don’t want him to get over it. I want him to already be okay with it. But I know that that’s selfish of me to crave. Because it’s just not possible right now.

It’s kind of like ballet and the rivalry. But instead of it being Leo and Beckett, it’s now me and Beckett. And instead of competing for leading roles, we are now competing for something much more important.

Charlie.

I hate it.

It’s not a competition. Charlie is his own person. He’s not something to claim.

But I think Beckett is so used to competition that none of that matters. Charlie has always been his person. No one else’s. I can imagine how hard it is to accept that change in dynamic.

“I want to be your friend again,” I quietly tell him, fiddling with my fingers. “When you’re ready.” I let out a breath and force myself to look at him. “If not for our sake, then for Charlie’s. Because I really, really like him, Beckett… I might even love him.” I’m trembling, my eyes burning as I quickly and quietly add, “Please don’t tell him I said that.”

Beckett stares at me with such seriousness that I almost cower. His brows are bunched almost painfully, and his reddened eyes hold so much uncertainty. Aimed straight at me.

“What do you like about him?” I don’t fail to notice how he actively avoids the word love.

“He’s real,” I softly admit without missing a beat. “He is so unapologetically himself, and he cares so little about what other people think. It’s admirable. I’m almost envious.” I let out a breath, unable to meet his eyes. “He’s so good to me, Beckett. He eases me. All the anxiety, all the doubt, it just… vanishes. You have to know that losing him would completely shatter me.”

“Because he’s famous,” he says it like it’s a fact.

I give him a confused look. “No.”

“Maybe,” he refutes, his voice harder now. “Maybe you are sleeping with him to ensure your spot in the company.”

I flinch. My face completely falls and my chest completely caves, and I start to think my heart maybe even completely breaks, because it sure feels that way now.

I never expected Beckett to weaponize those rumors against me. I never expected him to sound so much like he believes it, too.

Beckett’s face falls and he straightens off the wall. “Roxy…”

I wipe the torturous tears that break through and shake my head. “It’s okay,” I whisper.

Beckett’s face looks so torn as he says, “No, it’s not. That was so sh*tty of me to say… I’m sorry.”

I inhale a deeper breath to rid of the ache in my chest. “It’s okay.” It has to be. I try to compose myself, pulling my shoulders back and lifting my chin. I must look insane, given the red cheeks and eyes, but I don’t care. I just want to forgive and forget. I know Beckett’s not cruel. He’s just afraid. And I don’t want to give him anymore reason to be. “Let’s talk about something else.” I press the 21st button on the elevator wall. “Will you tell me how bad your OCD is?”

He eyes me warily, but there is still a massive amount of guilt on his face. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to lie to you. I didn’t actually want to see the gym,” I admit, wiping the last of my tears. I don’t want anyone knowing they existed in the first place. “There’s an… unfavorable predicament currently taking place in your apartment, and your brothers are currently cleaning it up. It’s probably better if you stayed away for now.”

Beckett leans against the wall of the elevator again and slowly shakes his head at me. “I just insulted you and you’re warning me away from my apartment. For my own good. Why, Roxy?”

“Because, Beckett,” I softly say just as the elevators ding open. “I already told you. I want to be your friend again.” I step out of the elevator. “But only when you’re ready.”

He follows me out of the elevator, sighing and running his hands through his hair. “Your heart is too big. I guess that makes you good for Charlie, after all.”

I take out my phone and text Oscar, who had given me his number throughout the many times we’ve crossed paths by now.

Me: Can Beckett and I come over for a bit? Feel free to say no. Don’t want to intrude.

“What does that mean?” I ask him.

“It means you’d have to have a lot of patience and a lot of love to love someone like Charlie.”

My brows bunch. “Charlie isn’t hard to love.”

Beckett eyes me—but whether it’s wariness or curiosity in his eyes, I don’t know.

My phone pings as we continue walking down the hall.

Oscar: Sure. Jumping in the shower tho. My baby sis, Jo, will open the door for you.

Me: Thanks!

Just as we walk up to 2166, I grab Beckett’s arm and lead him further down the hall. “Oscar says it’s okay for us to wait in his apartment.”

“Great,” Beckett says, but there’s an edge of sarcasm in there. The sarcasm is more evident given that he also grimaces.

I remember which door Oscar entered earlier and I stop outside of it, knocking on the surface. Beckett stands beside me, his arms loosely crossed over his chest.

When the door opens a second later, a beautiful girl with dark brown curly hair, brown eyes, and golden brown skin opens the door. She’s in a big t-shirt and hopefully shorts that are too short to be seen, and she has a massive bruise welted on her cheek.

Her eyes flit from me to Beckett, and I’m too stunned about her bruise that I forget to say anything. She raises an eyebrow at Beckett and flatly says, “Cobalt.”

Beckett smirks. “Joana,” he says deeply. Smoothly.

My eyes nearly widen. That is not a voice he frequents around the company, that’s for sure. It’s too alluring for something as innocent as ballet.

I shake myself out of my thoughts. “Hi,” I say, catching Joana’s attention. “I’m not sure if Oscar told you, but he said we could come in?”

Joana glances down and lifts her shirt, exposing the waistband of her spandex and a good part of her toned stomach. I don’t miss the way Beckett’s jaw hardens at the sight. Her phone is tucked in the waistband and she pulls it out to check for texts, presumably. “Oh. Yeah. Sure, come in.” She holds the door open wider, and I step inside first, Beckett following closely behind.

Oscar’s apartment is identical to the Cobalt’s. Neater, though. But I guess I can’t blame them considering it was just trashed.

Beckett runs a hand through his hair as he glances around the apartment. I get the feeling he’s antsy. From the idea of his apartment being messed up.

I turn to Joana and ask, “Can I have some water?”

Joana’s eyes widen. “sh*t. Sure. f*ck, why didn’t I think of that? Sit down. Make yourselves at home, or whatever.”

Joana skirts off to the kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out a water bottle.

“So you can be kind,” Beckett muses, plopping down onto the couch.

Joana just stares at him as she hands me the water bottle. I sit down next to Beckett. “I can be very kind, Cobalt.”

“In the ring or in bed?”

“Neither.”

Intrigue sparks Beckett’s eyes.

“Are you a boxer?” I ask Joana, twisting open the water bottle and handing it to Beckett.

Beckett eyes me for a beat before slowly taking the water with a thankful smile and drinking it.

“I am.” That would explain the bruise. She sits on one of the arms of a nearby armchair and eyes the both of us. “Never seen you around before, though. What’s your name?”

“I’m Roxanne.” I offer a smile.

“Joana.”

“Do you go by Joana or Jo? Oscar called you Jo. Which one do you prefer?”

Her lips lift just slightly. “Jo is fine. Either is fine.” She keeps looking between me and Beckett. “So… you two are… what, friends?”

“I can make out your jealousy from a mile away,” Beckett casually says.

“I’m right in front of you, Cobalt. It’s a shame you need a mile to see.”

Beckett leans back against the couch. “All I’m hearing is that you’re not denying the jealousy at all.”

Jo and Beckett stare at one another for a long moment, the air thickening around them. I sit as still as a statue, practically doused in the tension. But then, of course, I go ahead and break it. “Um…” I clear my throat. “Beckett and I work at the same company.”

“And she’s my brother’s girlfriend,” Beckett casually adds.

Jo is eyeing me with more interest. “Really?” She must not be on social media much, or else she’d definitely know. “Ben?” she guesses.

“No,” Beckett answers for me.

“Eliot?”

“Another no.”

“It’s Charlie,” I quickly say, squashing that uncomfortable game of Guess Which Cobalt Brother Roxanne Ruiz Is With?Yeah. No thanks.

Jo’s eyes widen, surprised. “Woah.”

I awkwardly shift on the couch. “What?”

She shrugs, rubbing her neck. “Nothing, it’s just… He’s a grade A dick,” she says plainly. “Never expected that particular Cobalt to have a girlfriend. Especially not one kinder than him.”

My brows bunch, not liking a word coming out of her mouth right now. I’m feeling defensive of him. Like I have to protect him, even though he would say he doesn’t need it.

“He can be a dick,” I agree with her, nodding my head. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not kind. Charlie is kind. He gives kindness without ever needing anything in return. He dropped everything to be here tonight for his brothers.”

“Hold up,” Beckett says, just now noticing my attire. “Were you two on a date?”

It’s almost comical how three out of four of Charlie’s brothers have noticed the same exact thing.

“We were already finished,” I try to reassure him.

“Yeah? Would Charlie say the same thing if I asked him?”

I press my lips together, almost frustrated. Charlie won’t lie to Beckett. So I just come right out and say, “Okay, we weren’t. But it’s okay.”

“sh*t,” he sighs, that guilty look in his eyes again. “I’m so sorry for this.”

I shrug. “It’s my fault anyway.” Charlie’s words ring in my ear. The hatred of other humans is not your fault. It never is. “I mean… It’s not. But whoever trashed the apartment has a vendetta against me, I think.”

“Your apartment’s trashed?” Jo asks Beckett.

Beckett shrugs. “Apparently.” He turns to me. “And what do you mean by this vendetta?”

I hesitate on telling him, unsure if it would make him more nervous. But I have this really insane thing where I’ve found it practically impossible to lie to Beckett now after everything that’s happened.

So I say, “Someone spray painted on the windows two timing circus slu*t.”

Beckett grimaces. “Jesus Christ.”

“And that pertains to you because…?” Jo wonders.

“The internet found out my entire family works in the circus. And they also think I’m sleeping with both Charlie and Beckett.”

Jo lets out a breath that borders on a wince. “Damn.”

I frown. “Yeah…”

“At least it’s not true. Or… is it?” Jo asks, looking between me and Beckett again.

“No,” Beckett says, almost offended. “Believe it or not, I’m not going around f*cking everything with a pulse.”

“Not,” Jo immediately refutes, crossing her arms.

Beckett counters that by saying, “I haven’t f*cked you yet, have I?”

I freeze in place again, watching their intense stare-off. I know Joana didn’t miss that very intentional yet he’d thrown in there. I definitely didn’t. God, this tension is almost suffocating. In a completely good way.

I ship!

I awkwardly stand up. “I’m gonna make a call.”

I don’t wait for their answer before I’m walking over to the kitchen, still in view of the living room, and dialing Charlie.

He picks up on the second ring. “Are you okay? Was that Beckett you ran into?”

“Yes and yes. He’s fine, too. We’re in Oscar’s apartment.” I pause for a second. “How is your progress?”

“It’s… progressing. Slowly. Annoyingly slow.”

“Do you need help? Joana is here. I can ask her to keep Beckett company.” I feel like they might like that. Or maybe not. But at least they can maybe come to terms with this weird love/hate thing they’ve got going on.

Charlie crushes all my Joana x Beckett dreams when he tells me, “Joana hates Beckett.”

“Really?” I frown. “That was not the vibe I was getting. At all.”

I mean. There was a tiny bit of it. But I just thought it was like… playfulness. Like familiar banter.

Charlie sighs. “I truly believe whatever feelings they have toward one another is more complicated than anything with a label.”

I lower my voice to say, “I detect a lot of lust.”

“That is definitely present.”

A smile peeks out of me. “So… help?”

He sighs again. He sounds fed up with this whole situation. “Yes, please.”

“I’m on my way.” I hang up the phone and turn back around to Beckett and Jo. They’re talking again, and I barely catch the gist of their conversation before I break in. Something about a mattress on Beckett’s back? “Hey. I’m going to go over and help clean. You okay staying here for a bit?” I ask Beckett.

Beckett is completely at ease on the couch with an arm thrown over the back. “I’m cool here. Thanks, Roxy.”

I nod. “Is that okay with you, Jo?”

She eyes Beckett for a long beat or two as if she’s contemplating this. The faint sound of the shower turning off must wake her, reminding her that she’s not alone with Beckett in this apartment. Because she finally shrugs and says, “Whatever.”

“Okay, great! We’ll come get you when we’re done,” I promise Beckett, and then I quickly leave and walk over to 2166.

I knock on the door, and it quickly opens to Tom—only he’s shirtless now.

“You’re back!” he exclaims into a grin.

My wide eyes flit to his chest. “You’re shirtless.”

“Are you gawking at my nips?” He dramatically gasps and covers his chest with his arm. He turns to shout, “Charlie Keating, your girl was gawking at my nips!”

A second later, Charlie appears. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Shirt untucked from his pants. Gosh, there’s even a thin headband on his head, pushing his messy hair back.

“Stop tormenting her,” Charlie growls, brushing past Tom. He grabs my hand and tugs me into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. “You and Eliot are banned from indulging her in your mischief.”

“No one is immune, brother! You know this,” Eliot says from the window. He’s currently trying to scrub off the paint.

Shame doesn’t even come close to what I’m feeling at the sight. I walk fast across the length of the apartment, careful not to slip on the still shiny floors—and doing so anyway—and quickly say, “I can do that, Eliot.”

Eliot’s brows bunch. “Nonsense. I’ve got it.”

My chest collapses in a deeper breath, disappointed and conflicted, and I nervously rub my arms, staring at the taunting red letters.

Eliot appraises me for a moment, and then says, “You can help. I’ll get you a rag.”

I wordlessly nod, thankful for that.

When Eliot returns with a second rag, he tells me to dip it in the bucket of warm water, bubbly from either soap or some other cleaning solution.

We clean the letters for a few silent moments before I ask him, “Why didn’t you guys hire a cleaning service?”

I immediately regret my words once they come. Once I see Eliot wince. He still feels guilty for interrupting our date, and I just sounded like a complete snob who was complaining about it.

Before I can amend myself, Eliot says, “Cleaning services don’t know how to clean for Beckett. Charlie does.” He pauses for a moment, still silently scrubbing. “I truly am sorry for ruining your date.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” I tell him. None of his brothers knew Charlie was doing what he was doing today. I can’t fault them for that. And even if they did know, this is still a priority. “It was kind of perfect, actually.”

“Just kind of?” Eliot’s eyes flicker with mischief. “I’m sure my big brother would love to hear his spectacular date was only kind of perfect.”

My lips lift. “Perfect is perfect and there can’t be any perfects that exist. We’re all too flawed for that.”

Eliot muses, slowly smiling to himself. “Wisely said, tiny ballerina. Though… I do know of some perfect things, and you happen to be looking at one.”

“Smooth, dude,” Tom snickers from nearby.

The front door opens and shuts quickly again, and they all whip their heads toward it.

“Woah. What the hell happened here?”

“Ben,” Tom lets out a relieved breath, shoulders loosening. “I don’t suppose you could lend us a hand?”

Ben nods, a backpack strung over one shoulder and a duffle over the other. Man… He’s so tall. It’s hard to believe he’s the youngest of them all. “Yeah, of course. Just give me a sec.”

His blue eyes flit around the room quickly as he makes his way to his bedroom. He even locks eyes with me for a second before he’s fully gone.

I’ve never met the youngest Cobalt brother. I’m suddenly nervous.

I try to steer clear of researching about them online because I want to meet them authentically. I want to learn about them authentically. So I don’t know anything about Ben other than what Charlie tells me. And he doesn’t tell me much.

All I know is that Ben is kind. Too kind, sometimes, according to Charlie. And that Ben and Charlie don’t necessarily get along. At least that’s what I assume. They don’t think the same. Their minds clash.

When Ben returns, he doesn’t ask what needs to be done. He just gets down to work. He notices me watching him, and he offers me a warm smile. “Hey. I’m Ben. You must be Roxanne.” He extends a hand to shake.

I slowly nod. “Hi.” I glance down at my sopping hands and back up at him. “My hands are dirty.” I lamely offer my elbow instead.

Ben laughs and taps my elbow with his. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” A small smile pulls on my lips.

His eyes flicker down to my dress and then he turns to look at Charlie, who’s carrying a trash bag out the door and into the hallway. Ben waits until the door shuts behind him to ask me, “How was your date?”

“What does he even do in terms of these dates? I’m both intrigued and vigilant,” Eliot chimes in.

“Did he plan the whole thing? Or did you have to force him?” Tom asks into a grin. He currently works on shelving all the dried books.

Overwhelmed by their questions, I just stare at them for a moment. “Um. The date was good. Great. It was amazing. He planned the whole thing. We had dinner in an aquarium.” Even though we didn’t actually eat any of it. But I don’t mention that to them.

“An aquarium?” Ben leans against the arm of the couch, giving me his full attention.

“You say that like it’s odd, dude. And I totally get you,” Tom says to Ben.

“It’s in his unpredictable behavior,” Eliot muses, talking about Charlie. He says to me, “Tell us more.”

They’re all so curious about their older brother. It’s kind of cute. A small smile spreads on my face. “It’s not that odd. It was beautiful. There was a lot of thought put into it.”

“So vague. Where are the juicy details?” Eliot teasingly throws his arms up.

“Charlie won’t like how you’re prying from her,” Tom tells Eliot.

“So?” Ben says. “Roxanne’s her own person. She can tell us whatever she wants to and whatever she doesn’t want to. Charlie doesn’t control her.”

“Of course not,” I hurriedly say. “He’s great to me.”

He eyes me warily. “Yeah?” Ben frowns like he can’t picture it.

“Yes,” I strongly say.

Tom and Eliot share a cagey look before they both look at Ben, who’s staring out the window past the now blurred letters of red.

I fight the urge to fiddle with my fingers as I say, “He dropped everything to be here, you know. For you guys.”

“For Beckett,” Tom corrects.

I shake my head. “Beckett’s not the one who called. Eliot was. So, initially, it wasn’t for Beckett.” For some reason, as they share wordless looks with one another, I feel the need to reassure them, “He loves you guys.”

Ben grimaces and runs a hand through his brown hair. “He has a funny way of showing it.”

“But he feels deeply anyway,” I softly refute. “He’s a Cobalt after all.”

Eliot stares at me for a long moment. “He is, indeed,” he quietly muses.

The door suddenly flings opens again, and all four of us shut up as Charlie walks in. He does a double take at all of us watching him, and then he slows his stride, raising a brow. “Because that’s not strange at all…” he mutters. He tilts his head. “What?”

“Nothing,” I quickly say.

Charlie probably would’ve pried more if one of his brothers said the word, but his lips lift instead.

Ben blinks, eyes flitting between me and Charlie. I suppose he isn’t used to his brother suddenly extinguished from the constant fire within.

Charlie’s eyes flicker to Eliot, who turns and continues scrubbing the windows. The paint is almost off now. Aside from a few books and crooked furniture, the apartment is almost good as new. Ben goes over to Tom and helps shelve the books.

“Are you going to share what happened now?” Charlie asks, annoyed. None of us have to question who he’s talking to. We all know it’s Eliot.

Eliot sighs. “I was completely fooled, that’s what happened. It hurts my pride. I propose we drop the issue.”

“You have my vote,” Tom holds a hand up.

“I kind of want to know what happened,” Ben says, not one bit apologetic about it.

“Me too,” I add.

Charlie raises a brow at Eliot that says go on.

Eliot shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. I don’t know if it’s because he has to air out his business in front of me, or if it’s because of this business in the first place.

“Okay,” he lets out a breath. “So. I had this girl over. She signed an NDA. After we… you know…” He rolls his eyes at himself. “After we hooked up, I made the foolish mistake of falling asleep. And next thing I know, she’s clogging the sink, flooding, trashing, and vandalizing the apartment.” He huffs, frustrated with himself. “I don’t want to talk about my poor judgment. I’m highly aware I’ve been bested.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Tom reassures him. “She seemed really nice.”

“She did,” Eliot agrees, but the fury never leaves his face.

“Did you tell security?” Ben wonders.

Eliot nods. “I told Vance. He said him and Ian will deal with it.”

“What’s her name?” Charlie leans against the arm of the couch Ben was once leaning on and grabs my hand, pulling me to him.

“Delilah… something. Vance has her NDA. Finding her won’t be difficult,” Eliot says.

“She’s a f*cking idiot to sign an NDA before doing this.” Charlie lazily gestures to the smudges of red paint still on the window.

“What was spray pained on the windows anyway?” Ben asks, meticulously angling the books so not all of them are straight.

“Nothing,” Charlie says.

Ben bunches his brows. “I’m just wondering.”

“Well stop wondering. It’s none of your f*cking business,” Charlie snaps.

Ben’s chest collapses and his eyes flicker to me as if saying do you see now? I frown as Ben shakes his head and quickly leaves the room, retreating to the sanctuary of his bedroom.

“Ben,” Tom tries to console. But Ben doesn’t listen, and once the door to his bedroom shuts, silence envelopes us.

Charlie sighs, glaring at the ceiling.

I just witnessed firsthand the clash of Charlie and Ben, and while they don’t understand each other, I somehow find it in my heart to understand them both. Ben is soft. Kind of like me. And having his older brother snap at him for something he deemed not a big deal is not something to take lightly. But Charlie… He doesn’t need anyone else knowing the horrible words written on the window. Especially someone like Ben, who’s sensitive heart could erupt when the right words are wielding against him like weapons.

Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.

“You could have executed that better,” I quietly tell Charlie.

“But I didn’t.”

“But you can. Next time.”

Charlie stares at me for a long moment.

“Ben doesn’t know enough to understand that you’re just trying to protect him from humanities ugliness. It’s why he got hurt,” I say.

“That’s the point. He’s not supposed to know.”

I slowly nod, understanding him. He would rather hurt Ben than have him be bothered by this.

Charlie lowers his voice to tell me, “His fuse is short. He makes stupid decisions to protect the people he loves. I’m not letting him make a stupid one for me. Ever.”

I nod, the words lost on my tongue. I shouldn’t butt in on this complex relationship. It’s not mine to dictate, and it’s especially not mine to pretend I know everything about.

Eliot and Tom whisper to one another, pretending like they aren’t eavesdropping. But I know better. I have experience at the company, you see.

I glance around the apartment. It looks better. Cleaner.

“You should go get Beckett,” I tell Charlie.

Charlie nods, still staring at me. He stands from the arm of the couch and leans down to kiss my cheek. I blush as he tells me, “Go wait in my room.”

I just watch, dazed, as he smirks at me and walks backwards to the front door.

Once he’s gone, I slowly turn to Eliot and Tom, who watch me with more interest, each of them sporting amused smiles.

I clear my throat, nervous. “Do either of you happen to know… which room is Charlie’s?”

Of course they would know, Roxanne. They live here!

Oh god. I am so completely unprepared for this.

Chapter 27

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN — Charlie Cobalt

My heart is pounding so f*cking fast as I twist open my bedroom door.

I’m nervous. Roxanne makes me so nervous. I have no real reason to be feeling this way, but it’s there anyway. It’s intruding and it’s f*cking annoying, but I don’t want it to go away. Not at all.

In my room, the bedside lamp casts a dim glow on the charcoal walls and gold framed paintings of various cities, rural landscapes, and buildings hung up.

Roxanne lies on her side on my bed, her legs dangling off the edge as she stares at the city skyline through the windows. She rolls over to look at me, her back against the sheets. “Hi,” she softly says.

“Hi,” I breathe. I shut the door behind me.

“How’s Beckett?” Her eyes follow me as I walk across the room and sink down to lie on the bed next to her. Shoes on and all.

I wrap a loose arm around her waist and bury my face into her neck. “Fine. He’s showering,” I whisper, brushing my lips against her skin.

She shivers against me, clutching onto my button-down.

“And you?” she quietly asks.

I pull away just slightly. “Me?”

“Yes. How are you?”

I stare at her for a moment, rising on an elbow. “I’m fine,” I tell her, and find it almost startling how much I actually believe it in this moment. After every frustrating thing that’s happened, it all ends up being more than fine if the day ends with Roxanne. “You?”

“I’m okay,” she whispers. “A little tired.”

I brush some curls behind her ear and let my fingers gently trail down her neck as I ask, “Do you want to stay the night?”

Roxanne freezes. My pulse skips. I keep my features neutral, hoping that in doing so, she will ease some. I don’t regret asking if she wants to spend the night. I do want her to spend the night, and I’m not going to pretend that I don’t. But I am nervous. I’m nervous as f*ck. What if she says no? What if she thinks we’re moving too fast? I don’t give a f*ck about too fast or too slow. All of that right and wrong bullsh*t was created by society, and societal norms don’t appeal to me whatsoever.

She stares at the buttons of my shirt as she fiddles with them. I’m almost positive she’s going to say no. But she surprises the hell out of me when she says, “Okay.”

“Yeah?” I might have sounded too excited.

She nods, blushing, and looks up at me. “Yeah.”

“You can say no. I won’t be wounded by your rejection. I promise.”

“Wounded,” she quietly repeats as her smile grows. Softer, she adds, “I want to, Charlie. I promise.” She pauses for a moment like she wants to add more to that, but ultimately drops it.

I study her for a beat and I immediately know. She’s afraid. Not of me. Not of staying overnight. But of going home. Of going back to her apartment where she’ll be alone.

I absentmindedly run my hand up and down her waist as I ask her, “Do you want to shower?”

She blinks at me. “With you?”

My muscles tense. I flush, stunned into silence.

Her eyes go wide. “Of course not,” she rushes to amend. “Separate showers. Right. I don’t know why I said that.” She suddenly sits up and my hand numbly slides off of her. “You go first. I take forever in the shower.”

I know.

I bite down and tensely nod my head.

f*ck.

Fuuckkk.

We exist in an unmoving silence for a long, miserable beat before I get off the bed and say, “I’ll be quick.” I don’t wait to hear if Roxanne says anything before I’m bolting out of the bedroom and heading straight for my shared bathroom with Beckett.

The door is cracked, and I swing it open to find Beckett, freshly showered, standing at the sink in nothing but black pajama pants, brushing his teeth.

I practically slam the door shut behind me and inhale a deeper breath, pressing my back against the door.

Beckett raises a brow at me and bends down to spit into the sink. “Why do you look like you just ran a mile?”

I let my head fall back against the door as I tug at my hair. My heart is beating so wildly in my chest. I feel like I can barely breathe, and yet all I seem to be doing is breathing so f*cking hard anyway.

“Charlie?”

“I asked Roxanne to spend the night,” I come right out and say. Beckett gives me a look as he wipes his mouth on a hand towel like how is that a big deal?“She said yes.” I run a hand down my face and lean against the sink counter. “I asked her if she wanted to shower, and guess what she said, Beckett, f*cking guess.”

Beckett stares at me for a beat, his lips lifting in amusem*nt. “I’m gonna go with yes?”

“She said with you. She asked that. Those words genuinely came out of her mouth. With. You.” I lose all feeling in my legs as I sink to the floor, my back sliding against the sink counters, and bury my head in my hands. “f*ck.”

Beckett gracefully lowers himself to sit on the floor, his back against the wall opposite of me. He can tell this is going to take a while. “From the fact that you’re here alone, I’m going to assume you said no?”

“Why would I say no?”

“Then what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything,” I groan.

“Why?”

“Because I was f*cking nervous,” I stress. “I am f*cking nervous.”

Beckett stares at me with his arms on his knees like I’ve changed. Like everyday, I’m fading further and further from who I used to be. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing is both yet to be determined and subjective, but I can tell Beckett is not used to it. At all.

“You’re nervous…” he slowly says. I’m never nervous. I don’t even know if what I’m feeling is nervousness at all.

I rub a hand over my chest, over my heart, and slowly bow down, resting my forehead on my knees. “I don’t know. It’s like my heart is aching all while there’s life being poured into it. It’s hard to explain. I don’t know,” I whisper.

Beckett’s silent for a long moment, just thinking, and then he quietly muses, “Love.”

I snap my head up. “What?” I croak.

“Love,” Beckett softly repeats. “I think you’re just in love, Charlie.”

The hurting in my chest intensifies, and I start to shake my head, not believing it, not believing it at all, because… because what? Because I’ve never felt it before? Because it scares me? Not to feel it, not to experience it, but to lose it. To have it and then lose it just as quickly terrifies me.

I’ve loved vicariously through media—through books, and movies, and television shows. I’ve seen it secondhand in Moffy, in Jane, in Sulli, in Luna, in my parents. I’ve dreamed of it for days, for months, for years, and all around the world.

I knew it was going to feel so achingly powerful, but I didn’t know it was going to be so overwhelming that my heart could very well burst.

I slump against the counter. “Maybe,” I quietly mutter.

I might start crying. Of relief, or… anxiety.

Beckett plays with his fingers nervously. “Really?”

“Maybe,” I repeat. I reach forward and pry my shoes and socks off, placing them neatly against the tile. “Who knew I’d be here,” I quietly muse, lazily working on the buttons of my shirt next, “falling for a girl I’ve never even f*cked?”

I expect to find my twin brother giving me his classic what the f*ck face, or maybe even laugh at the absurd revelation. But his face falls instead.

I pause. “What?” I warily ask.

Beckett blinks and shakes his head, slumping against the wall, and I immediately know that something is wrong.

“What?” I ask again, more alert.

“I f*cked up, Charlie,” he winces. “f*cking hell, I’m so sorry.”

“Apologize after you tell me what you’re f*cking apologizing for.”

He runs a hand through his hair and down his face—in agony, I realize—and it has every muscle in my body tensing. “I said something earlier. In the elevator. To Roxy.” He looks ashamed as he admits, “In the heat of the moment, I accused her of sleeping with you to keep her spot in the company. I used those rumors against her, Charlie, and now I’ve just found out you two haven’t even slept together? I don’t even believe those f*cking rumors. I was just so… f*ck, I feel like sh*t.”

I turn my head, unable to look at him. I bite down on my teeth, breathing hard, unsure if I’m angry or hurt or both.

f*ck. That must’ve broke her heart.

And therefore it breaks mine.

I loathe this position I’m in, where there is no winning for me if Beckett and Roxanne are at war with each other. If she were to hurt him, it would hurt me. If he hurts her, it does the same.

“I know this complicates things for you,” Beckett quietly continues. “I don’t mean to be so difficult. I just… I can’t…”

“I know, Beckett.”

Beckett sighs, dropping his head and burying a hand into his dark wavy hair. “I really am sorry.”

I pause for a moment, inhaling a deeper breath as I shut my eyes. “Did you apologize to her?”

“Right away.”

“Did she accept it?”

Beckett sighs again. “Right away,” he mutters.

I knew she would. It’s just who she is. Through gritted teeth, I ask, “Did she cry?”

He winces, and I harden my jaw at the sight—knowing that she had.

I squeeze my eyes shut again, and again, I’m unable to look at him. God, my heart hurts. I hate this. I hate it.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

“I know,” I whisper, pained.

It’s just who Beckett is. He’s untrusting. Especially to outsiders. It doesn’t even matter if Roxanne was his friend first. Now that she’s in, he’s going to initially be cautious and sometimes, even harsh.

He was cautious with Farrow. He was cautious with Thatcher. But f*ck, he was the biggest Kitsulletti supporter out there, and now he can barely stomach Roxanne and I. How the f*ck is that supposed to make me feel?

I would ask him, but I know what he’s going to say. He’s going to tell me that Sulli didn’t promise to not date her bodyguards. Not like I did with Roxanne.

I’m going to make it up to him. I will.

“She wants to be my friend again,” Beckett adds after a long moment of silence. He frowns at the floor as he says, “I don’t know why, but she does. And I’m really…” he lets out a breath, “I’m really grateful for it.”

I lean my head against the counter. “Roxanne is the embodiment of hope. She clings onto it almost dangerously.” For everyone but herself.

Beckett blinks up at the ceiling, his eyes reddened. “She acted like nothing happened afterwards. She just kept saying it’sokay, it’s okay. Like what the f*ck, Charlie, I can’t believe I said that.” He covers his face with his hands, elbows on his knees.

My heart burns.

His guilt is completely consuming him.

Because he knows that her pain is mine. He realizes that now. He hurt me, too. And he hates that.

“Stop it,” I mutter, my eyes burning. “If she says it’s okay, then believe her.”

He nods, but he doesn’t take his hands off his face.

My muscles are tense, my heart clenching as I say, “Please don’t be crying.”

“Too late,” he mumbles into his hands.

I tug at my hair, stressed, and let out a frustrated breath. “We need to stop hurting each other.”

“Agreed,” he says without pause.

I weakly stand off the floor, wincing at the ache in my leg and gripping onto the counter for dear life. “Can you do something for me?”

Beckett wipes his face with his arm and looks up at me. I offer him a hand to stand and he takes it without an ounce of hesitation. “What?”

“Can you feed your friend while I shower? She’s famished.”

Beckett nods but asks, “You two didn’t get to eat on your date?”

I let out a frustrated breath just thinking about it as I strip my button-down off and place it neatly on the sink counter. “No, because Eliot’s stupidity decided to make an appearance tonight of all nights.”

“What happened anyway?”

I turn on the shower before undoing the button of my slacks and stepping out of them. “His hook-up trashed the apartment while he was asleep.”

“Jesus. He’s not going to live this down.” Beckett winces.

“Amen,” I deadpan, and step into the shower once I’m fully naked.

Beckett chuckles and finally leaves the bathroom.

To hopefully rebuild his friendship with my girlfriend.

For nobodies sake but their own.

Chapter 28

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT — Roxanne Ruiz

The second Charlie’s bedroom door shuts behind him, I flop down onto his bed and groan into his pillow.

Curse me and my stupid mouth!

Oh my god, his pillows smell like him. Of course they would smell like him.

He smells so good.

I roll over and stare at the ceiling, every inch of me burning from head to toe. I can’t believe I blurted that. I just thought… that’s what he was insinuating. What he wanted. But no? Or… I don’t know!

I cover my face with my hands and groan again. “Stupid,” I whisper to myself.

A few minutes pass of me just soaking in my agony before I sit up on the bed and look around Charlie’s room. Curiosity gets the better of me. So I snoop.

Charlie’s always snooping through my stuff at my apartment. It’s time for vengeance.

Since his dark wooden bedside table is closest, I look there first. The glass, vintage lamp is beautiful, with white stained glass and intricate gold designs on it. There’s a Talavera pottery plate on the surface, from Mexico presumably, with blue and white glossy floral designs, and in it is a variety of earrings for his piercing.

I pull open the top drawer of the bedside table. I manage to only see a brown journal, a few loose pens, and a few bottles of something—lotion and… lube—before I shut it abruptly upon seeing his condoms.

I shut my eyes and inhale a breath through my nose. Oh… my god.

I stand up quickly and cross the length of the room, my entire body burning.

I appraise his bookshelf next, full of language encyclopedias and other stories. I pick up a worn paperback of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce, the pages filled with annotations. I flip through the book as I walk over to his desk and sink down onto the chair.

His handwriting is beautiful. Sometimes he writes in the margins. Sometimes he simply underlines passages without a word of explanation.

He underlined, “He wanted to meet in the real world the unsubstantial image which his soul so constantly beheld.”

He underlined, “He was destined to learn his own wisdom apart from others or to learn the wisdom of others himself wandering among the snares of the world.”

He underlined, “When the soul of a man is born in this country, there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets.”

I start to smile. How very Charlie of him.

I must have flipped through more than a hundred pages, just reading his notes and seeing into his mind, when there’s a knock at the door, pulling me away from the book.

The door cracks open and Beckett peeks his head through. “Hey.”

I slowly shut the book and straighten on the chair. “Hi.”

I pretend not to notice the redness in his eyes. The puffiness, too. For his own sake.

Beckett fully enters the room, only in black pajama pants, and eyes the book in my hand. “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man,” he muses. “That one is Charlie’s favorite.”

A small smile comes over my face. “I can tell.”

His own smile comes as he says, “Quick question.” He sits on the end of Charlie’s bed and pulls out his phone. “What’s your favorite pizza topping?”

I think for a second. “Honestly, the more vegetables, the better.” I eye him as he begins to text. “Why?”

“I’m ordering a pizza. Well—four, actually.”

“That’s a lot of pizzas,” I quietly muse.

His lips lift, not taking his eyes off his phone, as he says, “We eat a lot.”

I just nod, not knowing what else to say.

Normally, I’d have a lot of words to fill in the quiet, but now… with Beckett… I don’t. I felt like I had to tip toe around him before. But now I feel like I can’t even be around him anymore. Like one wrong word and I’m going to hurt him.

It sucks.

“Roxanne,” Beckett says.

I realize I’d been staring at the book in my hands. I look up at him. His brows are furrowed in distress—a mixture of guilt and wariness and concern in his eyes.

As odd as it sounds, there is beauty in the pain he portrays right now. It’s so deep and so raw and so real. I start to imagine the day Beckett utilizes his emotions into his art. That is the day he becomes the best ballet dancer I know.

When it comes to their rivalry, Beckett has more technical ability whereas Leo has more passion. If you combined the two of them, it would truly make the perfect dancer.

But Beckett seems to lack the passion. And I don’t really know why.

Maybe he will feel it once he feels love.

I know I have.

“Beckett…” I quietly say.

He flips his phone in his hand as he warily admits, “We’re never going to be able to go back to how we were.”

I’m trembling, I realize. From the weight of those words. My eyes burn as I nod my head, agreeing with him, even though I wish I didn’t have to.

I don’t want to lose Beckett. Beckett, who always smiled and greeted me every morning at class. Beckett, who would tell guys at Pink Noir, our favorite bar, to f*ck off if they kept hitting on me. Beckett, who would hold my hair back while I threw up in the bushes after a night out. Beckett, who would compliment my pirouettes even when I’d stumble.

I don’t want to lose Beckett. But I also can’t find it in me to regret anything either. Because the reality where I don’t have Charlie is one I don’t want to indulge in.

“But…” Beckett continues after a strained silence, “I’m open to… starting over.”

I stare at him for a beat, my heart pounding. “Starting over?”

He nods, unable to stay still. Leg jostling, fingers fiddling with his phone, jaw hardening. He’s nervous, I realize. That I’ll reject him. Because he still feels guilty for earlier.

I wonder if that’s the reason behind his sad eyes.

I start to frown, and Beckett lets out a wavering breath at the sight.

But then I hold my hand out to him. “I’m Roxanne.”

Beckett stares at my hand for a long, miserable beat before he slowly reaches out to grasp my hand with his own shaky one. “Beckett,” he nearly whispers, his voice cracking.

It breaks my heart.

We’re both mourning our friendship. And we both feel guilty for it. Because we wouldn’t have had to mourn a thing if it weren’t for Charlie, and that’s not fair to him at all.

At the same time, we can barely help it. This is just how it is.

I place the paperback on Charlie’s desk and rise off the chair, sitting next to Beckett on the bed instead. “Can I hug you?”

Beckett doesn’t answer me. He just twists and wraps his arms around me, hugging me himself. He holds me tight—not like he’s afraid I’ll disappear, but like he’s trying to protect me from the hurt.

Beckett’s always been that way. Protective. I’m not the only dancer he greets in the mornings, protects at bars, holds back hair for, and compliments even when we fail.

He said my heart is too big, but he doesn’t even know how big his own is.

“I’m really sorry,” he whispers.

I wrap my arms around him and hug him back. “Me too.”

Beckett and I retreat to the living room, where he puts on an episode of Black Mirror, and we end up talking more than watching it.

“You’re spending the night, right?” he asks.

“Yes,” I slowly say. “Is that okay?”

“Of course.” He pauses for a bit like he’s weighing options, and then he asks, “We can ride together tomorrow morning. To class. If you want.”

I want. I do. But… “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

He smiles. “You wouldn’t.”

“My stuff is at home.”

“We’ll drop by beforehand.”

“You’re always late.”

“I was late one time.”

“What time do you leave?” Beckett’s usually always at the studio before me in the mornings.

He tilts his head, thinking. “Around eight. I’m awake by five or six.”

I nod. Sounds sensible.

“We can go at seven?” he suggests. “If you want?”

I fiddle with my fingers, lounging on the opposite side of the couch from him. “Are you sure?”

“Sure about what?”

Beckett and I turn our heads at the same time to find Charlie—freshly showered Charlie—standing there, highly interested in our conversation, in nothing but a freaking towel!!!

My eyes flicker up to his messy, damp hair, to his beautiful arms, to his bare chest, to the wet ridges of muscle on his abdomen—and I completely flush.

I’ve seen him half-naked before. I have. But it never gets any easier.

Beckett answers for me because I physically cannot speak. “I was just telling Roxanne that we could go to rehearsal together tomorrow.”

Charlie nods like he likes this idea, and then his eyes flicker to me. He tilts his head. “Roxanne?”

“Yes?” I choke out.

“Did you say yes?”

“I was… thinking about it,” I weakly say.

“What’s there to think about?”

I pry my eyes away from him and look anywhere else. “I can’t focus on anything you’re saying until you put some clothes on.”

Beckett stifles a laugh beside me.

I can hear the grin in Charlie’s voice as he says, “Shower’s ready for you.”

I strangle out a weak, “Thanks.”

Once I hear the door shut to Charlie’s bedroom, I let out a trembling breath.

“Wow.” Beckett lets out a breath, amused. “That tension was thick. In a good way.”

“You have lots of experience with that, don’t you? With Joana?” I toss back.

Beckett shrugs, not denying this.

I’m intrigued.

“Do you like her?”

“No,” he immediately says, almost defensively.

“No? Really?” I say, not believing him one bit.

He shakes his head with a rising smile and stands up. “I’m not talking about this with you.” He starts to walk to his shared bathroom with Charlie. “Come on. I’ll get you a towel and a spare toothbrush.”

I start to smile as I stand and follow him.

The words starting over really stung earlier. But now… I think I’m starting to warm up to it.

Freshly showered and dressed in Charlie’s clothes—a white cotton t-shirt and a pair of his boxer shorts (which he had dropped off WHILE I was showering, by the way)—I exit the bathroom with damp curls to see all five of the Cobalt brothers lounging in the living room around four boxes of pizza.

Tom, Eliot, and Beckett swallow the couch while Charlie lounges in an armchair. Ben is sitting before the coffee table on the opposite side of the couch on the floor. They’re all dressed down to their sleepwear.

“Roxy,” Beckett calls out, seeing me first, “come eat.”

I walk over to them and share a smile with Ben as I sit on the rug beside him.

“I’m telling you that hitting them did not go well for the lawsuit,” Eliot stresses, currently in a heated argument with my boyfriend, but… go figure, right?

I pick up a pizza from one of the boxes and take a bite out of it. Oh, wow. This is good.

“Do you like it?” Ben quietly asks me to not interrupt his brothers. “It’s vegan.”

“Is it? It’s great.” I take another bite and say through a mouthful, “Can barely tell the difference.”

Ben chuckles.

“I don’t give a f*ck what it did,” Charlie snaps. “You’re not doing it.”

“Doing what?” I curiously chime in.

The Cobalt’s all share cagey looks, and I realize that I had just walked into a conversation I wasn’t supposed to know a thing about.

But then Charlie tells me, “The Rochester’s want Eliot to do PR work with them to help with their decline in stocks—which is stupid, by the way.”

Beckett agrees. “Considering what they did to us, they’re in no position to ask that of you.”

“What did they do to you guys?” I ask.

Once again, Ben, Tom, and Eliot share cagey looks. I’m not trusted, you see. Not to them.

“They were behind The Royal Leaks,” Charlie once again tells me, his voice dripping in heat—not at me, but at the memory of those leaks.

My eyes widen at the newfound revelation. “Really?”

He sighs. “Really.” He looks me over, eyes running down the length of me, and then he says, softer, “Come here.”

Without pause, I shift around the coffee table until I’m sitting on the floor in front of him, my back against his knees. He’s touching me right away, hands on my neck and in my hair—like he just couldn’t have lived another second without doing so.

“Can we really be sharing this?” Tom hesitantly asks.

“Yes,” Charlie snaps.

“If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’ve already signed an NDA,” I tell Tom, my voice definitely softer than Charlie’s.

Tom just nods.

“And so we shall share to our hearts content,” Eliot says, his voice dripping in dramatics. “The Rochester’s are willing to drop the charges—for both of us—if I do this.”

Charlie immediately says, “No.”

“They have a lot of nerve dangling that in front of you when they were literally behind The Royal Leaks,” Ben says—angry, I realize.

They’re all very angry at this.

“It’s not an eye for an eye this time—though, I wish it could be,” Tom sighs. “They know we aren’t going to let our lawsuit go. It’s why they’re extending this hand. And maybe Eliot’s right, maybe he should do this.”

Beckett’s shaking his head. “We have good lawyers.”

“Amazing lawyers,” Ben agrees. He says to Eliot, “They pushed Tom first. You’d win, Eliot.”

Charlie heatedly says, “The only reason Rochester Industries is going through a decline in stocks is because the world automatically sides with us in this war. A war that is very much real. We do hate the Rochester’s. So why would you willingly pretend that you don’t to save your own ass?”

Eliot runs his hands through his hair and over his face, groaning. “They were really persuasive in that email, okay?”

“Your recent string of stupidity is pathetic, Eliot,” Charlie flatly says.

I nudge his leg with my elbow. Not nice.

He just lightly tugs on one of my curls.

“Did Winnifred even agree to this? You’d have to be doing PR work with her, right?” Beckett wonders, biting into a slice of pizza.

Tom rubs his hands together, staring at the floor. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he realized something then.

“It wasn’t mentioned whether she agreed to it,” Eliot admits. “But she would have to, right? For her family?”

“Or they could make you do a bunch of PR work with the Rochester you beat up,” Ben says. “And that sounds like torture for you. So… I agree. Don’t do it.”

Beckett nods, his lips lifting as he looks between Charlie and Ben. He realizes, like I do, that they just agreed with one another. “I third that vote. f*ck the Rochester’s.”

Tom glances up from the floor to see all four of his brothers staring at him, waiting for his answer. “Majority rules, right?”

“We still want your input,” Beckett tells him.

Tom looks at Eliot, and they seem to share this look that speaks thousands of words. He looks almost apologetic as he says, “It’s not worth it, dude.”

Eliot frowns, but nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I think you’re right.”

I think Eliot knew his brothers were right since the very start. Indulging in whatever the Rochester’s had to say was a bad idea. Maybe he just needed his brothers to remind him of that. Although, I don’t know how he could ever forget it.

Unless something is clouding his judgment?

“I propose a change in topic,” Eliot suddenly says. “Roxanne.”

I freeze with the pizza halfway in my mouth. “Me?”

“How did this happen?” Eliot waves a hand between me and Charlie.

“You don’t have to answer him,” Charlie tells me.

“And so the tortured asshole says to the tiny ballerina,” Tom muses. “I would like to know. All in favor, say I.” He raises his hand.

Beckett, that guy, smirks and raises a hand. “I.”

Eliot’s hand shoots up. “I!”

Ben shares an apologetic smile with me as he raises his hand too. “We’re really curious,” he tells me.

I know. I know they’re super curious, and it’s really cute, but oh my god, they’re Charlie’s brothers.

Sometimes I forget that. Sometimes they feel like friends. Especially since Beckett is my friend, and I partied with Tom and Eliot way back, and I already feel like I've known Ben for years.

I sink beneath the weight of all their gazes, right up against Charlie. Normally I wouldn’t be so shy, but then again, I’m dating their brother.

“We ran into each other in Italy,” I admit.

“Romantic.” Eliot grins.

I slowly nod. “It really was.”

“What did you guys do in Italy?” Ben asks.

“We… cooked, and swam, and… talked a lot.” Amongst other things. “He took me to Paris, too. We went to The Louvre and saw a ballet after.”

Tom gasps, covering his mouth with a palm. “Charlie Keating,” he muffles behind his hand. “You romantic beast, I had no idea you had it in you!”

Charlie ignores him completely.

“What ballet did you guys see?” Beckett asks.

“Giselle.” I smile at the memory.

Beckett’s eyes light up. “I love Giselle.”

“Me too!”

Beckett and I spend the next ten minutes discussing the ballet, with his brothers chiming in every so often. And when the pizzas are finished and the aura has shifted into something more comfortable, it’s when the tiredness starts to come.

Ben leaves first, then Eliot and Tom, and Beckett bids us goodnight a little later, reminding me about how we’re leaving together tomorrow morning.

And then there were two.

Just Charlie and I.

And I suddenly remember that we’re sharing a bed, and I’ve never slept in the same bed with a guy before, and I discovered his condom stash earlier, and I am so not prepared for any of this!

sh*t. sh*t sh*t sh*t.

Chapter 29

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE — Charlie Cobalt

“Were you ever going to tell me about what Beckett said in the elevator?”

Roxanne pauses brushing her teeth. She stares at me through the reflection of the mirror for a beat, her eyes conveying every truth I need to know, and then she bends down to spit.

And because I’m conveniently standing behind her, the movement causes her ass to press up against my dick. I let out a frustrated breath through my nose and slip a hand under her shirt, holding her hip. She shudders against me as she cleans herself up.

“No,” she finally admits. “He didn’t say it to be malicious. He’s just afraid. I already forgave him for it.” She turns around to face me and toys with the waistband of my plaid blue pajama pants. Again, I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it. “It’s passed now. We can only move on from it. I don’t want Beckett and I to grow into something bitter. I just… want us to grow, period.”

I bite the inside of my lip, slowly running my hands up and down her waist. “What were you guys talking about? Before that?”

“Um…” she trails off, unable to meet my eyes. “Stuff.”

“Stuff,” I repeat flatly.

“Private stuff.” She nods to herself like she likes this answer.

“And I can’t know this private stuff?”

“Maybe one day,” she tells me honestly.

I study her for a beat, but she avoids my eyes completely. I put the pieces together alarmingly fast the longer I look at her. They were having a conversation about me, and Beckett would only say what he said to rattle her—to maybe defend me or out her true intentions. I deduce Roxanne was talking to him about her feelings for me. I still can’t believe she has feelings for me. And if that’s something she can’t share right now, then I’ll let it go.

But I won’t let it go forever.

She brings her hand up to my face, gripping my chin, and turns my head to the side. “I like this,” she says, brushing her fingers over my rook piercing. “When did you get this?”

“I was sixteen,” I say.

“Rebellious,” she muses. I shrug, not denying it. “Do you want any more? Piercings, I mean.”

“I’m not opposed to the idea.” It’s my turn to admire her ears—though, only her earlobes are pierced. “And you?”

She reaches up to touch one of her ears. “I’ve always wanted to pierce my helix, but I’ve never found the time.”

“I could do it for you,” I find myself saying.

She blinks up at me. “Right now?”

“Why not?”

“Okay.” She starts to smile—grin, actually. “How about you? Do you want one?”

I raise a brow, teasing. “You want to pierce me?”

She says without pause, “I want to do a lot of things to you.” I blink, my face slowly heating, but she continues without noticing a thing. “I can handle it, you know. I’ve pierced my cousin’s ears plenty of times.”

I clear my throat. sh*t. “Blood doesn’t make you squeamish?”

“Nothing makes me squeamish.” She pauses for a second. “Except bugs. I hate bugs.” She literally shivers.

My lips lift, amused. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I lean down to kiss her forehead. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

I leave Roxanne in the bathroom to find the supplies. My dish of earrings, a small bowl, rubbing alcohol, two hollowed needles, a lighter, a cork, sea salt—all that sh*t.

When I return, she’s sitting on the sink counter, one of her legs propped up and her chin on her knee. She smiles as she watches me place all the items on the counter. “Can you pierce me first?”

I pour a little bit of rubbing alcohol in the small bowl as I muse, “You are just so eager for pain, aren’t you? First the biting, now this.”

Roxanne flushes. “Shut up.”

I grin, holding out my dish of earrings. “Pick one.”

She barely thinks about it as she chooses a simple gold hoop and places it in my palm. I toss the hoop into the rubbing alcohol and choose a silver one for me, tossing that one in too.

I wash my hands with soap as I ask her, “Which ear?”

“Hm,” she twists around to look at herself in the mirror, “this one.” She points to her right ear. I dry my hands and then grab the needle and lighter. Roxanne watches me flick the lighter on, sterilizing the needle, and says, “You’re a pro at this.”

“I’ve never done this before,” I plainly admit.

Roxanne smiles. “You wouldn’t even be able to tell. You seem so confident.”

“Because I am. Turn your head.” She bares her right ear to me and I step closer, holding her helix between two fingers. I grab the cork and hold it behind her ear. “Don’t move.”

“Why would I move?” she whispers.

“You’re moving right now, aren’t you?”

She stops talking after that, stifling a laugh.

I position the needle on her helix, and without counting down, I push the needle through her ear. She tenses, wincing, and I make quick work of cleaning the earring and fitting it through the hollowed needle, and finally, her helix.

Once the earring is in, she turns to look at it through the mirror. “Badass,” she whispers into a rising grin.

I soak some cotton pads in the sea salt solution and then clean her newly pierced helix. “Badass,” I softly agree.

“Which ear do you want?”

“My left.”

Roxanne excitedly goes through the same process of cleaning her hands and the second needle before moving to my ear. She holds the cork behind my helix and positions the needle over the skin. “Nobody panic. I’m practically a pro,” she whispers. And then she actually does count down before pushing the needle through.

I wince a little. Ow.

She fits the earring into my ear and cleans it right after, and then she lets out a breath, backing up to examine her work. “Jesus Christ, Cobalt. And just when I think you couldn’t have gotten any sexier…”

I’m fighting a smile as I grab her legs and nudge them apart to stand between them. “You have a thing for earrings?” I ask as I slide my hands up her thighs.

“No.” She lets out a breath, clutching onto the black material of my t-shirt. “I have a thing for you.”

sh*t. My heart is going crazy. She makes me crazy.

I lean in and capture her lips in a slow kiss, savoring every second, every feeling. She sighs against my mouth, kissing me deeper, and wraps her arms around my neck to pull me closer.

My hands slip under her shirt, gliding over her waist, around to her back. She trembles at the touch and whimpers when my tongue brushes her own.

f*ck. I need this girl badly.

I pull away to trail slow kisses down her neck, and she buries her fingers into my hair and lightly tugs.

“Charlie…” she whispers into a shuddering breath. “We should go to bed.”

“Mhm.” I absentmindedly drag my lips up to her ear and lick her helix—the one that isn’t pierced, and she lets out a whimper before burying her face in my neck.

“f*ck,” she breathes. “Is it hot in here?”

I’m chuckling as I pull away from her. “We can go, but I have to clean this first.” The move to clean is practically automatic at this point, having lived with Beckett my entire life.

Roxanne dazedly nods, hopping off the counter and grabbing the sea salt solution, pouring it down the drain. “I’ll help you.”

“By the way,” I grab the cotton pads and toss them into the trash, “what you learned today—about Beckett’s OCD—it can’t leave the family.”

She looks up at me. “I know.”

I slowly nod, grabbing the lighter and dish of earrings. “Good.”

She’s silent for a moment before she says, “I didn’t know he had OCD. No one at the company does, not even Leo. I figured if it’s not public information, it’s to stay that way.”

I just nod, not saying anything.

Roxanne slowly wraps the needles in toilet paper as she asks me, “How bad is it… exactly?”

I know she’s only asking so she can be more conscious around him, but I end up saying, “I don’t want to talk about it, Roxanne.” Because I don’t. And Beckett wouldn’t want to either. “Just be normal with him.”

He likes to deal with it in private because he doesn’t want to draw attention to it or make it seem like it’s a big deal. And if Roxanne makes it seem like a big deal, he’s going to hate it.

“Right. Sorry,” she softly says.

“Don’t apologize.” I take the rolled up needles from her and toss that in the trash.

“Sorry.” She shuts her eyes and inhales a deeper breath. “I mean. Not sorry.”

“Apologies are useless.” I lightly nudge her arm with an elbow. She opens her eyes. “Sometimes,” I add.

“You don’t apologize a lot, do you?”

“I’m not always sorry,” I unabashedly admit.

Because while I don’t often apologize for who I am, I have found myself apologizing for other things. Jack taking a beating for me—and breaking his camera in the process—at the HMC carnival fundraiser being one of them.

That night was f*cked.

“Apologies mean something to most people,” she tells me.

“That’s not my problem.”

She shakes her head into a small smile. “We don’t think the same.”

“I hope not.” I lean down and kiss her cheek before backing out of the bathroom. “One minute in my mind and you’d explode.”

She’s giggling as she exits the bathroom to follow me, shutting off the light in the process. “So how do you endure it, then?”

By drowning it out with drugs, pain, and my usual bouts of cruelty. “Solitude.” Freedom. Moving. Constantly. Everywhere.

“Yeah?” She follows me into my bedroom and shuts the door behind her, watching as I set the things on my desk. I eye my paperback of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man sitting on the surface. That curious girl.

“Yep.” I pick up the paperback and mindlessly flip through the pages.

“How does that work?”

“The longer one is alone, the easier it is to hear the song of the earth,” I say, quoting an author. I turn to look at Roxanne over my shoulder. She’s sitting on the bed, her spine straight. “Were you snooping?”

“You snoop all the time,” she shoots back. “It was vengeance.”

“Vengeance,” I flatly repeat, setting the book down. I walk up to her, her knees bumping against my shins, and tilt her chin up with a finger. “Are you satisfied with what you found?”

She stares up at me, her chest rising and falling in deep breaths, and then she blurts, “I found your condoms.”

“Congratulations.” I cradle her cheek in my hand and softly brush my thumb over her lips. “That doesn’t answer the question, though.”

“Um…” She lets out wavering breath as I slide my hand around to the back of her neck. “Satisfied… Yep.” I bury my fingers into her hair and give it a light tug so her face is to the ceiling. She gasps, abruptly clutching onto my pants. “Charlie.”

“Yes?” I nudge her knees apart and stand between them. One hand buried in her hair and the other cradling her jaw, I lean down to kiss her softly. “You’re so beautiful, Roxanne, did you know that? Did you know that I’m f*cking crazy about you?”

She trembles. “Charlie.”

“What, Roxanne? What do you want?”

“We need to go to bed,” she whispers, her breath fanning my lips. “I have to wake up early tomorrow. You know this.”

“I know this,” I quietly agree, slowly laying her down on my bed.

Roxanne’s breathing deepens next to mine as her shoulders meet the sheets and her eyes watch my knees sink into the mattress, crawling over her.

It’s dark in my room—the bedside lamp turned off—with only the faint glow of the city shining through the opened windows.

And yet she looks so f*cking beautiful beneath me anyway. Out of breath like I’ve already made her come five f*cking times.

“Oh my god,” she quietly whispers—more to herself, than anything. She shuts her eyes tight and clutches onto my shirt for dear life. “I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Yeah. I know the feeling.

“Relax, Roxanne,” I breathe, shifting off of her to lay beside her instead. I shift us beneath the covers and draw her closer to me, an arm around her waist. “We’re just sleeping.”

She nods, her eyes still shut. She tries to breathe deeper, like she’s trying to calm her heart down.

I eye her warily. “You’re okay?”

She flutters her eyes open and nods, letting out a breath. She slowly turns to her side so she’s facing me, and now we’re lying side by side with my arm around her waist and her hands still clutching my shirt. “I’ve never done this before,” she whispers.

“Really,” I flatly say. “Couldn’t even tell.”

She chuckles, grinning wide. She’s more relaxed now. Shy again, she says, “You make me nervous.”

I grab her hand and place it flat against my chest. Her lips lift feeling the wild pounding of my heart. It gives her solace knowing I become just as undone for her—that we’re on the same wavelength.

“I make you nervous,” she softly confirms. She shifts closer to me and looks into my eyes. “Have you ever done this before? Spent the night with a girl?”

“Never willingly,” I quietly admit.

“Care to elaborate?”

“If I wasn’t drunk or high, I was either leaving or kicking them out.”

“Smart man,” she muses.

“Eliot could take some notes,” I quip.

“You know what I think?” she says. “I think something is clouding his judgment.”

I raise a brow at her, slipping a hand under her shirt to run my hand down her spine. “Interesting theory. Do go on.”

“I think something could be bothering him. I just don’t think it’s a bad idea to… check on him?” She shrugs, toying with my shirt. “What you said earlier, about his recent string of stupidity… Well… I think you’re right. Not about it being pathetic—which was not nice, by the way. But… It is alarming.”

“It is both alarming and pathetic.”

“You might think it’s less pathetic when you figure out what’s going on with him.”

I harden my jaw, realizing she may be right. If something was really going on with Eliot, he would be too prideful to admit it. He would never ask for help. Would never subject us to that. He would act like everything is perfectly fine. He is an actor. And people fall for his mask all the time.

I wouldn’t. Normally. But I’ve been so caught up in Roxanne to notice any better.

“Tell you what,” I say. “If he does something stupid again, I’ll push. Two is hardly a pattern.”

She nods, agreeing with this. “Yeah. Okay.”

He could just be stressed about his unemployment. That is quite literally the only thing I can imagine would rattle him since nothing horrible is happening to our family at the moment. And if that’s the case, then whatever. That’s not any of my f*cking business.

Roxanne leans closer, eyeing my cheek. She brushes a delicate finger over the scar on my skin. “What happened here?”

I flash a smile. “Some asshole punched my face.”

She looks equal parts amused and angry—like she’s one second away from defending the hell out of me. She proves me right when she asks, “Does this asshole have a name?”

“Yeah. Last name: None Of, first name: Your Business.”

She frowns, brows furrowed. Cute.

Yeah, okay. She didn’t like that joke.

I sigh, rolling my eyes. “It was just Moffy. No big deal.”

“Moffy?” Her eyes are wide. “Your cousin punched you?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” I offer her a crooked smile, but she’s still frowning.

How do I make you smile again?

“Roxanne,” I whisper, nudging closer to her. “I was always usually lunging first. We argued with fists, broke some skin, but it’s all in the past now.” I place a palm over her forehead like I’m checking her temperature. “Don’t be so dejected.”

She lets out a breath. “I just… could never imagine fighting one of my cousins. Verbally or physically.” She lets out a wince. “But… I’m sure you had your reasons.”

“I did.” I stare at her for a beat. “I’ll tell you one day. I don’t want to talk about it tonight.”

She nods, understanding. Always understanding. But she still asks, “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you,” I confirm, brushing my hand through her hair and settling on the back of her head.

She nods some more, blinking back emotion. f*ck, what is this girl doing to me? “That means a lot, you know? Those three words.” She lets out a breath and shakes her head. “It’s reassuring. I feel like the world is concluding I’m a liar, and as long as you don’t… I feel almost fine. Like everything is going to be okay.”

I nudge my nose with hers, whispering, “I’m with you, Roxanne.”

She lets out a wavering breath, nodding.

“I’m so sorry this is happening to you,” I add, my voice pained.

Without even hesitating, she softly admits, “You’re worth it.” The words completely destroy me. In the most beautiful way.

I shut my eyes, a tremor rolling through my body. “Roxanne.”

“I mean it. I promise. It’s horrible, and it’s scary, and it hurts, but it’s so worth it, Charlie. I would rather have you with the pain than to not have you at all.”

I blink through burning emotions just to catch a glimpse of her. My chest is so heavy. I have never known what pure devotion felt like when it’s thrown my way. It’s so overwhelming.

How do I mean so much to you? Why am I worth it? What are you doing to me?

I wrap my arm tighter around her and bury my face in her neck. “It’s too much. You’re too much,” I whisper.

“Charlie?”

I whisper, “I feel so much for you, Roxanne.”

She wraps her arms around me and runs her fingers through my hair. “I feel so much for you, too, Charlie.”

I shut my eyes. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I can’t even if I tried.”

“Ty moy mir,” I whisper.

“Charlie,” she breathes.

“I need you.”

She’s shaking. Trembling. I pull back to look at her face and nearly startle at the tears in her eyes. But she’s smiling. She’s smiling so amazingly that every muscle in my body just relaxes right away.

She wipes her tears with the back of her hand. “I need to kiss you,” she says into a shy smile.

My lips rise. I lean in to slowly capture her lips with my own. She wraps her arms around me and deepens the kiss. It’s one laced with vulnerability, with emotions too strong to currently admit out loud. But I feel it. I feel so much. And it’s so overwhelming because I always feel too much, but Roxanne makes me feel more. Roxanne is more.

She brushes her tongue against mine and slides her hand down the front of me, gliding down my chest and my abdomen before reaching the hem of my t-shirt. I groan when she slips a hand under my shirt and touches me—skin to skin.

She lightly runs her nails down my abdomen. f*ck me. I’m panting against her lips the lower she descends, and once she reaches the waistband of my pajama pants, Roxanne whispers against my lips, “Charlie.”

“What?” I choke out when she slips a single finger inside.

“Can I make you come?”

Oh my f*cking… f*ck. f*ck.

Our heavy breaths fill the air as we stare at one another. I am so completely f*cked. I melt against the sheets when she slips a second finger into my waistband.

“Oh my god,” I mutter. f*ck. I start nodding. “Do whatever you want to me. Use me. Break me. f*ck me. All of it,” I pant. I shut my eyes so f*cking tight when her entire hand slips into my pants. I’ve never been so f*cking… wrecked by a girl before. Roxanne is going to ruin me.

I let out a trembling breath, resting my forehead against hers. Breathing wildly. “f*ck,” I strangle out as she palms my co*ck over the thin material of my boxer-briefs. With my hand still under her shirt, I fist the material and let out a tortured groan.

She kisses me hard, her tongue tasting my own, as she slips her hand beneath my boxer-briefs and grips my hard co*ck instead. She pumps me once. Twice. I’ve never been so turned on. I could come right here.

She stokes me through out make out, heavy and frenzied and so f*cking desperate for one another. And then she nudges me to lie on my back and crawls over my lap, straddling me.

f*ck f*ck f*ck.

My hands fall to her hips as she kisses down my neck and her fingers tug my pants and boxer-briefs low enough to free my co*ck. My heart is beating out of my chest.

“Roxanne,” I choke when my co*ck brushes against her clothed puss*.

I grip her hips harder, bucking my hips up and pressing her down against me. She moans, gripping my forearm hard, and pants, “Don’t stop.”

“f*ck,” I growl. I slide my hands up her waist, bringing her shirt with. “Take this off.”

Roxanne sits up, breathless, to peel her shirt off and toss it somewhere on the bed. My hands are on her right away, touching, feeling, admiring. f*ck, she’s so devastating.

“Oh god,” I breathe. “You drive me crazy.”

Roxanne leans down to kiss me, slow and hard, all while she wraps a hand around my co*ck again and strokes me tortuously slow.

I need inside her so bad.

I pull away, nudging her higher until her beautiful f*cking tit* are in my face. She lets out a strangled moan when I lick her nipple and then wrap my mouth around it.

“Charlie,” she pants, tugging on my hair.

My other hand glides down to squeeze her perfect ass, grinding her against me. She fumbles, her moves clumsy, as she tries to tug my shirt up. I rise up just slightly to help her, and she hurriedly pulls it off me.

She tosses my shirt somewhere aside and kisses down my neck. Hands feeling my hot skin, she lightly drags her nails down my abdomen as she kisses and licks down every indent of muscle.

I bury a hand into her hair as she sucks and bites. “Roxanne,” I groan, shaking, I realize, from just how badly I want her.

Her mouth descends just below my navel, her tongue darting out to lick my skin. Heat bathes me. I can’t catch a breath. It’s like I’m being doused in fire and Roxanne is the inferno.

She wraps a tentative hand around my co*ck, but her movements are as confident as they could be—fueled by her desire. She licks a path up my dick and wraps her lips around the tip, and I let out a pathetic moan, sinking into the sheets.

“sh*t,” I pant, breathless. I wrap a hand around her hair, holding it out of her face, as she takes me deeper into her mouth.

Roxanne has never given head before. This I know. But it doesn’t even matter. The fact that it’s her mouth is f*cking enough.

She looks up at me, her eyes bathed in unadulterated desire. She sucks my co*ck like loves it. And that turns me on even more. To know that she isn’t just doing it for me, but for herself too.

I let her take what she can, never pushing her further, and she strokes what she can’t fit in her mouth. But at some point, it gets to be too much, because I seriously might come from the warmth of her wet tongue and mouth alone, and I don’t think I’ve ever come close to coming from a blowj*b that fast.

“Roxanne,” I choke, tugging her hair up. My co*ck pops out of her mouth and she pants, breathing wildly. I wipe the corner of her lips with my thumb and breathe out, “I’ll come like this. Should I come like this?”

She stares at me for a moment, her chest rising. “No,” she whispers, face drawn in complete desire. “I want you.”

I gulp. “I told you that you could do anything to me, didn’t I?”

A shudder rolls through her and she nods.

I watch, dazed, with my heart beating so violently in my chest, as Roxanne sits up and reaches over to my bedside table.

I rise up on my elbows. She pulls open the top drawer, grabs something inside, and shuts it again.

“f*ck,” I hoarsely whisper, eyeing the condom in her hand. She wraps a hand around my co*ck, sitting before it, and rubs her thumb against my tip. I groan, feeling weak, and fall back on the bed, throwing an arm over my eyes. “You’re killing me.” I let out a pained shudder.

“Sorry,” she quickly says. “Help me.”

I uncover my eyes. “Help you?”

“Teach me,” she corrects, cheeks blazing. “I want to learn.”

My chest rises and falls in deep succession as I rise on my elbows again. “You want to learn how to put on a condom?”

“I don’t have a dick, Charlie. I can’t exactly practice.”

“Fair enough.” My voice trembles as I say, “First things first, Roxanne. Open it.”

She silently rips the foil package open and takes the condom out. She reaches over to place the wrapper neatly on on the bedside table.

“Pinch the tip and roll it on. It’s that easy. Yes, like that. Good girl.” I bite down on my teeth as she rolls the condom down my co*ck, fighting every urge inside me to just burst.

She stares at my dick for a long moment, her breaths getting heavier.

For one miserable moment, I imagine she’s afraid.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask.

Her gaze flickers to me. She nods.

“Your words,” I practically beg.

“I want you, Charlie,” she whispers, crawling over me again. “I really f*cking want you—with me, on me, in me.”

sh*t. I’m done for.

It’s enough for all reserve to snap. And I didn’t even have much to begin with.

I wrap an arm around her waist and flip us over, her back against the sheets and me nestled between her legs.

I kiss her deeply before saying, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“I’m not a virgin,” she breathlessly reminds me.

“When’s the last time you had sex?” I trail kisses down her neck—all while I kick off my pants and boxer-briefs and blindly toss them onto the floor.

“A… f*ck,” she pants when I lightly bite her shoulder, “A year, maybe? sh*t.”

“And how big were they?” I kiss down her collarbone, my tongue tasting her skin.

Her fingers thread through my hair as I tug her shorts off her legs and toss them to the floor. “Okay, I get it. You’re big. The biggest I’ll ever have. I’ll tell you if it’s too much,” she pants. She lets out a soft whine when my fingers glide over her soaked puss*, her body writhing beneath me.

“Good,” I rasp.

She sees me descending lower, kissing my way down her stomach. She throws her head back, melting against the sheets. I haven’t even licked her yet and she’s already a mess.

I grip her trembling legs in my hands, spreading her wider, and kiss a path down her inner thighs.

I glance up at her. Her arms are thrown over her face. Her chest rises and falls like she just can’t breathe. She’s a complete mess. Just like me. So maybe I do get her need for reassurance to the fact that we’re both completely f*cked when it comes to each other. Because seeing her so undone makes me less nervous.

I swipe my tongue over her puss* and she softly mewls. She writhes against the sheets as I eat her out—sucking her cl*t, f*cking her with my tongue. She digs her fingers into my hair, tugging as she moans. I add my fingers, two of them, and pump them inside of her.

“Charlie,” she gasps. Roxanne.

My fingers curl inside of her as I suck and lick. She lifts her hips and I push her down with a hand to her navel, forcing her against the sheets. I slide my hand up her stomach—toned from years of ballet—and grasp her breast in my hand.

She moans, her hand coming over mine to grip hard, and then she’s shaking, tensing, and coming all over my fingers and mouth.

f*ck, I love eating my girlfriend’s puss*. I could do it for hours. I could do it forever. And Roxanne would probably let me, because she loves it just as much.

She catches her breath with an arm thrown over her eyes. I kiss the inside of her thigh one last time before kissing up her stomach, licking and dragging my teeth along her soft skin as I go.

I grab her wrist, pushing her arm away from her eyes and pinning it above her head. I kiss her neck, up her jaw.

Roxanne quietly pleads, “I want you in me.”

“That bad, huh?” I whisper.

“So badly,” she whimpers, pulling me closer. “Please, Charlie, please.”

“f*ck, Roxanne,” I groan. I kiss her hard, brushing my tongue against her lips. She moans against my mouth as I rub the head of my co*ck against her puss*, holding onto my shoulder so tightly. “Are you sure?”

“Charlie,” she begs.

I fall off the edge of vulnerability as I whisper, “I don’t want you to regret it tomorrow.”

Roxanne asks, “Why would I regret it tomorrow?”

I don’t answer her. I just stare at her and she just stares up at me, and there is a slow understanding of what I mean—what I’m afraid of.

I don’t want her hormones to cloud her judgment. If she regrets it tomorrow, it means I’m not real enough for her, and I don’t think my heart could handle that.

“Charlie.” She holds my face in her trembling hand and brushes her thumb over my cheek. “I feel so much for you.”

I let out a breath. “You do, don’t you?”

“Toujours,” she whispers.

I am in so much trouble. No one has ever managed to reach my heart, let alone possess the power it would take to completely obliterate it. With the exception of Beckett, Roxanne had managed to do the impossible.

To love and be loved.

I’m always so hopeless, so pessimistic. But Roxanne has completely tilted my world on its axis. She has completely become my world.

“Roxanne,” I thickly rasp, overwhelmed, and then I kiss her deeply—slowly—and it is so unlike anything of the past, so new and so raw and so real, that the walls around my heart manage to completely shatter.

We kiss harder, faster, rougher. She squeezes my arms as I slide my co*ck against her puss* again, coating myself in her arousal, and then I nudge the tip of my co*ck into her.

Her nails scratch my skin as she lets out a sweet cry against my lips.

“f*ck,” I breathe, sinking my co*ck deeper into her. Her puss* clenches around me and I let out a quiet groan.

“Charlie,” she lets out a breathy moan from her chest, eyes rolling, hands squeezing.

I pull out slowly and dive into her again just as slow. Oh god, I can’t even think. She feels so—f*ck.

“Faster, faster,” she pleads, legs shaking around me. “Oh my god.”

I sit back and grab her legs, right beneath her knees, and then I adhere to her request.

I f*ck her faster.

Chapter 30

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY — Roxanne Ruiz

We’re f*cking.

We’re f*cking.

Oh my god. I can’t—oh my god.

I don’t remember it ever feeling this good, this insane.

Charlie thrusts into me, hard and fast, with needy, hushed moans ripping from his throat. He grabs my legs all on his own, spreading me into his own desired position. He takes and takes, and yet he gives, and it’s so good.

I sink into the mattress, head thrown back and eyes shut tight, and reach above my head to brace a hand on the headboard. “Charlie,” I practically sob. God, it’s so good.

“I know, baby, I know,” he pants, dropping my legs. They flop onto the sheets, numb, as he hovers over me and covers my mouth with his palm. “Not so loud.”

He rocks into me and I flutter my eyes open, whimpering against his hand.

He uses his free hand to grab a pillow and tuck it beneath my ass, driving into me at an entirely new angle.

My lips part in arousal, my eyes threatening to roll back. The pit of my stomach falls. I feel so full, it’s insane.

My fingers fall into his hair, tugging. “I can’t,” I gasp.

“You can,” he pants. He leans down and kisses me through it, and hikes my leg under his arm, spreading me wider. “You’re doing so good.”

I moan at his encouragement. Charlie f*cks like he knows how to f*ck. He hits a spot in me so deep, so untouched by anyone before, that light dances in my vision and an unrestrained moan trembles past my lips. I do a sh*t job of staying quiet, but Charlie seems to have forgotten his demand to shut up or he just doesn’t care anymore.

I’m shaking, trembling, as that trail of fire surges to the surface and my spine arches. “Don’t stop,” I breathe. “I’m gonna—”

The loud shrill of an electric guitar strums, echoing off the walls of the apartment. I flinch at the sound, turning to look at the door—the door I completely forgot to lock—but Charlie grabs my face, turning me to look at him, and says, “Ignore it, ignore it. Come for me, Roxanne, come all over me.”

He wedges an arm between us to rub my cl*t, and I completely melt into the sheets—guitar and unlocked door forgotten.

I tightly grab onto his arm, his muscles flexing beneath my touch, and stuff my face into his neck, whimpering breathy moans against him. My vision blurs, my mind hazes, and a full body shudder rolls through me as I come. I’m coming. Again. Twice in so little time. This has never happened before.

Charlie f*cks me through my org*sm—not stopping, just like I told him to. I bite down onto his shoulder to shut myself up, but my tortured sounds still manage to echo in the room.

Charlie lowly groans right into my ear, and I find myself shaking at the sound of it—weak and needy and hoarse.

He slows, eking out his movements as I come down from my climax. He leans his forehead against mine and says, “Talk to me.”

“Talk…” I pant. “What… about?”

“Where you’re at.” He kisses me once. “What you want.” Then twice. “What you need.”

I’m immediately saying, “I need you to come.”

He curses under his breath. His lips crash into mine again, deep and hard. I suck on his tongue, loving the taste of him, moaning into his mouth as he pushes deeper into me.

And then he flips us over, tugging me on top of him.

Grabbing onto my hips and pushing me down onto his co*ck, he breathes out, “You want me to come? Make me.”

Oh god.

I’ve never ridden anyone before. I certainly love the view. My cheeks flame as I look down at him. Sweat coats our skin. A flush coats his cheeks. His hair is a mess against the dark pillows. He’s so beautiful.

I glance down at the lean muscles of his abdomen. sh*t. I trail a finger over his skin, slowly circling the hickies I’d unintentionally marked on him.

A shudder rolls through me. sh*t.

I wonder if I’ll be in trouble.

Charlie lifts his hips, thrusting into me, and a tortured noise crawls out the back of my throat. I’m panting as I place my palms on his chest, lifting my hips and sinking back down onto his co*ck.

He can’t take his lusted eyes off me as I ride him, rolling my hips, f*cking him slow, chasing that desired high.

His hands are all over me. On my hips, up my waist, grasping my breasts, gripping my thighs, squeezing my ass.

He pulls me closer to him, chest to chest, and buries his face in my neck. He groans, “Roxanne.” And then he holds me still and f*cks me from beneath. Driving me wild.

My limbs feel weak, and yet I grip onto whatever I can. The sheets, his hair, his arms. I come around his co*ck again, and again, I’m shaking from the wave of pleasure that completely blinds me.

He thrusts into me deep and fast and lets out a shuddering moan as he stills in me and comes right after.

“f*ck,” he chokes into a moan. He milks out his climax, slowly rocking into me. I’ve never been f*cked the way Charlie f*cks, and from the way he f*cks, I can tell he f*cks a lot.

It has completely changed me. Before Charlie, I barely liked sex. I think I f*cking love it now.

We catch our breaths, his arm draped over my back as he holds me against his chest. We’re both so spent that we hardly move. Our deep breaths fill in the quiet. His co*ck is still in me. f*ck. This really happened.

Charlie threads his fingers into my curls. “I’ve never came in a woman before. Condom or not,” he shakily admits. He doesn’t sound afraid. Just… aware. Surprised, almost, that he had this time.

“Thoughts?” I weakly ask.

He quietly groans. “You’ve ruined me.”

I’m softly laughing as I sit up, my body aching. Charlie and I watch, together, as I lift myself off his co*ck. I’m trembling, my legs shaking—my entire body shaking. His hands are on my thighs, helping me, and once he pulls out, I flop down onto the bed beside him, weak, and groan.

“Ballet is going to kill me tomorrow,” I quietly complain, massaging my thighs.

Charlie discards his condom, cleaning himself up, and then throws the covers over us. He wraps an arm around my waist, snuggling close to me, and says, “Today, technically.” Like the asshole he is.

“sh*t,” I breathe. “What time is it?”

Charlie reaches over me to grab his phone on the nightstand and scowls at the bright light of his screen. “Two. Nearly three,” he says. sh*t. He continues to scroll through his phone, still halfway over me, and his glare deepens.

“What?” I ask, concerned, and try to peek at his phone.

But he covers my eyes with his palm and says, “Nothing.”

“Charlie,” I huff, prying his hand off my face.

“It’s just my brothers,” he grumbles.

“What? Are they okay?”

“No.” I tense. “They are insufferable and annoying, and therefore not okay.”

I rise up on my elbows and the movement brings me closer to him. And his phone. “Tell me.”

He raises a brow at me. “You really want to know?”

Realization dawns on me quickly after that look. I gulp. “They heard?” I croak. He doesn’t answer me, and when Charlie does that, it means I’m right! Oh my god. I’m mortified. I fall back onto the bed and groan into my hands. “This is why they strummed that guitar! That was an act of vengeance! Oh my god,” I cry, burying my face in his chest. “I have to face them tomorrow. Oh my god.”

“Relax,” he coaxes, tossing his phone somewhere on the bed. “They f*ck all the time in this apartment.” He wraps an arm around me and kisses my forehead. “They’re just teasing because they are so easily amused, it’s almost pathetic.”

“You and that word…” I mumble. “Not nice.”

“It’s true.”

I sigh.

“Roxanne.” His voice softens. “Don’t let them ruin this.”

I wrap an arm around his waist. “They didn’t. They couldn’t.” I lift myself out from the sanctuary of his chest and look up at him. “Eleven out of ten sex.”

He lazily grins. “Words I’ve heard often.”

It doesn’t skip my mind that he used past tense this time.

I poke his chest. “Don’t talk about other girls with me.”

“Other girls mean nothing to me. Never have, never will.” He holds onto me tighter, like maybe he’s afraid I’ll leave. “In all my miserable years…” he quietly muses, “there has only ever been one girl who has.”

I flutter my eyes shut, inhaling a deeper breath to lessen the ache in my chest. Charlie knows all the right places to poke, but he also knows all the right places to adore. He’s so good with my heart. I really hope I’m good enough for his.

Charlie kisses my head, whispering one last thing.

He whispers, “Ty moy mir.”

You are my world.

And for a man like Charlie, that means everything.

When I wake up a few hours later, the sun just rising over the horizon and peeking through the tall buildings, bathing the sheets in its warm glow, I find that Charlie isn’t in bed.

He was holding me when I feel asleep. I know that much. But he’s gone by the time 6 AM hits.

I hug his pillow, breathing in the scent of him. Remembering last night. Smiling at the memory like a fool. God, he does crazy things to my heart. My body, too.

I roll over on the bed, blindly reaching for my phone on the nightstand. My fingers brush a piece of paper instead, and it falls to the floor.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes as I lean over the edge of the bed and grab the small piece of paper with writing sprawled on the surface.

Scribbled in his beautiful handwriting, Charlie wrote:

Moy mir,

Your phone was dead. It’s charging now.

I had to do something, but I’ll be back soon. In time to see you and Beckett off. Promise.

I wouldn’t just leave you without reason. I feel so much for you.

You’ve ruined me.

C.C.

P.S. It was also 11 out of 10 sex for me, too. Or at least I think it was. Perhaps a redo would refresh my memory. Thoughts?

I laugh. What a dork. He’s so cute.

He addressed me as moy mir. My world. Oh my god. I clutch my pounding chest, rolling onto my back to stare at the ceiling.

It would have been amazing to wake up in his arms, but I’m suddenly glad Charlie isn’t here. It gives me full rein to bury my face into his pillow and squeal like a little girl.

Because that’s exactly what I do.

Chapter 31

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE — Roxanne Ruiz

During the 15 minute break from rehearsals, I sit on the floor in the corner of the studio surrounded by a few of my ballet friends.

I grip Nicole’s phone in my hand tightly, masoch*stically obsessing over the comments on Charlie’s latest Instagram post.

Me.

Laughing.

On his bed.

From his Paris apartment.

With the caption ‘mon cœur comprend le tien.’

He’s so cute.

But he doesn’t disable his comments because he simply doesn’t care. And that means I have full rein to the utter hate that gets thrown under there.

And the things people say… it’s cruel.

“Okay. You’re done.” Beckett has to literally wrestle the phone out of my grasp before he’s handing it back to Nicole. I don’t miss the frown he gives Nicole for shoving the phone in my hand in the first place.

Charlie and I have talked about social media before. I told him I was fine with it. I just didn’t know he was going to hard launch me today.

It was all the confirmation the world needed. The rumors are definitely not rumors anymore.

“She should be aware,” Nicole argues. “I thought it was really cute.”

“The post is cute, Nicole, but the comments aren’t.” Beth Anne frowns as she stretches her legs. She turns and asks me, “Have you considered asking Charlie to disable the comments?”

“No,” I say.

“Well, you should.”

“I don’t want him to,” I softly admit.

“Then you shouldn’t read them anymore,” Beckett leans in to quietly tell me. “I’m serious, Roxy. They do more harm than good.”

I pick at the ribbons of my pointe shoes, my knees hugged to my chest. I know that reading the hate comments on social media and the nasty tabloids do me no good, but sometimes I truly can’t help it. Sometimes I’m truly too curious.

I’ve contemplated making my own social media accounts private for days. I haven’t. I don’t want to hide. But that means there are even more hate comments there.

There are even hate comments on the company’s social media pages. People thinking I’m not good enough for the NYCB. People demanding my release immediately. People claiming I’m deteriorating Beckett’s mental health since I’m stealing his brother away from him. All kinds of things.

Both Beckett and Leo’s rivalry and my newfound fame has boosted sales, but they attract different audiences, different feelings. People come to the theatre for their rivalry to be entertained. Because it’s intriguing. People come to the theatre for me to do nothing but heckle. Because apparently, I am one of the most hated women in the world.

I’ve had to freeze my bank accounts. I’ve had to change my phone number. My family gets harassed everyday. Paparazzi follow me on the streets. Hecklers scream at me, throw things at me, and tug and tear at my clothes.

I’m afraid for the day one of these hecklers decides it’s time to beat me up. Because I know it’s coming.

I’m afraid for the day they do something much worse.

“Where is this asshole of a boyfriend anyway?” Leo unabashedly asks from across me. He stretches alongside Beth Anne.

Beckett glares.

“What, Cobalt? Can’t handle the ugliness?” Leo co*cks a brow.

“I handle you just fine, don’t I?”

Leo barks out a condescending laugh. “Barely.”

“He’s in Philly,” I quickly tell Leo before those two can release their claws any further.

“Doing…?” Leo lets the unspoken question linger in the air.

“Something that is none of your business,” Beckett finishes easily.

“I’m going to make it my business if it’s hurting Roxy,” Leo says hotly.

“Charlie wouldn’t hurt me,” I tell him.

“No, maybe not intentionally, but he’s hurting you anyway.” Leo shakes his head. “The hate comments, the harassment. I mean, Jesus, Roxy, we literally have to shield you from the paps and lunatic fans trying to hurt you. Physically. And during the three minutes from the Rose to Koch, it’s never enough. Does he even know about the bruise on your arm?”

Beckett flinches like Leo has literally struck him. He turns to look at me. “What bruise?”

“The bruise some bitch gave her yesterday when she yanked her away from me,” Leo tells him, irritation in his voice.

I narrow my eyes at Leo. “You said you wouldn’t tell.”

“Yeah, well, I lied. I was never a saint, Roxy. You know this,” Leo plainly says.

Beth Anne scoots closer to me. “Is it true? Are you okay?”

“Of course she isn’t okay. None of this is okay.” Leo scowls.

“She didn’t ask you,” Beckett calmly says.

“She didn’t have to. It doesn’t take a genius to know,” Leo rebuts.

Beckett ignores him and asks me, “Can I see it?”

I shake my head and hug my sleeved arm to my chest. “Seeing it does more harm than good. It’s not even that bad.”

“Even if it’s not bad, it’s still not okay,” Nicole pipes in. “I agree with Leo. Bruise or not, someone touched you.”

Leo says, “And now it poses the question: what the hell is the asshole boyfriend going to do about it?”

Beckett glares at him. “Can you not call him an asshole?”

“Is that not what he is?” Leo raises a challenging brow.

“I don’t even know why I try with you.”

“Must be because you’re so obsessed with me.”

Beckett rolls his eyes.

I’ve never seen someone push Beckett’s buttons quite like Leo does. Except maybe Joana.

“It’s not necessarily his job to do anything about it,” Beth Anne tries to defend.

“Yes, it is. It’s called human decency, Beth Anne,” Leo argues. “It’s his fault this is happening in the first place.”

“No, it’s not,” I counter hotly. “It’s not. Charlie isn’t a burden.”

Leo holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. Whatever you say, Roxy. And, hey, what do I know? I’m not the one dating a Cobalt.”

Nicole adds, “Not that you ever would.”

“Never say never.” Leo literally winks at Beckett.

Beckett scowls. But I catch the faintest hint of red creeping up his neck.

“He’s in Philly for a reason,” Beth Anne defends again. She asks me, “Is he talking to his parents? Or maybe security or something?”

“Or something,” I vaguely provide.

“He better,” Leo says. “I don’t like seeing you get hurt. And I especially can’t be your makeshift bodyguard all the time, because one: I’m not getting paid like one, and two: I’m obviously doing a sh*t job if you’re already hurt.”

I lean my chin on my knees. “It’s not your fault.”

“You can say whatever you want to say, Roxy, but it won’t snub my guilt.” Leo sighs into his next stretch. “I’m not a good bodyguard.”

“You’re not a bodyguard, period,” Beckett seriously tells him. “It’s not your job to protect her. It’s your job to be a mediocre dancer and a grating asshole.”

Leo rolls his eyes. “At least I have passion, you robot.”

“Heartbreak guarantees that, I’m sure.”

“Heartbreak or not, it’s just called feelings, Cobalt. Heard of those?”

“Depends on the type of feelings you’re talking about,” Beckett says easily, leaning back on his hands.

“Well, one thing’s for sure. You don’t know passion with your heart, but you certainty know it with your co*ck, don’t you?”

Beckett hardens his jaw. “Wouldn’t you want to know?”

Leo scoffs into a sh*t-eating smirk. “You have no idea what I want, Cobalt.”

Rosie walks over to us and sits beside Nicole on the floor. “Hey. Why are we talking about Beckett’s co*ck?”

Beckett stiffens, uncomfortable. Like he’s just now remembering it isn’t just him and Leo in the room.

Leo glares at Rosie. It’s a glare that could kill. “Don’t start, Roosevelt.”

Rosie raises a brow, twisting open a water bottle. “You started it.”

“And now I’m finishing it,” he snaps. “Shut the f*ck up.”

Rosie holds his hands up in surrender, and then his eyes glide to me. “You doing okay?”

“Fine,” I simply say.

It was as close to the truth I could get. I wasn’t great, but I wasn’t devastated either. I was just… fine. Being in the crossfire of Leo and Beckett’s bickering was a good distraction from everything else. It was entertaining. I couldn’t deny that. But it was also normal. Something that hasn’t changed when everything else in my life had.

Beth Anne nudges my shoulder with hers. “Your phone’s been buzzing in your bag for the past five minutes. Do you want to check that?”

I widen my eyes. “Is has?”

I must’ve not noticed. I’m so… in my head.

Beth Anne nods and reaches into my bag to pull my phone out. She hands it to me. “Here.”

I take it from her and stare at the text messages on my screen.

Unknown: What a pathetic attempt at hiding.

Unknown: You think you could change your number and I wouldn’t notice?

Unknown: You think I wouldn’t have found you again?

Unknown: I know everything about you, Roxanne Ruiz. Everything.

Unknown: I know you’re at rehearsal right now. With Beckett and Leo and all your other f*cking ballet friends.

Unknown: I know Charlie is in Philly. Away from you.

Unknown: I know you have nothing and no one.

Unknown: You may have those ballet friends to protect you at the studio but you’re on you’re own at home, Roxanne.

Unknown: When you’re alone and vulnerable in that sh*tty apartment you call home, when you’re asleep beneath that white comforter of yours, I’ll sneak right in through those sh*tty doors and I’ll SLIT YOUR THROAT.

Unknown: Stay away from Charlie, whor*.

Unknown: I’ll know if you don’t.

Chapter 32

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO — Charlie Cobalt

When Maeve is awake, she physically cannot stay still.

She squirms if you hold her, and then wails if you put her down.

I don’t have the most patience for babies.

But I have enough for my niece.

And maybe a little bit for my nephew, too.

Maeve is sitting on my lap, completely focused on the 7 month old sitting on the couch beside us.

Seven giggles, trying to crawl onto my lap to join Maeve. Because apparently I’m a f*cking home for babies and their slobbering hands.

Big hands wrap around Seven’s waist, and he’s hoisted into even bigger arms. “Give your uncle some space, yeah?” Banks effortlessly flips Seven around and blows into his stomach.

Seven squeals, delighted. Always happy.

I glance down at Maeve, who’s got her big eyes trained on Seven and Banks. What makes you happy, Maeve?

“You pierced your ear?” Jane asks, wide-eyed, taking Seven’s spot on the couch. “Again?”

I raise a brow. “Am I not allowed to pierce my ear?”

“You know what I mean,” she says, smile widening when Maeve scrambles out of my lap to crawl into her mother’s. Jane brushes some strands of her daughter’s hair out of her face before asking me, “Did you get it professionally done this time?”

“No.”

Jane continues to stare at me as if I’ll provide more answers. I don’t.

“What part did you pierce?” Sulli asks from across the room. She lays on an adjacent couch, her head on Akara’s lap and her feet on Banks’s. Seven crawls onto her stomach and lays his ear against her heart.

I tilt my head. What a cute kid.

“Helix,” I simply say.

Sullivan winces. “Didn’t that hurt?”

I calmly say, “I stuck a needle in my ear, Sullivan. What do you think?”

“Charlie,” Jane chastises.

I roll my eyes. I could’ve said something worse, but I didn’t. I could be mad at Sulli for phoning my sister to come here, to her apartment, but I’m not. Annoyed? Mildly. Because I didn’t come all the way to Philly so that my big sister can insert herself into my business. I came for Akara—for security reasons rather than family ones.

A knock on the front door sounds and Oscar walks over to check. When it opens and I see Farrow and Moffy, I turn to my sister and glare at her.

“He wants to be here for you,” she tells me.

“I’m not the one who needs his support.”

“Well you’re going to get it anyway. Because you’re my brother and his cousin and we’re a team.”

I let out a frustrated breath. A team. Okay.

Farrow walks in holding Ripley’s hand. Ripley lets go to bounce over to Seven, who squeals into massive giggles at the sight of his older cousin. Moffy is cradling Cassidy in his arms.

“Bonsoir, ma moitié.” Moffy leans down to kiss both of Jane’s cheeks.

“It’s you and me, old chap.” She smiles at him as he takes the seat next to her and then looks over at me.

“Why are you in Philly?” Moffy asks me.

“The same reason you’re in this apartment.”

“I’m in this apartment for you.”

“This isn’t about me.”

Moffy nods, staring off, and says, “For Roxanne, then?”

I tug at my hair and let out a breath. “You don’t even know her.”

“But I know you,” he says, and then shrugs. “Sometimes.”

My lips lift an inch. Amused, mostly.

“Your impromptu visit is about your girlfriend?” Sullivan rises up onto her elbows to look at me with wide eyes. “Did something happen? Are you… pregnant?”

I ignore those last two questions, especially the last one, because it’s simply not worth indulging in the stupidity. “She needs a bodyguard,” I say, sliding my gaze to Akara. There’s a challenge in my eyes. One that says deny me and see what happens.

Moffy stares at me with wide eyes. “You’re encouraging a bodyguard? Where is Charlie and what have you done with him?”

“Comedian of the year, everybody,” I deadpan.

Moffy rolls his eyes, but I catch the faintest hint of a smile. It makes my own come easily.

Akara flips his phone in his hand, arm thrown over the back of the couch, and completely at ease. He likes to pretend he’s not rattled by my unpredictability because he’s SFO’s lead and he needs to set an example. But he’s also never seen the lengths I’d go for Roxanne.

He seems to consider this, because he chooses his words carefully and says, “I can’t get her a bodyguard without considering every factor first.”

I nearly roll my eyes. Frustration builds in me.

“Like what?” Moffy asks.

“For one, she’s not even here to consent to it,” Akara explains.

“Can she consent over the phone?” Jane asks, sitting up. She looks over at me and says, “You can call her, right? Just verbal confirmation before writing up the paperwork.”

“It’s not just that, honey,” Thatcher says, leaning against a nearby wall. “Triple Shield and Kitsuwon Securities have only ever worked for your family. Roxanne isn’t family and she isn’t famous.”

“Well, that needs to change because she’s certainly getting harassed like she is,” I snap, shaking from the fear and anxiety and anger at all of this—at the world and the hurt and the stupidity in these strangers harassing her.

Jane places a hand on my knee in an attempt to soothe me. Maeve places her tiny hand on top of hers. It barely helps.

Akara presses his lips into a frown. “Oliveira?”

“It’s true, Kitsuwon,” Oscar easily says, leaning against the arm of the couch nearest me. “She’s got it rough.”

“How rough?” Jane asks, worry in her eyes.

“Very,” Oscar vaguely provides. And I’m grateful for it. He doesn’t need to pack on their guilt.

Because Roxanne has it rough in the same way we do. Except it’s different. It’s worse. Because the world loves us and they hate her. And it makes me want to scream.

“I would agree with getting her a bodyguard, but I want to meet her first,” Sulli chimes in.

I blink into a glare. “What the f*ck would meeting her first do for you, Sullivan? Besides delaying her protection from the inevitable harassment. You don’t need to meet her. No, what she needs is a bodyguard.”

Sulli fully sits up now, shooting daggers at me. “I don’t f*cking trust her, Charlie. I don’t even know her. None of us f*cking do. So, yeah, maybe it’d be pretty f*cking smart to at least meet her before offering up our family’s security team.”

“Since when does anyone need your approval for anything, Sullivan? Who gives a f*ck if you don’t know her? I know her. She’s small and thin and sees the good in everybody, even the hecklers—and that is a dangerous f*cking trait to have without a bodyguard. She’s terrified to open the door of her apartment because she’s afraid some f*cker is going to hurther. She can barely walk across the f*cking plaza unscathed. And that debacle in our apartment? With Eliot and Delilah?Yeah. Targeted at my girlfriend.”

Sullivan softens a bit, sagging against Banks. “I’m f*cking sorry, Charlie. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, you don’t f*cking know. You don’t know anything. Therefore your input is useless.”

“Charlie,” Moffy and Jane chastise at the same time.

“Why don’t we retract the claws, famous ones,” Farrow says easily, foot resting on footrest of a stool in the kitchen. He says to me, “We’ll see about that bodyguard, but it’ll likely be one of our temps.”

“No. I need someone who knows what they’re doing,” I say seriously.

“Ah, don’t underestimate the greens,” Banks lightly says.

“Their poor egos,” I deadpan. To Akara I repeat, “I need someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“Maybe you should talk to mom and dad first,” Jane says. Maeve climbs her body, clinging onto the collar of her shirt and her necklace, and finally her hair. Jane doesn’t seem to mind, but she does wince when Maeve pulls a little too hard.

“I’m not asking for their permission.”

“I said nothing about asking for permission. Ils sauraient quoi faire,” she says. They would know what to do.

“Je sais déjà ce que je fais.” I already know what I’m doing.

“Mais c’est la première fois qu’une personne extérieure à notre famille a besoin de sécurité.” But this is the first time that someone outside our family needs security.

“Elle est une famille pour moi.”

She is family to me.

Jane’s eyes soften. Moffy doesn’t look up from his daughter, but I notice him soften too.

It’s not everyday I admit something as sentimental as that to my family. But it’s true. And I won’t pretend like it isn’t.

“We’ll ensure her protection, Charlie,” Jane tells me. Promises me. “Ensemble.”

Together. I nod, releasing a pained breath. “Ensemble.”

Chapter 33

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE — Roxanne Ruiz

The company is on a three day break from production for the weekend. That’s not a rarity, and it’s also greatly appreciated—especially with a production as difficult as Swan Lake.

Charlie knows about this break. And why wouldn’t he? He keeps track of Beckett’s ballet schedule. Which, by the way, is very considerate of him. And cute.

It’s why he asked me if I had plans for the weekend. And when I said no, he invited me to Philly for a night or two. To his childhood home. Where I’d meet his parents. And his sisters. And whoever planned to show up once they heard I was in town.

I’d said yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I say yes? I had nothing going on. Nothing. And now I have something, but this something is freaking me out!

First of all, the Cobalt Estate is huge. It’s a mansion, with white siding and gray stone, massive double doors, regal molding, and a freaking fountain outside the front entrance. Not to mention the rose bushes and pink tulip trees lining the driveway. It’s beautiful. But huge.

It’s a stark reminder of how loaded Charlie’s family is. I forget about it so often that seeing the wealth he grew up with shocks me time and time again. I grew up in a hotel. Charlie grew up in a freaking castle.

Oscar parks the car outside the front entrance, and Charlie and I get out, saying our thanks before he’s driving off.

I release a shaky breath, staring up at the mansion before me.

With the night sky overhead, only the faint light from the house illuminates us.

Charlie yanks out a rose from one of the bushes and brushes some of my curls behind my ear before sliding the stem of the flower there. “As promised, your flower of the day.”

The rapid beating of my heart eases some—of the nervousness at least, because it does nothing for the part of my heart that adores this man.

A smile touches my lips. I lean in with the full intention of giving him a small kiss, but Charlie buries a hand into my hair and kisses me deeper.

Flower of the day. I smile into the kiss just thinking about it. He’s so wonderful to me. I have no idea how I got so lucky.

Charlie once promised he’d get flowers for me everyday. I never held him onto that promise, never expected him to uphold it, but he’s yet to break it anyway. The morning after our first time? He had traveled 45 minutes across the city to the nearest floral shop open that early in the morning, and showed up with a bouquet of beautiful, pink Ranunculus.

It wasn’t just a little thing to me. It meant so much.

Being with Charlie is the single most romantic thing to ever happen to me.

I go to wrap my arms around his neck but freeze when I remember just where we are.

He notices my shift in mood and kisses my cheek one last time before pulling away. “My parents aren’t home,” he tells me. As if he can read my mind.

“Are you sure they’re okay with this?”

“They are.”

I glance around. “They don’t have cameras?”

“So what if they do? There’s no harm in them watching me kiss my girlfriend.”

I blush. It still does crazy things to my heart when he calls me that.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” he tells me, sliding a hand down my arm. “Just be yourself.”

I let out a breath. “I always am.”

“I know.” He reaches my wrist, holding it gently.

I’m wearing a tight long sleeved shirt and shorts—him, in a dark green sweater and khakis with our overnight bags slung over his shoulder. And like the little mind reader he is, he grabs hold of the hem of my sleeve and shoves it up to my elbow.

“Charlie,” I strangle out. “What are you doing?”

He quite literally glares at the bruise on my forearm. It’s not as prominent as before, but it’s still there and it still aches, and Charlie is smart enough to realize it existed without me saying a word about it.

“When,” he lowly says.

“I…” I glance down at his hand gently wrapped around my arm, his thumb brushing against the bruise. “Around four days ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I should’ve,” I quietly admit. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” He exhales a pained breath, shaking his head. “Roxanne. This—Don’t—f*ck.” He all but melts into me, wrapping me in his arms and holding me protectively against his chest. “Don’t do that to me. Don’t. I don’t need you to protect me from this. I need you to tell me.”

I wrap my arms around his waist. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that either.”

I shut my eyes, fighting the urge to say sorry again.

“What happened?” he finally asks, pulling away to look at me. With my arms still around his waist, he holds my face in his hands. “Tell me.”

“A fan—”

“Not a fan,” he interrupts, his voice hard.

“Okay,” I let out a shaky breath. “This… non-fan grabbed me pretty hard on the walk to the Koch theater. I’m okay, though. Leo pulled her off me.”

“Leo. Beckett’s Leo?”

I slowly nod. Beckett’s Leo? “Yes… That’s the one.”

“You’re friends with Leo.” Not a question. More of a realization.

“We’re all friends with each other. But yes, I’m friends with Leo. He and some other dancers protect me on the walk. I never asked them to, but they’re all really nice, you see. Like a family.” I shrug, lightly smiling at the thought.

Charlie lets out a trembling breath, leaning his forehead against mine. “Then I’m glad you have them.”

“Me too,” I say honestly.

“But I’m still getting you a bodyguard.”

This time, I don’t fight him on it. Because I’m more afraid than before. So I just nod. “Okay,” I whisper.

Charlie pulls away and tugs my sleeve back down to my wrist. His hand shakes as he does so, as if he’s trying to restrain his anger. He pulls me toward the door and says, “Let’s go.”

I let out a shaky breath. You can do this, Roxanne. You can stay at your boyfriend’s parent’s house for one night. No pressure.

No pressure at all.

The second we enter the house, I know for sure this is all Cobalt’s.

Mansion and all, it’s completely them inside.

Aside from the utter elegance adorning every inch, it’s quite dramatic, too. There are lit candles littered on the surface of every piece of furniture in the foyer, and the main lights are all off.

Charlie drops ours bags at the door and stares unimpressed at the masked sibling before him. He has a guitar strapped to his body as he strums a mellow yet eerie tune, and even though he’s dressed in his usual get-up, his entire face is covered by a black and gold volto mask.

“Welcome to the lion’s den, Roxlie,” he says. Tom says. Because just from the guitar alone, I know it’s him.

“This seems beneath you,” Charlie flatly says.

“Nothing is beneath me, Charlie Keating.” Tom strums harder, the electric guitar ripping through the air. “Sound familiar?”

I immediately flush, knowing he’s referring to his act of vengeance the night Charlie and I had sex. “Oh my god,” I mutter, mortified.

I hadn’t actually run into any of the Cobalt brothers the morning after. Only Beckett. This is the first time I’m seeing Tom since then.

“That sh*tty tune? Now that I think about it, it does sound like your latest single,” Charlie casually says.

I gape at him. Not nice!

Tom stops strumming immediately. “Dick.”

Charlie’s lips lift. “Kidding.”

Tom lets out a huff and harshly strums the guitar again, wildly playing a wicked tune that sounds both chaotic and dramatic. “You’ll pay for that, Charlie Keating!”

“I’m shaking,” my boyfriend deadpans.

“Cobalt’s, unir!”

Ben and Eliot magically appear from the shadows and I let out a startled yelp at the sight. I watch Eliot throw a hood over Charlie’s head before whipping my gaze to Ben.

Ben warmly smiles. “I’m gonna put this on you.”

“Okay,” I shakily say, and then Ben throws the hood over my head.

I’m being ushered somewhere next, with Ben’s hands steadily on my shoulders. Tom is still playing the guitar dramatically as he follows us.

“Watch your step,” Ben says.

“You say that like we can see,” Charlie says, clearly irritated.

“With a head like yours having lived here majority of your life, you should know exactly where we’re going,” Ben shoots back.

“Shh! Don’t goad him! You’re going to make him spoil the location!” Eliot whisper-hisses.

Something hard knocks into something harder, the sound echoing off the polished walls.

“sh*t,” Charlie hisses. “What the f*ck, Eliot?”

Eliot barks out a laugh. “Oh. My sincerest apologies, brother.”

“f*ck you, brother.”

I stifle a laugh. “Don’t do that to me,” I whisper to Ben.

“I won’t,” he whispers back.

When our feet scrape against wooden floors, and the sound of hushed whispers gets exchanged around the room to replace the strum of Tom’s guitar, I’m being gently pushed onto a chair while I wait for the impending doom.

I don’t know what’s happening. But I’ve come to realize fairly early that the Cobalt’s are very dramatic. And it’s all very intriguing.

I ball my hands into fists on my thighs to stop the shaking. Ben and Eliot popping out earlier scared the sh*t out of me, no matter if they had just calmly walked up to us. I guess with my mind so caught up in this whole stalker thing, the worse of the worse came to mind first, and it was that the stalker had followed me all the way to Philly, for which I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had.

I’ve been looking over my shoulders for the past few days. And for the past few days, Charlie and Oscar haven’t really left my side either. A part of me hates it. Because I know how much Charlie loves to just up and leave, and I feel like I’m tethering him to me because of everything that’s happening. I don’t want to strip his freedom away.

I tell him this all the time. But he always says he wants to be nowhere if not with me. And I have no choice but to believe him.

And it’s easier when he’s with me anyway. Less scary. Less chaotic.

I still get texts and calls from that same unknown number, no matter how many times I delete and block them. They just keep coming back like a parasite.

But at least they’re all bark with no bite. I don’t think I could handle it if they suddenly started to bite.

A throat is suddenly cleared, and the hood is ripped off my head.

The rose tucked in my ear falls in the process and Ben picks it up off the floor and hands it back to me. My hands shake as I take it from him with a thankful smile.

I blink into focus, looking at the room around me. And the six Cobalt’s in front of me.

We’re in a library. f*ck, the Cobalt Estate has a library. Of course it has a library. There are heavy, velvet blue curtains against the windows, dark wooden shelves stretching all the way up to the vaulted ceilings, a lit fireplace, ladders on the shelves, and pieces of furniture neatly placed around the room.

Beckett and Ben take up two separate armchairs, Jane and Audrey share a love seat, Tom leans against the arm of the couch, and Eliot is sitting on one of the ladders leaned against the shelves.

I glance beside me. Charlie slouches in a chair beside me, his hair messy, looking almost bored. But then he catches me staring out of the corner of his eye and turns to look at me.

What he sees? I’m not so sure. But it makes him sit straighter and eye me with more concern.

“What? Tell me.”

He wants me to tell him what’s wrong. I shake my head. “I’m just… shaken up.”

Charlie drapes an arm over the back of my chair and twists to face me. “You’re okay. You’re safe,” he quietly reassures me. He turns to look at his siblings with a glare. “Roxanne has a stalker. This kidnapping ruse was f*cked up.”

I shut my eyes and let out a breath. And there goes that bomb drop.

I open my eyes and quickly reassure his siblings, “But it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not,” Charlie says.

I give him a hard look. “I’m not having a panic attack.”

“Not yet.”

“Charlie,” Jane scolds.

“Jane,” he replies just as harshly. “It was inconsiderate.”

Eliot stands off the ladder, eyes softened and guilty. “It was my idea. We didn’t know she had a stalker. I truly apologize.”

“And it wasn’t a kidnapping bit, Charlie,” Tom says into an exasperated breath. “It’s just dramatics. That’s what we do. Do you really think we’d do that after…”

The air becomes heavy. The tension too thick.

Eliot is the first to break it. “It was an initiation.”

“It was exciting,” I decide to add. “Fun. I liked it.”

Eliot gestures to me, grinning widely. “The tiny ballerina gets it.”

Charlie stares at me for a long moment, almost like he’s trying to detect a lie. I raise a challenging brow, and he rolls his eyes, facing his siblings again. “Go on, then.” He lazily gestures for them to continue whatever they’re planning.

I realize then, that Charlie probably knows exactly what’s going to happen.

Traitor! He couldn’t have prepared me?!

“Roxy,” Beckett suddenly says, drawing my attention to him. Concern lines his face. “Do you really have a stalker?”

I tense. “It’s just… phone calls and texts. It’s nothing serious.” I hope.

Ben looks entirely too concerned, too. “Our dad has a really good P.I. We can have him look into it if you want.”

“We’re handling it,” Charlie curtly says.

Ben furrows his brows. “I’m just trying to help.”

“We don’t need your f*cking help,” Charlie sighs, agitated.

There is no one who could get under Charlie’s skin quite like Ben. And I’m not the most certain why. Considering Ben isjust trying to help.

Perhaps Charlie doesn’t want Ben to worry. But I told him that he can handle his interactions with Ben better. Ben is the brother that grates him the most, but is also the brother that hurts the easiest. And that isn’t a great combination to have.

I place a hand on Charlie’s thigh. He’s so tense. But he seems to relax a bit at the touch.

I look at Ben. “It’s not serious,” I repeat. Yet. “But thank you for offering.”

Ben weakly nods, sinking into the armchair.

An awkward beat passes before Audrey stands. She’s tall for her age—sixteen, I think. And she’s gorgeous, with her carrot orange hair styled in beautiful waves. A color none of her siblings have.

“Shall we begin?” Audrey smiles bright, clasping her hands together.

“Yes, please,” Jane breathes.

Audrey grabs a goblet off the coffee table with both of her hands, the contents a dark red liquid. She slowly walks over to me and hands me the cup.

I take it without hesitation. Even though I have no idea what’s happening.

Audrey announces, “We shall commence the appraisal of Roxanne Ruiz with the first act: Drinking the blood of all the women who came before.”

Charlie stifles a laugh.

Audrey’s eyes cut to him. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

Audrey places her hands on her hips. She’s currently wearing a cute, pink pajama set. “There’s a lot of blood in that goblet, Charlie. A lot of women. I don’t think that’s funny.”

I smile a little. “She has a point. There are a lot of women.”

“Irrelevant, so long as you’re the last one.”

Audrey gasps into the hand she slaps over her mouth. “That was positively lovely, Charlie.”

“I know.” Charlie smiles, never taking his eyes off me as I blush into my sip of blood. Or rather… juice.

Once I finish drinking the blood, I hand the goblet back to Audrey, who takes it back to set it on the table again. Eliot flips a lighter opened and closed, filling in the quiet.

Jane sits up and folds her hands over her pretty teal skirt. “When Thatcher and I became official, my siblings created a game called What Would You Do For Jane Cobalt? We have since then modified it to become What Would You Do For Each Other?”

I nod along to every word she says. Slowly understanding it.

Tom steps forward and pulls a stack of cards from the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He spreads the hand-made cards onto the surface of the coffee table before us. “Rules are simple, tiny Rox’s. Pick a card and complete the instruction.”

“That’s it?” I ask, somewhat weary.

“That’s it,” Tom confirms with a mischievous grin.

“The cards are different this time around, brother,” Eliot warns Charlie with an equally mischievous grin.

Charlie smirks. “I would expect nothing less, brother.”

“What if we don’t complete a card?” I ask, eyes flickering to every Cobalt in the room.

“The game stops,” Beckett simply tells me. But from the pinched look in his face, I can tell there’s more to it than that. It’s not just a game, I realize. It’s more.

It symbolizes something to them. Loyalty. Respect. Trust.

I swallow, nodding my head as I stare at the cards before me. I can’t back down. And I won’t, either.

“You won’t do all of them today,” Jane tells me. “I imagine since you both spend the most time with Beckett, he’ll officiate the cards most.”

Beckett nods like this is true.

I let out a determined breath. “Okay.” I turn to look at Charlie. In contrast to my steel straight spine, he’s slouched and completely relaxed. “Do you want to choose one first?”

He eyes my bouncing knee and says, “You go.”

I nod, quickly reaching forward and swiping a card. I flip it around.

“Tell us a pet peeve you have of Charlie/Roxanne,” I read aloud. Not too difficult.

I look at Charlie expectedly. He has no problem coming right out and saying, “I don’t like it when you self-deprecate. You have potential, but you choose to remain blinded.”

Hm. The truth stings, Roxanne. It truly does.

My brows pull together. “I don’t choose to. Sometimes I can’t help it.”

His voice softens as he says, “We can always help it, Roxanne. It’s just a matter of if we try.”

“Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt,” Eliot chimes in. I recognize the Shakespeare quote immediately.

Charlie lazily gestures to his brother, as if saying “see? Exactly.”

I press my lips into a conflicted frown. “I don’t know how to just banish insecurity.”

“You can always pretend.” Tom shrugs.

“Pretending never does any good,” Charlie tells him.

“Pretending might make you more tolerable,” Tom quips.

“Or it might make me someone I’m not, and therefore would destroy me from the inside out.”

“A small price to pay to make you nicer,” Ben says under his breath.

Charlie holds his arms wide. “I exist as I am, that is enough.”

Ben just scruffs the floor with his shoe, staring at his feet.

Beckett stares at his little brother, concerned.

A few seconds pass. “Roxanne?” Jane says.

I think for a moment before turning to Charlie and telling him, “I don’t like it when you pretend not to know me in public.”

Eliot lets out a dramatic breath. “Cold, brother.”

Charlie straightens, brows pulled together. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“I know,” I softly say. “But you’ve done it before. I’m just telling you now.”

“We were a secret then.”

“When was this?” Beckett asks, genuinely curious.

“It was the beginning of Swan Lake productions,” I briefly explain.

Charlie stares at me, his entire body angled toward me. There is such a raw serenity in his face, in his voice, as he says, “Every bout of ache I’ve caused you lives in me. I won’t let it grow anymore.”

My heart squeezes.

Audrey lets out wistful sigh. “Charlie, you’re so romantic.”

“Isn’t he?” Jane softly smiles, endeared and happy all at once to see her brother like this.

Charlie lets out an annoyed breath, turning forward again, but he continues to keep his arm draped over the back of my chair.

Tom holds his hand out for the card, and I give it to him. I watch him hold it out to Eliot while Eliot ignites the lighter and burns the card until it is nothing but ash in Tom’s fingers.

“Another one,” Audrey excitedly encourages.

This time, Charlie leans forward to grab one.

He quickly reads it to himself in less than a f*cking second, and then co*cks a brow as he reads aloud, “Lick your favorite part of Charlie’s/Roxanne’s body.”

I nearly startle at the dare, my entire body flushing.

sh*t.

I like everything about him. His hair, his lips, his eyes, his biceps, his abs, his legs, his hands, and yes, even his co*ck.

“What would you have done if her favorite body part on me was my co*ck?” Charlie bluntly asks.

Oh my god. I bury my face in my hand, smothering a groan.

“Pray,” Beckett jokes.

Charlie smiles at his brother, shaking his head. “You’re all just perverts, aren’t you?”

“Charlie,” Jane groans. “Don’t make this harder than it is.”

“Who wrote that one?” Ben asks.

“Who do you think?” Beckett laughs, jabbing a thumb at Eliot and Tom. “It has their name written all over it.”

“Guilty.” Tom grins.

Charlie looks at me. “I’m gonna do it, okay?”

I release a shaky breath. “Okay.”

He slides off the chair and sinks to his knees before me. I’m burning all over as he lifts one of my legs to his mouth and slowly swipes his tongue along my thigh. I inhale a sharp breath.

He keeps his eyes on mine the entire time.

Face red, heart wild in my chest, I tentatively glance up at his siblings.

Beckett leans back in his seat, smirking. Ben covers his face with one hand. Jane fights a smile. Audrey smiles behind a throw pillow hugged to her chest. Eliot and Tom don’t even bother hiding their own grins.

When Charlie stands back up in front of me, I quickly lift the hem of his sweater and lick his abs over the fading hickies I’d left there—praying none of his siblings see those. He quietly sucks in a breath. I drop his shirt just as quickly.

Charlie blinks, reluctantly sinking back into his seat, like he’s contemplating ditching his siblings to take me somewhere more private. I let out a wavering breath. Oh my god.

“Legs and abs—classic,” Jane muses.

I am burning.

“Do you have bruises on your stomach, Charlie?” Ben asks—concerned of all things.

My prayers went unanswered!

I’m glad he’s concerned for his older brother. I am. I really am. Especially with how often they fight. But holy f*cking sh*t, now is not the f*cking time!

“Yes,” Charlie simply answers.

Oh… my god.

I’m gonna die. Of mortification. I’ve accepted my fate.

Audrey sits up, suddenly concerned too. “Are you okay, Charlie?”

“I’m okay, Audrey.”

“You’re not… hurting yourself?”

“I’m not hurting myself,” he confirms.

“Then… someone is hurting you?” Audrey’s big blue eyes flicker from me to him. As if I’m hurting him. My own eyes widen.

The bruises are from me, but… not in that way!

Eliot and Tom are trying not to laugh. Jane casts them a glare.

“It’s a good hurt, Audrey.” Charlie also tries not to laugh.

“Hickies,” Beckett fills in, lips lifting.

Audrey turns bright red. “Oh.”

This time, Eliot and Tom truly don’t hold back on their laughter anymore. Even Ben shakes his head into a chuckle.

Me? I sink into my chair and cover my face with my hands. I’m dying.

“You’re all horrible,” Audrey complains, nearly whines. I can imagine having her older brothers tease her is not pleasant. I know the feeling with my cousins.

“It’s alright, Audrey. You really couldn’t even tell,” Jane soothes, rubbing her little sister’s back.

“Really, Jane?” Audrey asks, hopeful.

“You can tell,” Tom argues into a wide grin.

“It’s obvious,” Eliot adds.

“No, it’s not,” Jane snaps at them.

Charlie, that cheeky motherf*cker, lifts the hem of his sweater to show them again, and glances down at his abdomen. “I think it’s pretty obvious.” He looks at me. “What do you think, moy mir? Isn’t it obvious?”

I grab the hem of his sweater and shove it back down. “You’re killing me,” I choke out.

He laughs. LAUGHS!!!

“I think we should move on,” Jane says loudly over the laughter of her brothers.

“I think you’re right,” I breathe, relieved.

I give Jane a thankful smile, but she returns it by steeling her spine and schooling her features to impassiveness. She’s protective of Charlie. She’s his older sister. It’s not going to be easy becoming her friend when she doesn’t even know me. Not like Eliot and Tom already do, and definitely not like Beckett does.

I take the card from Charlie and hand it to Tom, who quickly burns it.

I reach down to pick up another card and the Cobalt’s sober up to hear as I read, “Tell us who your ideal… threesome partner… is…”

I stare at the card wide-eyed, not liking this question at all. I know the Cobalt’s are only trying to dig deeper into my true character to find out who I truly am. There’s a right and wrong answer for this. But the thing is… I don’t have an answer to begin with.

Charlie glares at his siblings. “What the f*ck is this?”

Eliot grins. “Cracking under the pressure already?”

“Maybe he’s afraid to answer,” Tom teases.

“Maybe,” Eliot agrees.

“Guys,” Beckett sighs.

I let out a breath. If Charlie truly has an answer… that would hurt. A lot.

I look at him. He tugs at his hair and shoots me an apologetic look. “You don’t have to answer it.”

“I don’t even have an answer,” I quietly admit to him. “Do you?”

“No.” He glares, and then redirects that glare to his siblings. “I don’t share. There’s my answer.”

“Me too.” I nod.

“A wonderful answer,” Audrey muses into a smile.

Charlie says, “Thank you, Audrey.”

Audrey’s chest expands, and she beams into a bigger smile. She’s so adorable. She truly loves her siblings. I can feel that from here.

“Alright,” Jane leans forward to scoop up all the cards, “that’s it for tonight.”

Eliot plucks the card out of my hand and lights the corner of the card. It burns out in his palm.

Cobalt’s love fire, I realize.

It’s symbolic almost. They burn bright, every single one of them. It’s not their money or their fame or their parents that captivate the attention of everyone in the room. It’s their aura, their confidence, their intensity, their passion. It’s the fact that they know who they are, and that both frightens and mesmerizes people.

I look over at Charlie again. His arm drops from the back of my chair and he grabs the side, dragging it (and me) closer to him. The legs of the chair scrape against the wooden floor before I’m flushed up beside him.

One if his hands glide up my nape and bury into my hair. He leans in close to whisper in my ear, “Are you tired?”

I watch his siblings speak animatedly to one another in front of me and shake my head, a flush warming my entire body.

His lips brush my ear and a shiver runs through my body. “Do you want to see my room anyway?”

Chapter 34

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR — Charlie Cobalt

Here’s a fact about me: I love it a little too much when Roxanne’s hair products are strewed all around my bathroom.

The scent of her shampoo lingers in the air. Her leave-in conditioner too. It’s like she’s unwittingly leaving behind proof of her existence, and every smell, every sight—it brings me back down to this moment where the world feels right even if it isn’t. A quiet head, a heavy heart, where walking backwards doesn’t entirely feel like a lifelong encumbrance anymore.

Because I have her. And that is enough.

Life will always be hard—with her or without—but I would rather live the worst life in the world with Roxanne than to not have Roxanne at all.

Her hair products on my sink counter, her pink toothbrush next to my black one, the scent of her everywhere—is a reminder she’s actually here. With me.

I run a hand through my damp hair as I stand in front of my bathroom mirror in nothing but black pajama pants.

f*ck. All of this is so domestic, it’s making my chest hurt.

I rub a hand over my chest, right over the ache that hurts so pleasantly.

My eyes trail down the length of my abdomen, over the fading hickies Roxanne left there almost a week ago. I’ve never actually let anyone do that. I’m not so much shocked at the fact that I let it happen, but more at the fact that I don’t hate it one bit.

A shiver runs through me at the memory of it and I grip onto the sink counter. That girl drives me crazy.

My girl. She’s my girl.

Even crazier.

When I finally gather the composure to face her, I open my ensuite door and lean against the doorframe, folding my arms over my chest.

Roxanne lays on my bed in a big t-shirt and shorts, freshly showered. She’s on her stomach, her feet crossed and in the air, and that sneaky girl has one of my journals in her hands.

She snooped. Again.

A smile tugs at my lips.

I walk over to her and dip one knee in the bed, snatching the journal out of her hands. I toss it somewhere on the bed, forgotten, and lay on my side next to her.

“Rude,” she quietly says, but there’s a smile on her face as she looks at me. It slowly spreads into a grin as she reaches up to run her fingers through my hair. “You write poetry,” she fondly says.

“Sometimes,” I quietly say, leaning into her touch.

“There’s beauty in here,” she muses, tapping on my temple with a finger.

I tilt my head, giving her a look.

“There is,” she says.

“Buried beneath all the frustration, I’m sure,” I say into a lazy grin.

“But it exists, doesn’t it? That is proof.” She co*cks her chin to the discarded journal across the bed.

“Hm.” I suppose so.

She looks at me for a beat or two before leaning in and kissing my cheek. “Charlie Keating Cobalt, you have no idea, do you?” Her soft whispers brush against my face as she kisses my other cheek. “You are beautiful.” She kisses my nose. “Your face, your body, your mind.” She kisses my forehead. “Even that dark soul of yours.” She cradles my jaw as she kisses my lips.

I let out a shaky breath, sliding my hand beneath her shirt to feel her skin. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“I believe it. I feel it,” she whispers against my lips. “Not everyone feels the same. Not even you. But we don’t think the same, do we?”

I slowly shake my head. “No, we don’t.”

I don’t understand it. I understand that I am worthy of love. I just don’t understand how Roxanne could manage to endure it for as long as she has.

The stalking, the hecklers, the bruises—it’s a life she’s gotten solely because of me. Because of my life.

She should run, but she hasn’t. She’s either strong as hell or she truly feels so much for me.

But I know Roxanne. And it’s both.

She grins and kisses me one last time before she’s reaching for the journal again. I let her read all the words sprawled on the pages because the words were real and raw, and there’s not a single part of me that’s afraid of Roxanne seeing those parts of me anymore.

“I like this one,” she says, flipping to a certain page. She reads an excerpt from a poem, “Grief follows me all around the world. The smell of petrichor reminds me of it. It makes me hate you more deeply. It makes me glad that it found me.” She turns to look at me. “Who were you grieving?”

I run my fingers down her spine almost absentmindedly as I quietly admit, “Myself.”

I was seventeen when I wrote that one. I had no idea who I was. I was angry at everything and everyone, but most of all, I was angry at myself. I had just abandoned Harvard with Moffy months prior. I had abandoned my family to travel as far as I possibly could for as long as it made sense to. I never cared about the resulting perceptions of my actions. But it did mean something to me when the consequences of my actions produced broken hearts. And when that happened, I resented a part of myself for it to the point of no return—where I cared very little about what people thought about me, and therefore didn’t care about my life at all.

That feeling lived in me for long, excruciating years.

But then I met Roxanne.

And my heart beats so fast every time I see her, touch her, talk to her, feel with her—and it’s like my heart is desperately trying to tell me something.

It’s like it’s screaming, “Live, live, live. I live for you.”

I live for you.

Roxanne Roxanne Roxanne.

She slowly shuts the book, her eyes never once leaving mine. “Deep stuff,” she whispers.

I’m spiraling. Fast. I turn her onto her back, wrapping an arm around her waist and burying my face in her neck. “Roxanne.”

“Hm?” She runs gentle fingers through my hair and down my back.

I shiver. “Please move in with me.”

She quietly laughs. “You’re crazy.”

“For you, yes,” I whisper, kissing her neck. I slowly glide my hand around her waist and up her ribs, lost in the feeling of her beautifully soft skin.

But then she yelps, grabbing my wrist. “Wait!”

I lift my head. She’s tense, squirming out of my hold and sliding my hand deeper down her waist. Mischief coats my eyes. “Are you ticklish?”

“No,” she says—which means yes in the language of Roxanne Ruiz. She must notice that I’ve detected the lie, because she warns, “Charlie.”

I grin. “What?”

My smile pulls one out of her, which she desperately tries to hold back. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I whisper, inching my fingers higher up her ribs.

“Charlie!” she laughs, twisting out of my hold. One second she’s in my arms, and the next, she’s stumbling off the bed—and nearly tripping over herself in the process.

I stifle a laugh as she rights herself and glares at me. It’s a weak attempt at a glare, because she still manages to look too adorable to be threatening.

Her plants her hands on her hips. “You’re a bad boy, Cobalt.”

“Well, then you better punish me, Ruiz,” I drawl, leaning up on my elbows.

Roxanne flushes, and yet she tries her very best to keep her composure. I don’t miss the way her eyes flicker down to my bare abdomen, though. I especially don’t miss the way she gulps.

She narrows her eyes. “Are you flirting with me?”

I tilt my head. “Am I not allowed to flirt with my girlfriend?”

Roxanne runs a hand down her face and spins around to face my desk. “Charlie Keating Cobalt,” she says, fiddling with anything and everything on my desk. “Are you named after John Keating from Dead Poets Society?”

Okay. So we’re changing the subject now.

I’m chuckling to myself as I sit up off the bed and walk over to her. “No, but that’s a good guess.”

“Then who?”

I sit on my desk chair and tug the fabric of her t-shirt until she’s closer to me. “John Keats. A poet.” I pull her onto my lap so that her knees are on either side of me.

She lets out a trembling breath as she wraps her arms around my neck. “Do all your siblings have namesakes?”

“Mhm.” I slide my hands up her thighs and up to her hips. She arches into me when I grab her ass and pull her harder against me.

She bites back a moan as she rolls her hips once. And then another time. f*ck. She stops to ask, “And your first name?”

“Keep going,” I whisper against her lips.

She doesn’t listen. “Your first name.”

“Charlotte Brontë.” I lift my hips into hers, and she lets out a surprised breath. “Are you done being curious?”

She smiles into a slow, agonizing kiss. “Only for the next hour.”

My restraint snaps. I kiss the f*ck out of my girlfriend, and she completely melts against me. We’re a mess of eager hands, desperate noises, and heavy breaths as she rocks her hips against mine.

I grab the hem of her shirt and tear it off her body, tossing it somewhere on the floor. My hands are on her waist, gliding up her stomach and grasping her breasts in my hands. She whimpers, tugging onto my hair.

“I love these,” I rasp. My tongue comes over her nipple before my mouth does, and I revel in the sweet reaction she gives me from the feeling alone. Her entire body shakes, her grip on me hardens, and the noises—f*ck, the noises she makes are so f*cking addicting.

“I thought,” she breathes, “you liked my legs best.”

“I like your everything.” I drag my lips up her neck and jaw. “Your hair, your tit*, your puss*, your eyes—all of it.” I reach her mouth and slowly lick her lips. “Your lips,” I whisper.

Her mouth comes over mine in a desperate kiss. She runs her fingernails down my abdomen as she breathes against my lips, “I thought about it, too, you know. When that dare was asked. About licking our favorite body parts. I thought about licking your co*ck.” She hooks two fingers in the waistband of my pants. “Not in front of them, obviously, but… I thought about it.”

My breathing deepens. “Oh.”

Oh? Nice, Charlie. Nice.

Roxanne kisses me one last time, smiling into the kiss, before she’s sliding off my lap and sinking to her knees on the floor.

f*ck. f*ck.

You would think I was a teenage virgin based on the frantic way I help her tug my pants low enough to free my aching co*ck. My chest rises and falls in deeper breaths. As if I just ran a marathon.

Roxanne’s eyes lock on mine as she grips my erection in her hand and licks a path from the base up. She wraps her lips around my tip and swirls her tongue around it next—and I’m f*cking gone.

I throw my head back into a groan, my fingers burying into her hair. She squeezes my thigh with her free hand as she takes me deeper. I hit the back of her throat. Tears fill her eyes. She strokes what she can’t fit in her mouth.

“f*ck,” I moan, bunching her hair in a fist. “Roxanne.”

That swell of heat builds in my stomach as I clutch onto the arm of the chair until my fingers are white. She licks and sucks and hums and gags, and all of it sends me over an edge I don’t want to f*cking go over. Not yet.

I want her naked. I want her under me, over me, face down in a bed, bent over the f*cking desk.

The way she looks at me, with my co*ck buried in her mouth, is enough to know she wants that too.

I tug her mouth off my co*ck by the grip I have in her hair, and breathe out, “Stand up.”

She pants, cheeks flushed as she slowly rises to her feet. I tug her to me by the waistband of her shorts. Her hands fall to my shoulders as I kiss and lick down her stomach, slowly sliding her shorts down her legs.

Roxanne takes a single step back as I rise to my feet, trailing kisses up her body as I go. My palm slides up her stomach, between her breasts and past her collarbones, and I gently wrap my hand around her neck and kiss her hard, my tongue nudging her mouth open.

She moans into my mouth as her ass hits the edge of my desk, and in one swift move, I spin her around and bend her over the surface.

She breathes wildly, her hands and her perfect tit* pressed up against the surface of the desk. I brush her hair away from her neck and bend down to trail kisses down her spine, my co*ck brushing up against her ass.

“Charlie,” she whines, pushing back against me.

I bite down a groan, my arousal threatening to burst into a wild inferno. “Don’t move,” I lowly tell her, straightening.

“Or what?” she breathes.

“I’ll punish you.” I walk over to my bag and grab a condom from the side pocket.

Roxanne’s breathing deepens, watching me over her shoulder. “That makes me want to move even more.”

“I’m sure it does, you masoch*st,” I say, walking back up to her. I grip her hips in my hands and squeeze hard enough for her to melt against the desk.

She whimpers as I slip a finger beneath her panties and tug it to the side, all while I roll the condom onto my co*ck. I nudge her legs further apart and slide two fingers into her soaked puss*.

f*ck.

She lets out a filthy whine as she shakes on the desk. I lean forward and pepper soft kisses on her shoulders. “How do you want it?” My tongue flicks over her ear, and she lets a soft noise leave her lips.

I slide my fingers out of her and rub the tip of my co*ck against her puss* instead. She trembles as she whimpers out one hushed word. “Hard.”

f*ck, Roxanne.

My pulse quickens as a tortured groan leaves me. I press a hand to her spine, the other guiding my co*ck into her puss*. I bury myself into her, and we both moan at the overcoming feeling.

I give her a second to adjust as I sink in deep, and then I grip her hip in one hand and hold her down with the other, and thrust into her with a hard, hungered pace.

Roxanne grips hard onto the edge of the desk, letting out a pleased moan.

I obsess with the way my dick slides in and out of her. My gaze devours it. I drive into her hard and fast—almost frantically—rattling everything on the desk.

“Charlie,” she chokes out a moan, reaching back to grip my wrist. “f*ck, f*ck.”

I grab a fistful of her hair and pull her off the desk. A sweet whimper gets swallowed as I twist her face to the side and bring my mouth down to hers. My hand grasps her breast and she reaches back to tug on my hair as we kiss hard, my tongue gliding sensually along hers.

I continue to f*ck her through our make out when I faintly hear a knock on the door. Roxanne is too lost in me to notice it, and I’m too obsessed with her to acknowledge it any further.

Roxanne struggles to kiss me the longer I rock into her, softly moaning against my lips.

The knocking continues. Harder this time. I ignore it. In fact, I get so annoyed by it that I just f*ck her harder.

She melts, thrusting out a hand to the desk to keep her upright. She tugs hard on my hair and whines against my lips, “Don’t—” Stop. Yeah, I know, baby.

She falls back to the desk, her elbow on the surface and her hand white-knuckling the edge as she shakes and convulses against me. She moans as she comes around my co*ck, her puss* clenching around me, and it sends me over the edge.

“f*ck,” I hiss, reaching that mind-numbing peak. I come inside of her with three hard thrusts, a tremor rolling through my body and my vision blurring.

We’re covered in a thin layer of sweat, our chests heaving and our bodies spent. Roxanne shivers and shakes as I slowly pull out of her, and then her shoulders tense when the knocking continues—and she finally notices it.

She looks at me over her shoulder, breathing hard and eyes wide, and whispers, “Charlie.”

I lean forward and kiss her lips. “Go clean yourself up.”

She straightens on shaky knees and nods her head. I know she appreciates the momentary escape. It’s written all over her face—the fear that someone heard us f*cking and the mortification of the fact that it was done at my parents house of all places.

Once Roxanne is in the bathroom with her clothes, I clean myself up, discarding of the condom, and in only my black pajama pants, I swing the door open, irritated, to find none other than my baby f*cking sister and her best friend, Kinney.

“What,” I flatly say.

Kinney crosses her arms over her chest. They’re both in their pajamas, but while Kinney is right in front of the door, Audrey stands behind her on the other side of the hallway, covering her flustered face with her hands—and I know. They heard.

Kinney glares and says, “I won’t acknowledge your sexual escapades—”

“You just did.”

“—because I’m not here for that. I’m here to meet her.”

I lean against the doorframe and loosely cross my arms, blocking them. It brings me closer to Kinney’s personal space, but she doesn’t back down. “Who?” I ask.

“Who,” she deadpans, rolling her eyes. “The f*cking tooth fairy—who do you think?!”

“Address her properly and I won’t pretend she isn’t here.”

Kinney grumbles, “Roxanne. Your girlfriend. Everyone gets to meet her and I don’t?”

“Not everyone has met her.”

“All of your siblings met her.”

“My siblings are not everyone.”

Kinney rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. I’m experiencing a severe case of FOMO, and surprisingly I’m not prideful enough to admit that.”

“Surprisingly,” I deadpan.

Kinney huffs and turns to Audrey. “A little help?”

Audrey lets out a breath like she’s preparing herself for war and tells me, “Kinney just wants to say hello, Charlie.”

“She can say hello tomorrow, Audrey. Roxanne and I are spent, as you can imagine,” I say, letting the sexual innuendo purposefully flow through.

Audrey groans and shakes her head. “You’re so—ugh!” She grabs Kinney’s hand and drags her down the hall. “Please, please, please, let’s just go. I cannot believe you made me endure that!”

“It’s just sex,” Kinney flatly says, letting Audrey drag her.

“But he’s my brother, Kinney,” Audrey practically wails.

Kinney stifles a laugh.

I shut the door and twist the lock. Audrey’s mortification amuses me more than anything, and I find myself smiling as I turn around.

Roxanne leans against the bathroom doorframe, and when I lock eyes with her, she straightens like a deer caught in headlights. “Who was that?”

“Kinney. She’s my cousin.”

“Oh.” Recognition coats her eyes. “Kinney Hale. I’ve heard of her.”

I nod, walking up to her. She’s dressed in her t-shirt and shorts again. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her forehead. “She wanted to meet you.”

“I heard,” she quietly says, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I would’ve, you know. Even though I’m embarrassed about the fact that they heard us…” She sighs and leans her forehead against my chest. “Extremely embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.” I squeeze her tighter. “And you’ll meet her tomorrow, I’m sure.”

Roxanne softly groans. “I’m nervous.”

I can feel her heart pounding wildly against my body. “They’ll love you.”

And they’ll have to. Because I’m fairly certain I already do.

When I wake up the next morning, it’s to find that Roxanne had abandoned me.

I know what she’d say to explain herself. It’s vengeance.

f*ck her vengeance. Ugh.

But then I twist around and rise up on my elbows, glancing over at the bedside table. I rub the sleep out of my eyes, and a smile tugs at my mouth at the sight of the folded piece of paper lying on the surface with my name sprawled on the top.

I sit up on the bed and grab the piece of paper, unfolding it open.

Written in Roxanne’s beautiful handwriting, she says:

Mr. Keating, before you say anything, know this was just vengeance. There are plenty of days and months and years I can wake up in your arms and vice versa. But now you got a taste of your own medicine! So. Ha!

But hurry and wake up because I already miss you.

R.R.

P.S. This note thing is fun!! I propose we banish texting for this instead.

Chapter 35

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE — Roxanne Ruiz

What do you wear when meeting your boyfriend’s parents in their elegant million dollar mansion for the first time? Better yet, what do you wear when you’re meeting them alone?

I’ll give you an answer that would make sense for anyone else: you don’t wear a tight, white zip-up hoodie and shorts.

The answer for Charlie’s parents? You wear whatever you want, so long as it’s true to you.

So, that’s what I do. And that’s what I wear.

But it’s not about what I wear that matters to his family. It’s about who I am in general. It doesn’t matter if I’m Beckett’s friend, or if he trusts me more than everyone else. Everyone is going to be wary from the start, and that’s something I have to get used to.

Because when I walk into the kitchen this morning, and everyone immediately turns heads, stops talking, and freezes—I am reminded of that.

I count six familiar faces—Audrey, Kinney, Jane, Tom, Ben, and Rose. Charlie’s mother.

sh*t.

I lift a hand in greeting and smile. Even if I’m shaking. “Hi.” I look directly at Charlie’s mom. “I’m Roxanne. It’s nice to meet you.”

Rose stiffly nods. “Likewise.”

I’m not so sure she means it. That possibility makes my stomach drop.

Tom grins and gestures for me to sit next to him on the barstools of the island table. “Hey, tiny Rox. Join the party.”

I walk over to Tom and sink onto the barstool next to him. Ben is on his other side, scarfing down some fruit and texting on his phone. Audrey, Jane, and Rose seem to be in the middle of baking something, and while Kinney is nearby, sitting at the breakfast table, she isn’t participating.

I do a quick sweep of the massive kitchen. The counters are marble, there’s a beautiful silver chandelier hanging overhead, and there’s ornate decorative columns. It’s elegant and lavish and so… Cobalt.

“Good morning, Roxanne,” Audrey says, smiling at me.

“Good morning, Audrey.”

Something tells me her smile isn’t the most authentic it could be, because Jane looks between the both of us as she stirs a bowl of dough and says, “Audrey?”

Audrey quickly shakes her head and laser-eyes the whipped frosting she’s mixing. “It’s nothing, Jane.”

And now Rose is hawk-eyeing her youngest daughter.

Kinney eats a slice of pineapple with her fork and says, “Audrey and I overheard Charlie and Roxanne having sex last night.”

Oh my f*cking god.

All six heads turn to me, and I flush under their gazes, sinking into my seat. This cannot be happening. Why is everyone in this family so blunt????

As if your family isn’t, Roxanne?!

I’m gonna die. Of mortification. A common occurrence in this house apparently.

“I…” I trail off. I don’t have to apologize. Charlie would tell me I don’t have anything to be sorry for. But I end up saying, “I’m so sorry,” anyway, wincing as I do.

“You’re apologizing for having sex with my brother?” Jane raises an accusing brow at me.

“No.” My eyes are wide. “I’m apologizing for the fact that Audrey and Kinney heard it. I never meant… I mean…” I softly groan, running a hand down my face. “Kill me now,” I mutter.

Tom throws an arm over my shoulder. “What Roxy is trying to say, is that she apologizes for any inconveniences she has caused, and will do better to right the error of her ways in the future.”

I weakly nod.

“I don’t resent you or anything, Roxanne, you have to realize,” Audrey quickly reassures her, her cheeks pink. “I’m just… well… I’m embarrassed, you see. And a bit mortified.”

A small, reluctant smile peeks out of me. “You and me both.”

Audrey lets out a breath, nodding her head. I can tell right away that Audrey cares about making a good impression to me. Not because of me, but because of Charlie. My heart warms at the fact—because I can feel that she loves him so much, and what he thinks matters to her.

Tom pushes a plate of various fruits to me. “Hungry?”

“Oh. Yes, thank you.” I pick up a piece of dragon fruit and take a bite out of it.

“Roxanne,” Rose suddenly says, tilting her head at me. She pauses what she was working on—which was cutting the many fruits, freshly washed. I look up at her, steeling my spine, preparing for impact. Her voice is hard—protective—as she accuses, “You’re the woman who broke up with my son.”

She doesn’t ask if it’s me. She somehow already knows.

My chest aches at the memory of it. Of that horrendous three-day breakup. Worst three days of my life.

Ben swivels to face me. “You broke up with Charlie? When?”

“Yes, when?” Jane narrows her eyes.

“Why am I not surprised?” Kinney deadpans.

“Damn, Eliot would’ve loved to be a part of this bomb drop,” Tom groans.

Audrey’s eyes widen at me—almost like recognition is coating her face. Like she already knows the answer. And it confuses the hell out of me.

“Oh gosh,” I breathe, overwhelmed. I nervously fiddle with my fingers and look only at Rose as I admit, “I did break up with Charlie… for a couple of days… We were just seeing each other at the time…”

Rose aggressively cuts into an apple. “Why?”

I hesitate. Of course I hesitate. It doesn’t feel right airing Charlie and Beckett’s business in front of them, no matter if they are their family.

“Because Roxanne learned that I felt like I had to choose between her and Beckett,” an all too familiar voice says from behind me. Charlie strolls into the kitchen dressed in his usual get-up. My heart expands at the sight of him—and especially at the sight of the single daisy in his hand. “So she chose for me.”

He comes up behind me and bends down to press a kiss to my cheek. He whispers in my ear, “Dobroye utro, moy mir.” Good morning, my world.

I’m smiling, my heart pounding, as he straightens and steals the hairband from my wrist and pulls half my curls back to tie it up. Rose watches her son with extreme interest as he ties half my hair up and sticks the flower into my curls.

Audrey sighs wistfully at the sight. She’s so cute.

Once Charlie’s done, he sits on the stool next to me and steals a strawberry off the plate. “What are we talking about? Other than Roxanne and I’s three-day breakup.” Discreetly, he opens my palm and slips a small piece of paper in my hand.

I glance down at the slip of paper, confused, and slowly open it.

Ty polovina moyey dushi. Ne ostavlyay menya snova. — C.C.

Oh… my god. My heart.

I read it three more times, my hand shaking, and then I gently fold it back up and slide it into my pocket. My hand naturally finds Charlie’s next, and I slip my fingers between his own.

Charlie Cobalt has a way with words. He knows exactly how to touch my heart. It overwhelms me.

“Just Audrey and Kinney hearing you two have sex,” Tom snickers, answering Charlie’s question.

Charlie rolls his eyes.

Audrey burns bright red. “I propose we drop that topic indefinitely before it scars my mind even more than it already has.”

“I second that,” I chime in.

Audrey’s chest expands as she smiles.

“So, let me get this straight,” Jane says, dumping the ball of dough onto the flour coated counter. “You broke up with Charlie for Beckett?”

“I did it for both of them,” I admit.

“Why?” Jane asks.

“I didn’t want to hurt them. Either of them.” I shrug, nervous at all of the eyes on me. “Even though I did inevitably end up hurting Charlie… I figured he would have gotten over me. But he wouldn’t have gotten over hurting Beckett.”

The Cobalt’s and Kinney stare at me for a long moment, soaking in my words, assessing my truth. Charlie plays with my hand, brushing his fingers over my knuckles, between my fingers, over my palm—like he’s reminding me he’s here next to me—and I relax some, but I’m still tense.

“Ya by nikogda ne zabyl tebya,” Charlie softly tells me. I would never forget you.

I let out a breath. “Ya by tebya tozhe nikogda ne zabyl.” I would never forget you either.

It made sense at the time, I suppose—breaking up with Charlie. I couldn’t be a secret, and that’s what he wanted us to be. I had no problem lying to the world, but I had to draw the line somewhere, and that line just so happened to be Beckett.

And if Beckett hadn’t wanted us to be together in the first place, I wasn’t going to put myself in a position where I subjected Charlie to the kind of pain it would create to betray his own twin brother. Where every touch, every smile, every sentence, every flutter in our hearts, was just another stab at the promise he’d made him. I couldn’t do it.

But Charlie was right in the end. Us, what we have, it is no one but ours. And we can’t let other people tell us differently. We just can’t.

“Is that Russian?” Kinney suddenly asks.

“It is,” Rose muses, studying us. She blinks a couple times, her eyes softening a bit, but she never cowers and turns away. She lets us see the emotion on her face. And although I don’t know what it is for sure, I do know that it’s less harsh than it was.

The kitchen door swings open again, and in walks all 6’4 of intimidating confidence. The Cobalt Empire’s king, Connor Cobalt. Dressed in black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt, and presumably back from the gym, he sweeps the room quickly, barely acknowledging the elephant in the room—me—and makes a beeline for his wife.

Rose’s spine is straight, her face impassive, as Connor approaches her. “Richard.”

“Rose,” he drawls into a grin. His hand brushes down her spine and she relaxes at the touch, and then he leans down to kiss her cheek, before gripping her chin, turning her face, and kissing her lips instead.

Every single Cobalt child is smiling at their parent’s simple act of love.

I find my chest aching at the sight. I miss my parents badly.

Connor turns to face me, his hand on the small of his wife’s back. I straighten at his gaze. “Roxanne,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“You as well.” I mentally applaud myself for not stumbling over my words. “Thank you—both of you—for allowing me to stay.”

Connor’s eyes never stray from me. “You’re welcome anytime.”

“Thank you,” I say into a nervous breath.

Connor leans against the island table and asks me, “You’re a ballet dancer, correct?”

“Yes. I work with Beckett.”

He nods. “So am I to assume you’re going back to New York on Monday night like he is?”

I slowly nod, not knowing where this is going. “I am. But Beckett and I don’t have the same schedules or anything. Since he’s a principal dancer…” Shut up, Roxy. “Which you already know…”

I quickly glance at Charlie. He’s just smiling at me. Endeared more than anything.

“I do already know that,” Connor confirms into a nod. “With that being said, you’re more than welcome to stay here the entire weekend. We’re having family over for lunch this afternoon,” he informs me.

Which would explain all the baking. I wonder if there’s a special occasion, or if this is just a normal thing they do.

I nod, a smile peeking out of me. “Thank you.”

“Wait, the tiny ballerina is staying the whole weekend?” Eliot waltzes into the kitchen holding his niece, Maeve, in his arms. She’s squirming, tugging at the collar of his shirt and trying to reach for his brown hair. He narrowly avoids her grabby hands.

“Dad invited her to,” Audrey tells him, smiling wide. She wipes her hands down on the front of her apron and asks Eliot, “Can I hold her?”

“If you want to feed her,” he says.

She drops her arms, dejected. “Never mind.” She sighs.

“Uncle Connor, did you see my dad this morning?” Kinney asks from the breakfast table.

Connor leaves Rose’s side to sit on the other side of the breakfast table across from Kinney. “I did. Why?”

“Was he being grumpy?”

“Your dad is always grumpy, Kinney.”

She rolls her eyes. “Grumpier than usual.”

Connor studies her for a bit. “Maybe. Again, why?”

“Because he’s a toad, that’s why.”

Connor smiles. “Don’t call your dad a toad.”

“Aunt Rose calls him worse,” Kinney deadpans, biting into an apple slice.

The knife in Rose’s hand loudly clinks against the cutting board. “Because Loren deserves worse. He is the devil incarnate.”

Kinney lazily gestures to Rose like see?

Connor grins at his wife, completely enamored. He says to Kinney, “Why is your dad a toad?”

“Because I’m the only one at home now, and he’s being extra strict with me. The old man needs to relax. I’m literally just down the street.” She groans.

Eliot opens the fridge and gets out a pre-made bottle for Maeve. She makes a delighted noise at the sight of it and tries to reach for it. When Eliot doesn’t give it to her right away, she begins to whine. “Hold it, little Maeve. No need to make haste. It’s coming, it’s coming.” He adjusts her in his arms so she’s lying more horizontally, and then he gives her the bottle to hold herself. “You’re such a brat.”

“Eliot,” Jane says. “Don’t call my baby girl a brat.”

“Sorry.” He grins. He turns back to Maeve and quietly says to her, “You’re not a brat, little Maeve. You’re just Jane’s daughter.”

“One and the same,” Tom quips.

Jane sighs, rolling her eyes.

“Your dad loves you,” I hear Connor tell Kinney.

“He only loves me now because he no longer has three other kids to love more.”

Rose sets down her knife. “That’s not true.”

Kinney shrugs like she doesn’t care.

“Talk about being a pessimist,” Charlie casually says into his bite of pineapple.

“Charlie,” Jane, Audrey, and Rose chastise at the same time.

He lazily holds his hand up in surrender, but there’s a smile on his face that says he didn’t mean it.

Kinney glares at him anyway. “You’re one to talk.”

“I was one to talk. But I’ve been pretty optimistic lately,” he admits, sliding his gaze to me. The innuendo is palpable there—that I’m perhaps influencing this optimism.

I shake my head into a smile. Always stirring up the pot, this one.

Kinney rolls her eyes. “Congratu-f*cking-lations. We get it. You have a banger girlfriend who’s too good for you. Yay,” she flatly says.

Charlie raises a brow as he chews. “Why are you still here?”

“You realize you’re arguing with a sixteen year old, right?” Ben asks Charlie.

“Really?” Charlie pretends to be shocked, and then rolls his eyes. “That sixteen year old enjoys attacking me unprovoked.”

“I’m not attacking you unprovoked. I’m attacking you because you’re annoying,” Kinney deadpans.

Charlie gestures to Kinney like that answers enough.

Ben sighs, giving up.

Tom is next to me, texting fast on his phone and looking stressed out.

“Where’s Beckett?” Charlie asks Eliot, who sits at the breakfast table with his father and Kinney. Connor and Rose whisper to one another in French.

“Living room. He’s talking to in-law number one, last I saw.”

“About what?” Jane asks.

Eliot shrugs, though there is a grin on his face. “Morality, love, peace—all those wonderful seeds of life, I’m sure.”

“In-law number one…?” Ben trails off. He knows the answer as much as I do. He just doesn’t want to voice it aloud. Not like Eliot would, and Eliot would because he is trouble.

He proves that by saying, “Correct, little brother. Thatcher: in-law number one.” He gestures to me. “The tiny ballerina: in-law number two. Future in-law, of course. I’m not completely heedless.”

“Are you sure?” I quip with a smile.

Eliot’s eyes shine with mischief and he looks impressed, almost. “Am I sure? That mouth will get you in trouble one day, tiny ballerina.”

“So will yours,” Charlie lowly says, glaring at his brother.

Eliot looks all too amused by his brother’s clear warning to step back from me. Of course, Eliot doesn’t listen. “So, Roxanne. You’re staying the whole weekend, correct?”

Charlie brushes his thumb along my hand. “It appears so,” I muse.

“I’m hosting my birthday party this Sunday. I know, I know—odd day of the week, but I had to accommodate for my dearest brother. And now, you. You know, since the ballerina’s have Monday off.” He grins as he tells me, “I am officially and personally inviting you. I would text you the details, but… it appears I don’t have your phone number.”

“Eliot,” Charlie says, irritated now.

“What?” Eliot innocently laughs. “I can’t have my future sister in-law’s phone number?! I have Thatcher’s phone number. This is unjust!”

Charlie rolls his eyes.

I’m smiling as I tell Charlie, “Ty takoy sobstvennik menya. Eto seksual’no.” You are so possessive of me. It’s sexy.

He squeezes my thigh. “Potomu chto ty moy.” Because you are mine.

A rush of heat douses my body. I gulp. “Toujours,” I whisper.

Charlie physically softens at the words.

Tom groans at his phone from beside me. I turn to him, concerned, and ask, “Are you okay?”

“Definitely not okay.” He runs a hand through his hair. “My drummer’s bailing. Again.”

“He sucked anyway,” Charlie says.

“Yeah, dude, he did, but at least we had him. And now we don’t,” Tom groans.

“I don’t know why you don’t just pick up Harriet,” Ben tells Tom. “She’s eighteen now. She’s passionate about music and drums, and she’s f*cking great. And you know it, too. So…?” Ben lets the rest hang in the air.

Tom is shaking his head immediately. “Don’t like her.”

“You barely even know her,” Ben says.

“And you do?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I’m intrigued. Do elaborate,” Eliot chimes in.

Ben shrugs. “We’re friends.”

“Friends?” Tom physically recoils. “Since when?!”

Ben huffs. “I don’t know. What does it matter?”

“She’s crazy, Ben!” Tom whisper-hisses.

“Who’s Harriet?” I ask, curious.

Tom and Ben turn to look at me. “My friend,” Ben says at the same time Tom says, “The enemy.”

Ben rolls his eyes. He tells me, “She’s really nice.”

“Do we know the same Harriet Fisher?” Tom asks, serious.

“What did she even do to you?” Ben asks, getting irritated now.

“Oh, here we go,” Eliot sighs, adjusting Maeve in his arms.

“She sent this email to us asking if the drummer position would be available once she turns eighteen, and I professionallyreplied with we’re not interested in pursuing you in the future. So she sends this huge f*cking rant to the band’s email, while only addressing Warner by the way, about how I’m going to sink my band. I barely even know her! Like what the hell?!”

“Well, why aren’t you interested in pursuing her?” Ben asks, narrowing his eyes. He’s protective of his friend, I realize.

“Why is she trying to usurp my authority?” Tom throws back. “Now that’s the question.”

“Can you blame her? You’re not even giving her a chance.”

“I did give her a chance, and guess what? She showed up to my audition as a minor. A kid. Seven. Teen.”

“That’s my point, now, Tom. She eighteen now,” Ben says, exasperated.

Tom says, “Why are you taking her side? What happened to Cobalt loyalty?”

“Not in Ben’s vocabulary,” Charlie casually says.

“f*ck off, Charlie,” Ben growls.

Charlie tilts his head, raising a brow. Like he’s debating causing more chaos. I squeeze his hand in a silent warning to not.

“Can we not fight on this terribly fine Saturday morning?” Jane says from the other side of the island table. She’s currently cutting the dough into triangle shapes. “It’s dampening the mood, you realize.”

Tom holds his hands up. “I’m done.”

Ben sighs, nearly groans, and pushes out of his chair, stalking out of the kitchen. Eliot’s worried eyes follow him the whole way out.

Audrey sighs sadly. “I suppose asking them to not fight is the equivalent of asking for the world.”

Tom’s face falls. “No, it’s not, Audrey.” He pushes out of his chair, standing. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Audrey inhales a deeper breath, nodding her head. But that frown remains. She looks at Charlie as Tom stalks out of the kitchen. “I don’t suppose you’ve got an apology in you?”

“I didn’t even do anything,” Charlie says.

“You opened your mouth,” Kinney deadpans.

“Again—Why are you still here?” Charlie glares at his cousin.

“Charlie.” I tug on the sleeve of his button-down. “Not nice.”

My words completely snag his attention. Or is it my voice in general? I don’t know. Because he doesn’t even pay attention to anyone else in the room anymore. He just twists to face me and says, “Let’s go outside.” Not even acknowledging what I just said.

I raise a brow. “Outside?”

“Yeah.” He stands and tugs my hand, pulling me with him.

I stumble off the stool, but he rights me quickly and drags me out of the kitchen. I glance back at the many eyes that stare at us and quickly say, “Nice to meet you all!”

Their staring is normal, I suppose. Not only are they not used to interlopers, but they’ve also never seen Charlie with a girlfriend. I’m his first girlfriend ever.

And… vice versa.

It’s all very new.

We walk into the living room hand-in-hand and see Beckett with Jane’s husband, Thatcher. I’ve heard about him online. A lot of the bodyguards had risen to fame after that Hot Santa video. Some of my cousins were pretty obsessed with it, so I’ve unfortunately seen it a handful of times.

“Hi, Beckett,” I say with a smile.

His lips lift. He’s only in his pajama pants, his tattoos on full display. “Hi, Roxy.”

I slide my gaze to Thatcher. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Roxanne.”

He nods once, stoic. Tense. Not a smile or anything. “Thatcher.”

I glance at Charlie next to me. He’s staring at Thatcher—or rather, knowing Charlie, he’s staring into him. I’m not sure what Charlie is trying to find, or if he’s already found something within his brother in-law. Whatever it is, Charlie doesn’t like it, because he brushes him off without another word and leads me to the sliding backdoor.

Once we’re outside, the beautifully massive pool, poolside bar with black granite, outdoor fireplace, stone floors, back patio, picnic-style patio tables, and the huge yard come into view.

“Woah,” I mutter. I follow Charlie to the edge of the pool and watch from behind as he runs a hand through his hair and tugs at the golden brown strands—and I immediately know that something is wrong. I tug his sleeve. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

He heavily sighs, turning to face me. His hand is still in mine. I haven’t let it go since the second I held it earlier. I brush my thumb over his hand as he tells me, “There are three people in that house who are entirely too cautious of you, and it frustrates the f*ck out of me.”

“It’s okay,” I find myself saying. “I understand them.”

Charlie tugs me closer to him. “You’re not even going to ask who they are?”

“Why? So I can try harder to be someone they’ll approve of? I don’t think so.” I slide an arm around his waist. “Obviously I want your family to trust me, but it would be naive of me to believe they’d all be open right away. I’m not holding my breath or expecting more from them. That’s not fair of me.”

Charlie glares as he gently fiddles with one of my curls. “I still hate it.”

“I know.” A slow smile spreads on my face. “They don’t know me, but they will, because I’m not going anywhere.”

He stares at me for a long moment, chewing the inside of his lip. “You promise?”

His raw vulnerability tugs at my heartstrings. “I promise.”

I hold out my pinky finger in the space between us. It’s not enough to prove my commitment, not like actions would, but it’s enough in this moment.

Charlie stares at my finger. An endeared smile pulls out of him.

He reaches forward and locks his pinky with mine, and then he tugs me closer by that hand and he kisses me.

Chapter 36

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX — Charlie Cobalt

“I have well over two hundred cousins. It’d take hours to go through them all.”

Two hundred… cousins…?

I blink. “Wow.”

Roxanne pulls her leg up onto the chaise and hugs her knee to her chest. I sit on the one opposite of her, sunglasses on and shirt fully unbuttoned. She took off her hoodie ages ago. It must’ve been an hour since we escaped the suffocation of that kitchen, and since then, all we’ve been doing is talking.

I’m keenly aware that my nosy family is looking at us through the windows. I’ve known it since the minute we stepped outside.

They’re very similar to Roxanne’s family the more I think about it. Nosy, overbearing, protective, and entirely loyal to one another.

We both have big families. But Roxanne takes the throne for this one.

“I know,” she sighs, but there’s a smile on her face as she says it. She leans her chin on her knee as she tells me, “Not only do my parents have tons of siblings, but we consider the kids of their cousins as our cousins too. Like Uncle Nikolai is my dad’s cousin, and Uncle John is my mom’s cousin, but their kids are still my cousins.” She lets out a breath and looks at me with wide eyes. “You know?”

My smile widens. “I know.”

“It’s very,” she waves her hands around a bit, “expanded.”

“Are you close to all of them?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I try to be. I’m closer to the cousins I see the most, and I usually see whoever my parents are closest to. But I trust all them equally.”

I raise a brow. “All of them? Even the ones you barely know?”

“They’re family.” She shrugs. “We look out for each other.”

“No,” I slowly say. “They’re family by blood, but I guarantee you any one of them would use your name for a bit of money or fame after seeing it on a Celebrity Crush magazine. Especially if they have nothing to lose—like you.”

She slowly shakes her head, a slow smile coming over her face. “You are so pessimistic.”

“No,” I flatly say. “I’m realistic.”

“That too,” she muses.

“I’m also serious.”

I don’t know her family, but I do know humans, and humans are mindless. It would be completely naive to wholeheartedly trust that big of a family, when the likelihood of a rat lingering beneath all that Kotova and Ruiz chaos is higher than the likelihood of me feeling so much for the girl in front of me. Because I already f*cking do. A lot. Which means Roxanne can trust every single person in her family all she wants, but I don’t think I ever will.

“So am I,” she grins. “Enough about my family. Let’s talk about yours.”

“Mine,” I flatly repeat.

“Yours.” She excitedly nods her head. “Who’s your favorite cousin?”

Seeing her look so interested makes my heart melt. I lean my head against the back of the chaise and say, “None of them.”

“Liar.” She playfully narrows her eyes. “There is a favorite and you’re thinking about them right now.”

Hm.

Not wrong.

I have a hierarchy of people in my head. Up there with my dad, Beckett, and Roxanne is one of my cousins. Admittedly.

My lips lift as I admit to her, “Moffy.”

“Moffy?” She tilts her head. “The same cousin who hit you?”

“I hit him first,” I remind her. I pause for a second, tapping a finger on my leg. “I like Luna.”

“I like her, too.” Roxanne softly smiles.

I shrug. “That’s it.”

“That’s it?”

I nod once.

Contrary to popular belief, I am not like Roxanne. Roxanne, who trusts every single one of her cousins despite barely knowing some of them. And while trust and affinity are different things, when it comes to my cousins, I don’t have either.

Tolerance? Maybe. Sometimes. And I’d do anything to protect them if they needed my protecting, but they don’t. Because they have Moffy for that. So, in retrospect, there is nothing else to offer from both parties. Beyond cousins, that is all we are.

The backdoor suddenly slides open and Roxanne twists to see who exited. I don’t even bother.

“Roxanne!” The sound of my baby sister’s voice bounces off the stone floors and echoes out across the massive yard of green. She enters my field of vision soon after, apron abandoned and cheeks rosy with glee. “Since your boyfriend is so horrible at it, I will take it upon myself to introduce you to our aunts and uncles.”

I roll my eyes.

Roxanne’s spine straightens. “Your aunts and uncles? They’re here?” She turns to look at the closed sliding door again, a bit panicked.

Audrey grabs Roxanne’s hand and excitedly hoists her off the pool chaise. “Absolutely, and they are dying to meet you!” She looks at me, still grinning. “I’m stealing her from you, Charlie.”

“Hold on.” I hurriedly grab Roxanne’s other hand. “You can’t just steal her from me. She’s mine.”

“I’ve had to resort to this! At this rate, she will never step foot inside our home again!” Audrey lowers her voice, even though Roxanne is right between us, to tell me, “I overheard Uncle Loren ask father if you’re okay.”

I can understand the innuendo in there. They think I’m out of my mind if I’ve suddenly got a girlfriend since it’s so out of character. And maybe I f*cking am. Because Roxanne surely drives me crazy.

“I don’t care what they think,” I say.

Audrey asks Roxanne, “Do you care what they think?”

She looks between the both of us and admits, “Well… I do want to meet them.”

“That means no,” I tell Audrey.

Roxanne softly smiles at me. “I’m gonna go meet them.”

I start to stand. “I’m coming with you.”

She concedes, but I could tell that she was prepared to go all on her own anyway. To breach the battlefield unarmed and unarmored to expose her devotion to me, with the scars and wounds of my aunts and uncle’s judgment to prove for it. And for that, I’m not letting her face it alone.

The second we step back into the house, it is chaos. People are talking over each other, coddling the babies, stuck in their own cliques—but I know it’s all a front. I’m not impressed by their poor performance in acting like they weren’t just staring out the window, entirely too interested in my relationship. Or that they’re not paying attention enough to acknowledge that we’ve just walked through the door.

It’s in the little tells. Jane’s straight spine, Sulli’s absentminded nodding, the parents whispers, the back and forth flickering eyes of Winona and Vada, Eliot and Tom’s quiet snickering, Xander’s wide-eyed gaze as he steals glances at us, straying from his conversation with Easton. Moffy isn’t even pretending to not give a sh*t. He’s holding onto a teary-eyed Ripley who clings to his dad like he’d save him from anything—and he would—and he’s staring right at us. So is Luna.

My lips lift. There is a reason they’re the cousins I like best, and it is this. How they’re unafraid and genuine and true to who they are while simultaneously loving me for being the same.

Audrey drags Roxanne across the living room and through the archway of the kitchen to our parents and aunts and uncles, who are scattered around the room.

I lean against the threshold, calm, and watch my baby sister animatedly introduce my girlfriend while I slowly button my shirt back up.

I would introduce her, but Audrey looks far too thrilled to do it herself. So I let her have this.

“Aunts, uncles, beautiful people—this is Roxanne!” Audrey stands behind my girlfriend, quite literally towering over her, with her hands on her shoulders. “Isn’t she positively lovely?”

Roxanne lifts a hand in a nervous wave and smiles. “Hi.”

“Hi there, Roxanne,” my Aunt Daisy says with a grin. She’s sitting on the marble counters, her legs dangling off, with Uncle Ryke leaning on the counter next to her. Arms crossed, resting scowl on his face—normal of him, really, but it still seems to frustrate me anyway. “Love what you’ve done with your hair.”

Aunt Lily takes a peek. “Oh my gosh, it’s a daisy, Daisy!”

Audrey says, “Charlie put it in for her. It was so romantic! I wish you saw it! It was so…”

“Lovely?” my Aunt Willow softly finishes into an even softer smile. She sits at the breakfast table with Uncle Garrison.

Audrey sighs wistfully. That’s answer enough.

My aunts don’t like Roxanne per say. Not yet. They’re just being nice. My uncles on the other hand are entirely more cautious, eyeing her like in the next minute, she’ll whip out her phone and divulge our entire inner lives to the media. They look at her like she’s already got a wire underneath her clothes.

I’m just glad my dad looks unbothered—but then again, he always does. He knows me best, and he knows what Roxanne means to me. He knows that during the night I came home in shambles, with a bleeding fist and a bleeding heart, that it was all because I was feeling entirely too much for the girl in front of me. He knows that my heart is in a cautious prison only available to the most scarce of people, and the fact that Roxanne has breached the gates means something. He knows that while trusting Roxanne—trusting anyone—with our vulnerable, esteemed lives is a risk, it’s a risk that I’m taking, therefore will be a consequence that I endure if Roxanne ends up betraying the trust I’ve given.

But she won’t. Because her heart would never let her.

And I understand her heart.

“Do you have family, Roxanne?” Uncle Loren asks, narrowing his eyes at her. He has his arms wrapped around Aunt Lily, who is spreading the whipped icing Audrey made onto cupcakes. Audrey sits on a barstool and grabs a cupcake to ice alongside her.

Roxanne tenses at his gaze. I admit that Uncle Loren can have that scary affect on people that make them wither in his line of sight. It’s more effective on interlopers, security, strangers, his employees—but not family.

Uncle Garrison bites into a scone. “She was birthed. You’d think being in the Cobalt castle would increase your IQ.”

Uncle Loren redirects his glare to Uncle Garrison. “It’s increased something, alright. Like my annoyance at your face.”

“You don’t like his face?” Aunt Daisy asks, tilting her head.

“It’s a pretty sexy face,” Aunt Willow muses, her fingers brushing under Uncle Garrison’s chin. Uncle Garrison’s lips lift.

Uncle Loren grimaces.

My parents are whispering to each other in French. I only catch a couple words over the sound of all the chatter. Don’t address it now. It’s too concerning to ignore. It’s not our business. Our son is our business.

I take off my sunglasses and hook them to the collar of my shirt. Now I am entirely too curious about what they’re discussing.

“I have family,” Roxanne answers Uncle Loren’s question, nodding quickly. “Most of them are in Vegas, though. Including my parents.”

“Do they know about this…” Uncle Ryke waves a hand between the both of us, “relationship?”

“They do…” Roxanne slowly says, like she’s worried her parents aren’t allowed to know.

I push off the wall and sidle up next to my girlfriend, brushing a hand on the small of her back. “I met Roxanne’s parents months ago.”

My dad loosely crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the counter by my mom, who sits on a barstool. He raises a brow, but says nothing.

Roxanne nods a bunch. “They love you guys. My aunts and uncles too. My dad’s side of the family works in the circus, and they would tell me stories about how it was close to shutting down until Daisy and Ryke attended a show. They’re very thankful to you for that,” she nervously smiles at my aunt and uncle. “You complimented my aunt’s silk act once. I don’t know if you remember,” she shyly says to Aunt Daisy. “But it changed her life.”

Aunt Daisy softly smiles. “I do remember that.”

Uncle Ryke’s eyes are on his wife and her only.

Roxanne shares that smile and then looks at my mom. “And um… Rose.” My mom’s spine is straight, eyes sharp. “You wrote a birthday note to my aunt once when she was even younger than me. You sent her a dress, too. You called her powerful, and she always tells me that was during a time she needed to hear it most. Especially from her role model. So um, on behalf of her, thank you. My aunts and uncles raised me alongside my parents, so it means a lot to me.”

My mom almost softens at the words. “Your aunt is Katya.”

Roxanne’s eyes widen. “You remember?”

“I remember,” she confirms with a stiff nod. “My brand and marketing executive said it was for her niece’s friend.”

Roxanne nods, smiling. “Yes. Baylee is her niece. She’s my aunt. By marriage. Since she married Katya’s brother. Who is my uncle.”

Aunt Lily’s eyes are wide, darting between the both of them. “We’re so connected!”

“So it seems,” my mom muses, her lips lifting as she appraises Roxanne.

I didn’t know that. I knew her family admired mine, but I didn’t know they impacted their lives in that way. If Aunt Daisy and Uncle Ryke never went to that show, the circus she grew up with would have ceased to exist. She might’ve never grown up next to that circus to realize she wanted something different all along. She might’ve never come to New York in the first place.

That reality is not one I want to live in.

I lock eyes with my mom and she pulls back her shoulders and lifts her chin. Beckett and I have our mom’s eyes, but while Beckett’s are gentle, and mine are simultaneously sharp and dull, my mom’s eyes are always filled with fire.

Right now, they’re a softer flame. But she’s still antsy, like she wants to say more. It poses the question. What do you want to say but are not allowing yourself the right to say it?

My parents are not cowards. They’re confrontational.

“You can say it,” I tell her. Whatever it is.

She doesn’t even hesitate. Her voice is hard and sharp as she asks, “Who gave you that bruise?”

She’s not talking to me. She’s talking to Roxanne.

At the mention of the bruise on her forearm, she slides her arms behind her back—hiding it. She’s not wearing her hoodie anymore. Her arms are on full display. “It’s nothing,” she tries to placate, but my mom is not someone you need to tiptoe around in fear of them breaking.

Uncle Ryke straightens off the counter, more alert, with a deep scowl on his face. Uncle Loren’s face twists in a series of emotions—confusion, anger, concern. Aunt Lily is zeroed in on Roxanne with worry in her eyes, like she’ll see the arm she’s hiding behind her back if she stares hard enough.

Roxanne’s lack of answer causes the parents to worry, and when they worry, they overthink, and when they overthink, they think stupid, irrational things.

Because as some of their eyes dart between Roxanne and I, then to each other, I realize something infuriating.

I glare. “You think I did it?”

“No,” my mom snaps.

“No one’s saying that,” Aunt Lily immediately says.

“You just have a temper,” Uncle Ryke states the obvious. Like I don’t f*cking know that. But I would never… What the f*ck?

Hurt twists in my features. It feels like… my heart is being drowned.

“Don’t push it,” Aunt Daisy quietly says to him.

“That doesn’t mean he would hurt her,” Uncle Loren snaps at Uncle Ryke.

“I know that,” Uncle Ryke snaps right back.

“You’re all being extremely vacuous,” my dad calmly says. My mom twists to glare at him. “Not you, darling—never you.”

“Um,” Aunt Lily says, “English, please?”

“That is English,” my dad says.

Uncle Loren says, “Easier English.”

“Stupid,” my dad smoothly rectifies. “You are all being stupid.”

Uncle Ryke groans and says to me, “I don’t know what the f*ck you Cobalt’s see when you’re using your mind-reading powers, but I do not f*cking believe you caused that bruise. You hear me?”

No.

Roxanne notices my expression and her face falls. “It was some heckler at the company,” she says strongly to the parents. There is a rush of protectiveness in her voice. “Charlie would never…”

“We know,” someone strongly says. Do you?

I’m not listening anymore. I’m not even here. I twist around to leave, but Roxanne breathes out, “Charlie,” and I falter in my step. I’m so used to leaving people and things behind. It’s so new wanting someone by my side—someone to disappear with instead of from.

My hand shakes as I hold my hand out to her.

She takes it. Without pause. Choosing me.

A rarity amongst the people in my life. But never with her.

I quickly escape to the sanctuary of the library with Roxanne, ignoring everyone’s curious eyes and tortured expressions—at least with those who heard the conversation.

Door shut, fireplace lit, with just the two of us in here, Roxanne lets out a breath and says, “That could’ve gone better.”

I let out a dry, bitter laugh and plop down onto one of the couches. It could’ve gone a lot better—like if they didn’t assume I was abusing my girlfriend.

What a f*cking disaster. To my heart, most of all.

Roxanne gently lowers herself onto the couch next to me, pulling her legs onto the cushion to cross them. “I thought you don’t care what they think.”

I stare at the vaulted ceiling as I murmur, “I thought so, too.” A lack of judgment on my part. Because apparently I do. These people raised me. They may not know the depth of me, but they do know me. I’ve wielded my fair share of unethical weapons, but abusing my girlfriend is not one of them. I will admit that it hurts to realize they think I’m evil enough to be capable of it.

They can deny it all they want, but I know there was a small part of them that graced that possibility. And all it takes is one morsel of doubt to cause a great amount of pain.

“I should’ve been more clear from the start. I should’ve just been honest, but I didn’t want to worry them.” She sneaks glances at me. “I don’t think they were initially thinking that, Charlie. That you were hurting me.”

“They were,” I quietly say.

“No,” she refutes. “I think they were weighing the possible scenarios because I didn’t give them a straight answer to soothe their minds.”

“Hm.”

“Charlie.” Roxanne scoots closer to me and holds my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her. Gentle eyes, knotted brows, beautiful skin and lips and soul. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. “I’m serious. They know you. They raised you. They don’t believe that.”

I wrap an arm around her waist, my chest collapsing in a deeper breath. I don’t want to care about any of it so long as Roxanne sees me. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I whisper, emotion thick in my voice.

She runs her fingers through my hair, her nose nudging against mine. “Moye serdtse ne mozhet pokinut’ tebya,” she whispers back. My heart can’t leave you.

I kiss her gently, but she returns the kiss stronger, like she is pouring her heart into me.

Being with Roxanne is so different. The growing chaos in my head dulls to a numbing ember. I never have to worry if she is going to steal my clothes, or leak information to the media, or poke a hole in a condom. The only thing I have to worry about is the terrifying possibility of her breaking my heart. And with the way she treats me, that possibility is so very slim.

If anything, I’m more destined to be the one doing the heart-breaking. And that terrifies me even more.

A knock sounds on the library door. “Charlie?”

Roxanne pulls away from me, but I slide a hand into her hair and kiss her more deeply. My tongue slides into her mouth and she moans, leaning into me more. Like she’s one second away from crawling onto my lap. My co*ck stirs. I’m so obsessed with her—kissing her, touching her, talking to her, being around her. It’s hard to stop once it starts.

Someone knocks again. She places a hand onto my chest, smiling into the kiss, and pulls away an inch to whisper, “Think someone’s at the door for you.”

“I just want to kiss you,” I groan.

“You can kiss me all you want tonight.”

“I can’t wait until tonight.”

“Then wait for an hour.” She fully pulls away to sit next to me on the couch—an innocent length away. “Come in!”

I glare. “This feels like a punishment.”

“You’re the one who wanted said punishment last night,” she whispers.

Very true.

The door opens a second later and Beckett walks in. No longer shirtless, he’s dressed in dark jeans, a white t-shirt, and a leather jacket. Moffy follows after him, and then Jane.

I eye them all as they come in and Jane closes the door behind her. “Is this some sort of intervention?”

“I guess that depends on whether you need intervening,” Beckett casually says, lowering himself onto the couch next to me.

Moffy eyes Roxanne for a beat too long. “Hi.”

Roxanne shoots up to her feet and extends a hand. Smiling wide, she says, “Hello. I’m Roxanne.”

My lips lift. She’s so cute. She’s been doing the whole introduction thing all day. I’d be surprised she’s not tired of it if I didn’t know her. And it’s because I know her that I know she loves this whole process of meeting my family. Because they mean something to me.

Moffy shakes her hand and warmly smiles at her—real or not, who knows? He’s a celebrity. He’s got that whole welcoming smile pulled off by now. “Maximoff.”

“Do you prefer Maximoff or Moffy?” She glances at me, a bit puzzled, and turns back to Moffy.

“Uh.” Moffy thinks for a moment, tense. This is the first time someone outside of security has come into the family. He’s having an internal battle. It’s obvious. But he finally settles on saying, “Either is fine.”

“Okay, cool.” Roxanne nods a bunch, slowly sitting down again. “People call me Roxy all the time. Well, I mean—Eliot and Tom and Oscar have their own creative nicknames, of course, and Charlie always just calls me Roxanne, but you’re more than welcome to call me either. You as well, Jane. I don’t mind. The dancers at the company use both. My parents use both too. Everyone does. Except Charlie. Like I mentioned.” Roxanne’s spine is straight, but her cheeks flush, embarrassed about her rambling.

But Moffy and Jane exchange a look and share a smile, and it eases me because it eases Roxanne.

“Okay, Roxy,” Moffy says, nodding. “Thanks.”

Roxanne nods some more, smiling, but she’s still nervous. My fingers brush her thigh, and I place my hand on her lap, palm up. She takes my hand with both of her own without looking, and begins to fiddle with my ring.

Jane eyes our hands for a beat before her eyes veer to the bruise on Roxanne’s arm. She frowns as she tells me, “I talked to Thatcher, Charlie. He’s still suspended from security, but he informed me that Akara is considering transferring Quinn to Roxanne’s detail. He’s already in New York, so it’d be an easy adaption. I suppose Akara is choosing this route to give the Oliveira’s some brother time. Mom and Dad already offered to pay for it.”

Roxanne’s eyes widen. “What?” She looks between Jane and I. “Okay, wait, wait.” She stands and begins to pace, rubbing her arms. “Maybe I can talk to my parents. Maybe they can… accumulate some money or something.” She winces, not stopping. “It’s really expensive, isn’t it? Oh god, it would be, paying for a human like that. Oh my god, I can’t do that. I can’t pay for a human.”

“Sit down, will you?” I gently say.

She hums a very definite no.

I reach out and hook a finger through the belt hoop of her shorts and tug her back onto the couch. She falls without complaint onto the cushion beside me.

“He’s a bodyguard. Not a product for sale,” I say. “It’s okay.”

“It feels wrong. Why does it feel wrong?” she quietly says. More to herself than anything.

“Because you’re not used to it,” I plainly tell her. “But you will be. Because you need protection.”

Roxanne bites her lip, eyes flitting from Jane to Moffy. She looks at Moffy as she asks, “Isn’t he Luna’s bodyguard? I can’t just steal him from her.”

Moffy cracks a few knuckles, elbows on his knees. “Luna is actually the one who suggested Quinn go off her detail for you.”

I raise a brow. I did not know that.

Roxanne whispers a curse under her breath. In Russian. She’s so cute. I reach out and slide a hand under her shirt, fingers brushing against the small of her back. She shivers from the touch and grabs onto my knee in a silent warning to behave myself. No promises.

“I’ll thank Luna for that, I will, but… I still can’t afford it, and I can’t take your family’s money,” she says.

Beckett says, “You’re not taking anything.”

“They’re offering,” I add.

“But… money…” Her cheeks flame. “I don’t have the comfort of being secure in that department.” Not like us. “So the value of money means different things to us.”

“Value is irrelevant,” I refute. “Necessity is not.”

Roxanne frowns, staring off. Thinking. She wants a bodyguard because she’s afraid, but she’s battling her morality right now. Despite all my reassurance, she still can’t allow herself to use us. But that doesn’t matter right now. It can’t.

“You’re getting a bodyguard,” I strongly tell her. “I will go insane if I see another bruise on you.” This one already makes me contemplate murder.

She softly sighs, nodding to herself. “Okay…”

Okay. Finally accepting, finally conceding. No more fighting against it.

“Ya ne khochu, chtoby ty postradal. Ili boyat’sya,” I quietly say. I don’t want you to get hurt. Or be afraid.

Roxanne whispers two heartbreaking words that completely strip me apart. She whispers, “Me too.”

Chapter 37

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN — Roxanne Ruiz

Charlie Cobalt is a cuddler.

I would’ve never pegged him as one all those months ago, but it’s true. He loves to cuddle!

I wake up this morning on my back with his arm draped over my stomach and his face buried in the crook of my neck. Beyond the gentle sunlight flooding into the room through the cracked curtains, I see a head of messy brown hair and toned muscle swallowing me.

I start to smile. Damn it, I never want to leave.

Like he’s somehow sensed I’ve woken up, Charlie snuggles deeper against me. His arm tightens around my waist and he pulls us closer together. Still asleep.

I rarely see him sleep. It’s almost vampiric. But he looks so cute when he does. The softness of his features, the innocence framing his face. He isn’t angry or unamused or hurt. He isn’t thinking. He’s just him. And he’s beautiful either way, but there’s a certain gentleness to the way he sleeps that I just love.

It’s like he’s getting a break from the chaos within his mind, and that’s evident from the calmness in him. He deserves a break. And I want to be the kind of person who gives him that feeling—to not be a burden, but a strength instead.

I just didn’t expect it to be so hard when I can barely be a strength for myself these days.

I’m afraid, I’m weak, I’m affected by the perceptions of people. And it’s doing very detrimental things to my mental health. It doesn’t matter if I’ve limited my social media access and avoided tabloids. I still know what people are thinking and what they’re saying, and that knowledge is never going to leave my head.

Having Charlie makes it easier. He makes it worth it. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t still hard and it doesn’t still hurt.

I’m still scared to go outside. I’m scared to go back to New York. I’m even scared for today.

Today is Eliot’s 22nd birthday. Well, technically it’s tomorrow, but he’s throwing his birthday party today. It’s at a manor on the coast, and the theme is Gothic Victorian. For which I did not know, therefore did not come to Philly prepared.

But that’s why today is happening. I have a dress fitting later. On the day of the party.

I’m not really sure who else is tagging along. Charlie’s mom invited me. And if this is a one-on-one kind of thing, I wouldn’t be surprised. But I’m nervous.

And I’ll also be late if I lounge in bed any longer.

But I just… ugh, I just love cuddling my boyfriend too much to move.

I gently run my fingers through Charlie’s hair. He’s got amazing hair. And I’m not just saying that because I’m biased. Really! It’s the best hair I’ve ever seen, felt, smelled—and it doesn’t matter that it’s always messy. He truly pulls that whole look off. Not that Charlie cares about that. He cares very little about presentation because he cares very little about what other people think.

It’s both admirable and evokes envy.

I stop moving my fingers through his hair, too busy thinking to myself, and it makes Charlie let out a quiet groan. “Keep going,” he groggily mumbles.

Oh god. I love his voice already, but when it sounds like that? It sends a rush of heat down my body. I want to turn him onto his back and straddle his hips. I want to do all the things that would cause him make all the noises I love to hear.

But—no! I need to focus. Pure thoughts only. Chilling with his mom today, remember?

“Good morning, my Charlie.” I wrap my arms around him and kiss his forehead, then his cheek. He lets out a soft chuckle.

“My Charlie,” he whispers into a grin. He kisses my jaw. “Good morning, my Roxanne.”

His hand travels up my spine, the cold bite of his ring trailing against my warm skin. It makes me shiver. I’m not wearing a shirt. Neither is he. You can imagine how they ended up on the floor last night rather than on our bodies. I’m only wearing my panties, and him only in his boxer-briefs.

Very scandalous. Definitely not something you do in the house of your boyfriend’s parents.

“As much as it pains me to do this, I need to go.” I try to move his arm off me, but he doesn’t budge. “Charlie,” I say calmly.

“Thirty more minutes,” he quietly says. His hand travels down my stomach and wanders dangerously close to the waistband of my panties. “I have a proposition that you’ll find entirely irresistible. Hear me out, okay?” He nudges my legs apart and slides his hand into my panties to cup my puss*. “Morning sex.”

My breath deepens in arousal. f*ck. This was not how it was supposed to go.

He leans on an elbow, towering halfway over me, completely awake now. His drags his fingers along my puss*, coating himself in my arousal, before slowly rubbing my cl*t. “Thoughts?” he whispers.

I shut my eyes, whimpering, and abruptly grab his forearm. “No, no.”

See, I say the words, and yet, I push his hand closer and lift my hips higher—completely contradicting them.

Charlie notices. He continues to rub my cl*t as he leans in to kiss my neck. “Yes or no, Roxanne.”

He licks a path up my jaw before his teeth latch onto my ear. “f*ck,” I moan, completely breathless. Charlie is just as doused in the heavy tension, and our short breaths fill in the room’s silence. My head is in a fog as I reach down and hurriedly tug his boxer-briefs low enough to free his co*ck. “One org*sm. Mutually. But that’s it.”

He shivers. “Deal.” And then his lips crash down against mine, the desperation heavy.

Our movements are quick. Heady. My pulse quickens when Charlie’s tongue brushes against mine and he slips his hand out of my panties to come over me instead. He fits himself between my legs and I buck my hips up to feel more of him. More. I need more.

My hands are in his hair as we roughly kiss. I barely register the way he blindly reaches toward the nightstand to grab a condom. I only notice it because of the loud sound of the drawer slamming shut.

He breaks the kiss to sit up, kneeling between my spread legs. We’re breathing wildly, eyes glazed with arousal. I lift myself up onto my elbows to watch as he tears the condom with his teeth and sheaths his erection like a f*cking pro.

Fuuuck. “You’re so hot,” I breathe.

He groans. “Don’t.” He stokes his co*ck once. I practically melt, my stomach igniting in deep desire. “You doing okay?”

“Just f*ck me,” I pant.

His lips lift just slightly. “Yes, ma’am.” He quickly tears my panties off my legs and tosses them somewhere on the ground. His hands are on my thighs, spreading me open, and then he roughly tugs me closer to him. I gasp as my head slides off the pillow. We let out a breathy, tortured moan together as he slowly buries himself in me. “f*ck.”

He buries himself to the very hilt before pulling back and driving forward again. I throw my head back, melting against the sheets. I try to keep quieter than usual, especially since I cannot relive his family hearing me again, but f*ck it’s so hard.

Because Charlie… f*ck—he knows how to f*ck. And he knows how to do it well. Any guy in the world could have a big co*ck, but if they don’t know how to use it, then it’s futile. And Charlie knows how to use it.

He commands all the power in bed. And it’s perfect for me. He reads all the tells, all the signs, and he uses those to make me feel good. And it’s so f*cking amazing.

He thrusts into me harder, his fingers digging into my hips. I let out a strangled moan as I fist the bed sheets. “f*ck. Charlie.”

I completely lose myself to the rhythm as Charlie comes down and swallows my moans with a scalding kiss. Every move is frantic, fueled by our intense lust. He kisses me hard, f*cks me hard—and throughout all of it, our emotions are entirely too high. We feel entirely too much for one another. And it is as beautiful as it is scary.

I already know that he wields all the power to break my heart completely, and yet I give my heart to this man everyday anyway. Maybe that’s naive. Who knows? I don’t. All I know is that I trust him. He gives me strength, he makes me better. My heart thrashes when I am with him and aches when I’m not. He pours life into me.

What is that if not love?

There isn’t a single part of me that sees naivety in this love.

I’m not naive to love Charlie.

I’m just human.

Just like he is.

The Calloway Couture Boutique is closed off to the public today.

Twinkling chandeliers hang from the ceiling and racks of clothes are pushed aside. Rose invited all of the girls of the family—all of her sisters and their daughters, although her sister Poppy and her niece Maria are notably missing. Something about a movie premiere in LA. Which is just… so cool and so crazy.

A circular dais is set up in front of a wall of mirrors, and Audrey currently stands on top of it in a beautiful deep, red dress while Rose pins fabric at the bodice. The dress is perfect for tonight’s theme, and it’s completely designed by Rose. It’s remarkable.

The girls are spread out all around the boutique while their bodyguards stand back in front of the windows, tinted from the outside. The tinted windows do nothing to stop the horde of fans outside. And the hecklers too. I haven’t checked social media, but with the way my phone buzzes in my pocket, I know that the world is going absolutely crazy spotting me with Charlie’s family for a change.

My cousins like to spam group chats with articles and tabloids to inform me they exist. Their hearts are in the right place, I suppose. But they do more harm than good, and I don’t have the heart to tell them to stop. So instead of doing that, I just ignore it. And that makes me feel sh*tty too.

Hecklers and fans bang on the window some more. Their screams aren’t blocked out by the window. They’re only muffled. A part of me is glad there are so many of them screaming over each other, because then, it’s harder to decipher the words they’re saying.

I shut my eyes and inhale a deeper breath. I’m sitting on an ottoman near the window, my back to glass and the bodyguards who stand there. I’m trying to remain present as the girls coo and compliment Audrey’s dress, but being outside has messed with my mind. It’s made me more afraid than usual. It’s made my anxiety grow tenfold.

I have no idea how these people deal with this everyday. It’s almost admirable. They’re the strongest people I know aside from my family.

“Roxanne? You okay?”

I flutter my eyes open and turn to the side. Quinn Oliveira towers over me at 6’3. Brown curly hair, brown eyes, and scars on his face from his boxing days. This is Oscar’s younger brother, alright—only 24 years old. And he’s also my new bodyguard. At least for right now. This whole thing is a trial run. I’m aware, just as everyone else is, that Quinn is the most popular bodyguard among the security team in the media because of his looks. That would definitely not fare well considering I’m the most hated woman in America.

But I’m thankful for him anyway, as I’ve reminded him many times upon meeting him. I’ve already thanked Rose and Connor this morning for offering to pay for security for me, and I was so overwhelmed by the gesture and so afraid and so grateful, that I nearly cried. I managed to hold it in, but gosh… I think I would have died if I cried in front of Charlie’s parents.

I nod to Quinn and try to plaster on my most convincing smile. “I’m great.” I tap my fingers on my knee. “You?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He frowns, studying me for a beat longer. Like he’s trying to figure me out. “You want some water or something?”

“No, no. I’m okay. No water for me. I’m perfect.” The truth is, I don’t want Quinn to worry about me more than he already has to. I realize I’m a lot like Charlie in that department. He’s just more subtle about it. And instead of it being about easy kindness, Charlie doesn’t want Oscar worrying more than usual because he actually cares about Oscar. Deeply.

Quinn nods. “Okay, then.” He has no choice but to believe me. It’s not like he can push.

Someone bangs on the window again and I flinch. I barely hear the way their lead quietly speaks into his mic about temp bodyguards clearing the sidewalk.

Audrey steps off the dais to head to the dressing rooms at the back of the store. A few moments later, Vada steps onto the dais for her dress adjustments. Her dress is a deep purple. Very Gothic.

Rose has her hands on her hips as she appraises the dress. “Can you tie your hair up?”

Vada looks around, side to side, before her mom, Willow, slides a hairband off her wrist and offers it to her. Vada takes it with a grateful smile and ties up her sandy blonde hair into a messy bun.

Luna abandons her spot next to her mom to bounce over to me. She sits next to me on the ottoman and tilts a bag toward me. “Howdy! Marshmallow?” She shakes the bag, wiggling her eyebrows. “They’re strawberry flavored,” she sing-songs.

There is something about Luna Hale that makes the hard edges of my heart, formed by anxiety and fear and restlessness, soften a bit. When I first met her at Tom’s birthday party, we maybe spoke twenty words to each other total, but we danced together for so long as if all that ice was broken already.

I take a strawberry marshmallow with a small smile. “Thank you.” I squish the marshmallow with my fingers as my eyes trail over her brown hair. It’s braided into two bubble braids down her back, with green and purple glitter sprinkled just about everywhere. “I love you hair.”

“Oh.” Her spine straightens and she instinctively reaches up to touch the braids. “Thanks.”

“Do you do it yourself?”

She nods.”Mhm.” She wiggles her thin arms in front of her. “It does nothing good for these muscle-less arms. I think I’m weaker on Earth.”

You and me both. I nod, my lips lifting. “Earth weighs us down.”

“I blame gravity.” We share a grin and she plops a marshmallow into her mouth. Before either of us can get another word in, Jane and Sulli come over to us and sit on an adjacent ottoman.

“Hey,” Sulli says, nursing a Lightning Bolt! in her hands. I met Sullivan Meadows earlier. She was nice but cautious, but I think that has more to do with Charlie than with me.

“Bonjour, beautiful people,” Jane smiles, taking a seat next to Sulli.

“Hey. Hi.” Luna smiles as she chews.

Vada steps off the dais to be replaced by Winona. All the younger girls are getting their dresses adjusted before my fitting.

Sulli quietly groans at the sight of her little sister. “That squirt is getting too f*cking tall.”

“I can hear you!” Winona shouts across the boutique.

Sullivan shouts, “You’re getting too f*cking tall, squirt!”

Winona snickers. “You sound like dad.”

Sulli laughs like it’s the best compliment in the world.

Jane nods, musing, “Meadows’s genetics have bred giants.”

“Bound to happen when two giants find an out-of-this-world unearthly love.” Luna makes a heart with her hands.

A soft smile graces my lips.

“Speaking of out-of-this-world love,” Sulli turns to face me, “you and Charlie?”

Jane eyes me with more interest, like she’s fully invested in what I have to say.

But I’ve learned something about myself this past weekend, and it’s that I don’t really like talking about Charlie to other people. You’d think I want to, for it’s a chance to prove to the world how deeply Charlie actually feels or how greatly I love him.

But everything about Charlie feels too intimate to divulge. Our relationship. Our secrets. They’re ours. I selfishly don’t want to change that.

“What about me and Charlie?” I carefully ask.

Sulli shrugs, fiddling with the cap of her Lightning Bolt! “I guess I just want to know all the scoop. Is he still hanging out with Beckett?”

I nod. “He loves Beckett.” Their souls are intertwined. There’s not a single thing Beckett could do to make Charlie hate him.

“He better,” Sulli says, protective. “I have no idea why, but Beckett needs him.”

“And vice versa,” I say.

Sulli breezily continues, “You’re a ballerina at the same company with him, right? Beckett?”

I nod. “I am. We were friends before Charlie and I ever were.”

Sulli nods, tapping her fingers on the cap of her drink. She surveys the boutique for a beat or two before turning to me and outright asking, “Why Charlie and not Beckett?”

Uhhh…

Luna coughs into her fist. “You’re stirring up the pot, Sulli. Like a Cobalt.”

Jane doesn’t even try to chastise Sulli—like she wants to know how I’ll answer.

I clear my throat. Charlie would be absolutely pissed if he heard his cousin ask me that. Oh Jesus. “Beckett’s nice…” I slowly nod. I feel like I have to choose my words carefully here. “But I’ve never seen him in that way, and I think the feeling is very mutual. He’s always felt like a protective older brother.”

“And Charlie hasn’t?” Jane asks.

“No,” I simply say. “It’s different. They’re different.”

Jane nods, pleased. She even smiles a bit.

Charlie is very protective, but the depth of his feelings for me run deeper than Beckett’s do. Beckett’s is friendship, companion, familiarity. Charlie’s is passion, and pain, and devotion. And the level of his protectiveness is always going to be greater because of it.

Sulli asks, “Do you like Charlie more than Beckett?”

Yeah, okay. I’m not answering that.

I like Beckett, but I love Charlie.

I’m not about to tell them that, though. There’s going to be someone who hears those words for the first time on my tongue, and it won’t be Sullivan, it won’t be Jane, and it won’t even be me.

Charlie deserves that rawness from me. I intend to give it to him.

Even if my heart thrashes wildly just thinking about it.

Because what if he rejects me? What if he sighs and shakes his head and tells me I shouldn’t love him? Or worse, that he doesn’t love me?

I’ve never been in love before. It seriously hurts. I think I kind of hate it.

“Well,” Luna says, breaking the tension, “I like Charlie.”

My lips lift. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Her smile is small as she shrugs. “I like talking to him about the world and the people in it. He’s pretty cool.”

My smile grows as I fiddle and squish the marshmallow with my fingers. Charlie praise makes me ecstatically happy.

“I think he’s a dick,” Sulli admits, bunching up her face. “No offense.” She looks at Jane. “Again.”

“None taken,” Jane says easily. “Again.”

Sulli takes a sip of her drink. “I can’t even count on both f*cking hands the amount of times he’s called me dumb. Like just yesterday, he said my inner conscience embodies an airhead caveman who does nothing but climbs trees and bangs on his chest. All because I didn’t know the word cretinous.”

Jane and I wince, but Luna rolls her lips together, smothering down a laugh.

“Well…” Jane lets out a sigh. “Do you at least know the word now?”

“Yeah,” Sulli grumbles. “It means stupid. The irony of it all, huh?”

This time Luna really does laugh. But when Sulli looks at her, Luna immediately stops.

“It’s not funny,” Sulli says, and yet, her smile grows.

“It’s kind of funny,” Luna winces into a grin.

Sulli groans, “He’s such an asshole.”

“I’m terribly sorry about him,” Jane says, scrunching her nose. “I apologize on his behalf. Again.”

Sullivan sighs, her shoulders dropping. “Yeah, I know.” She slides her gaze to me and asks, “Am I going to have to expect apologies from you on his behalf now, too?”

“No,” I say honestly. It surprises all three of them. I tense at their reactions. Was that not what they wanted to hear? I slowly say, “He’s a big boy. He can do it on his own.”

“And yet he never does,” Sulli sourly muses.

“Charlie is Charlie,” Jane tells her, as if that explains enough.

“He’s not often sorry,” I admit. If he truly thought his words hurt Sullivan, then maybe he’d apologize. But his words only scratched the surface. Maybe not even. And he knows that. Which is why he wouldn’t bother apologizing.

He is beyond reason because he is a nonconformist. Rules are groundless to him. He wouldn’t apologizes solely based on society’s subjective view saying he should.

He is the embodiment of “f*ck the rules.”

It’s kind of sexy, actually.

Okay, it’s a lot sexy.

Damn. I miss him.

“Roxanne,” someone calls out from deeper within the boutique. I whip my head up and see Rose beckoning me over. sh*t. Breathe, Roxanne. You’re doing amazing.

I stand on my legs and finally shove the marshmallow into my mouth.

Rose appraises me from head to toe as I walk toward her. Black heels, black skirt, black nails, and deep red lips, she wields as much intimidation as her husband. But it’s more stomach-churning than normal because they are not just American royalty this time.

They’re my boyfriend’s parents.

“Size 2?” Rose questions once I’m right in front of her.

I swallow my marshmallow and nod. “Yeah.” How impressive.

“I have a great dress for you, but it’s a size 6. I’ll have to make some adjustments.”

I quickly nod. “Whatever works best for you. No worries. I’m very thankful either way.”

Rose turns to shuffle through a rack of big dresses, all dark in colors. She looks at me over her shoulder and narrows her eyes. “You are very different from my eldest son.”

I clasp my hands behind my back and nod. “I get that a lot.” I’m going to chose not to take that too seriously.

She turns back around. “Charlie can be hard to understand. Even for me.” She finds the dress she’s looking for. It’s black and deep red crimson with intricate designs and lace trimming. And it’s absolutely stunning. “I still hardly know what he needs in life sometimes.” She holds the dress out to me. The emotion in her eyes is hard to miss. It makes my own eyes soften. “But the more I study him with you, the more I start to feel like you’re the answer.”

My hands shake as I slowly take the dress from her. My heart thumps heavy and fast. “Rose…”

She steels her spine and lifts her chin. “Our lives are fragile despite what everyone thinks, and I will personally claw your eyes out and feed them to you if you hurt a single part of him. That includes his heart.”

Despite her ominous threat, I start to smile. Because I believe her. And I’m really glad Charlie has someone like her in his life, so willing to sink any ship that causes her loved ones pain. Even if that ship ever happens to become herself.

“I won’t hurt him,” I promise. “I want to wholeheartedly cherish him. The good and the bad.”

“Good.” She gives me a stiff nod. “No one but Charlie knows what Charlie needs, but at least you make him happy. That is a given. And for now, that is enough.”

When I come back out from the dressing room dressed in the gown Rose lent me, a string of compliments are thrown my way.

I may not be a part of this family, but they truly know how to make me feel like I am.

They’ll never be initially welcoming to interlopers, and they have every reason not to be, but that doesn’t stop them from being kind. And I think I really love them for that.

“Oh, you look so lovely, Roxanne,” Audrey sighs admiringly.

“It’s giving Dracula’s wife.” Vada dramatically makes a rainbow arch with her hands. “I see the vision.”

Winona lays on the couch Vada, Willow, and Daisy sit on. She has her head on her mom’s lap and she laughs as she kicks Vada’s arms down. “You’re so corny.”

“But it’s true,” Kinney deadpans, tilting her head as she looks at my dress. “She’s dating the vampire already.”

“Vampire wife or not, I think you look gorgeous, Roxanne,” Lily beams, smiling. “It perfectly matches Ch—”

“Lily,” Rose snaps. She harshly mimes a zipper over her mouth.

Lily’s eyes are wide. Her mouth forms an O shape as realization dawns on her face. She nods a bunch. “Right right right.”

It confuses me, but it’s also not my business. I think.

“Do a spin!” Jane’s enthusiasm is contagious, I realize. It makes me smile. Makes me excited myself.

Standing on the dais in front of all the mirrors, I slowly spin in my dress for all the women to see. A string of wows and damns are uttered, and it makes me chuckle.

The dress is an off-the-shoulder gown. A more modern approach at Victorian fashion. The bodice is a black overbust corset with short, ruffled sleeves, a ribbon bow tie in the front, and a lace-up back. It spreads out into a full black and red skirt that falls down to my feet.

“Oh gosh, Rose, that one is perfect for her.” Daisy claps, grinning. “Brava!”

Rose’s lips lift, still watching me—or rather, she watches me wear the dress she created. “I know.”

Lunch this afternoon is at an upscale cafe called Indigo.

I was going to politely decline for two reasons:

I can’t afford it.

I don’t want to eat in public only for people to treat me like a zoo animal.

I didn’t voice any of this, but Rose and her sisters could tell that I was uncomfortable. It’s why Lily already offered to cover the entire bill and Rose bought out the entire restaurant for us only.

It made me feel bad. I couldn’t help it. They never have to check their checking account before purchasing something, and they never have to budget on groceries in order to afford rent, but I still didn’t want them spending any more money on me than they already have. Than they already were.

But I have to remind myself that they’re used to this kind of stuff. They might’ve done it anyway, regardless if I were here, and I have to admit that it was still pretty amazing to watch Rose talk on the phone with the owner of Indigo and say, “Hi, John. You know what to do.”

Seriously. It was badass.

So now I’m here with the women of America’s most famous family. All twelve of us sit at a long table while security sit at a different one. We’re all coincidentally seated in terms of age, with the older women at one end, the youngest at the other, and Sulli, Luna, Jane, and I in the middle of them both.

Akara, who I’ve learned is Quinn’s boss and Sullivan’s husband, wanted to sit with Sulli, but Rose declared this table awoman only table.

The longer I spend in Rose’s company, the more I’m starting to really like her. My Aunt Katya knew what she was doing, looking up to Rose Calloway Cobalt when she was only a teenager. She’s just… awesome.

She’s very scary, but she’s also so caring. I see it in the way she treats her sisters, her daughters, her nieces, security, and even me. She’s unyielding and brave, and she brings women up rather than bring them down.

Oh god, she’s so awesome.

And I can’t wait for the day she meets my mom. Because my mom is just as awesome.

“Two hundred cousins?” Luna’s eyes nearly bulge out of her eyes. She’s on the edge of her seat, her food abandoned as she looks at me from across the table.

I’d just finish telling the girls about my family. A part of it, at least. “More than two hundred. It’s very expanded,” I say into a shy smile.

“No sh*t.” Sulli’s eyes are wide too. She sits next to Luna on the opposite side of the table. “Do you know them all by name? Because if so, that is real f*cking talent.”

“I know most of them, but not all,” I admit.

“How do family events work?” Jane asks, stabbing a potato with her fork. “That must be chaos.”

“Well…” I trail off, pushing around the food on my plate, “both sides of my family are huge, hence the two hundred plus cousins, so family events happen all the time, and they are chaos. My mom and dad flip a coin to see who’s family we’ll spend the day with—his or hers.” I smile at the thought of them. “But usually, they have their own circle in all that family, and that circle is who the three of us are closest to.”

Luna wipes the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Are you an only child?”

I smile. “I am.”

“Do you like it?”

I think for a moment. It would’ve been nice to have a brother or sister, but I was never lonely growing up. I had all my cousins and two parents who never ignored me no matter what. As if they were physically incapable of it. I still get text messages and phone calls every single day from them, and I absolutely love them for it.

I didn’t need a brother or sister growing up. My parents were enough.

My dad used to play dress up with me. We would host runway fashion shows, walking back and forth down the hallway of the apartment I grew up in for my mom to watch. She was the only one in the audience, but she was enthusiastic enough to fill in the void of having none. And my dad—gosh, he was a sassy f*cking model. He put in his absolute 100 for me, letting me dress him up in anything and everything and then flaunting that outfit off like it was the best outfit in the goddamn world. I love him so much for it. I love them both so much for it.

So yeah. I kinda liked growing up an only child.

I nod to Luna. “Yeah, I think so. It wasn’t bad.”

“I couldn’t even imagine not having Nona,” Sulli shakes her head into a frown. “It would’ve been f*cking lonely without her.”

I softly smile. “I bet. But my entire family was already so much for me that I don’t think I ever actively wished for a brother or sister.”

“With two hundred cousins, I can imagine that being an only child was perhaps a blessing in disguise,” Jane muses, smiling.

I pick up my glass of water and nod into a sip. “Kotova’s and Ruiz’s are both chaotic, but Kotova’s are crazy. And I had enough crazy cousins to fill in that void.”

“Asylum crazy or mischievous crazy?” Luna wonders.

I tilt my head, thinking. “Mischievous crazy…?”

“Um,” Sulli says, “that’s only a lot concerning.”

“There’s a lot of them. They could be asylum crazy and just hiding it beneath all that mischief.” I shrug, unable to help them there. My lips lift as I say, “But who knows?”

“I’ve endured my own bouts of crazy, so definitely not me,” Jane says. She fondly smiles as she adds, “My brothers are devious little spawns of Satan. I have no idea how I grew up alongside them for as many years I did. I’m grateful for Audrey everyday.”

I chuckle. “Your brothers gave you a hard time?”

“Oui,” she sighs. “Eliot and Tom destroyed my dollhouse once. I will never let that go.”

I laugh. “Sounds like them.”

Jane nods and says, “They were the worst to endure during my babysitting days. Beckett is the only one who helped me when Ben and Audrey were still smaller, but he was always busy with ballet.”

I tentatively ask, “And Charlie?”

Jane surprisingly divulges that information to me. “Charlie was being Charlie, out doing who knows what with who knows who.”

“Not much has changed, huh?” Sulli quips.

“But is has.” Jane holds a finger up, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Because while the where continues to remain a mystery, we now know the with who.”

All three heads turn to me.

“Ah,” Luna nods slowly, understanding it. “Charlie has traveled all over the world alone until Roxy entered his orbit.” She smiles wider as she asks, “He took you to Paris once, right?”

“Yeah.” I smile at the memory. “We were just friends then.”

“Did you know he was into you then?” Sulli asks, biting into a cut of her whipped cream covered waffle.

“I did,” I softly admit. “But I just didn’t know his feelings were that… intense.”

“Intense?” Jane questions.

“Deep,” I rectify. “I didn’t know he had felt that deeply… for me…” I’m saying too much. I quickly change the subject. “Have any of you been to Paris?”

We spend the rest of lunch talking about surface level things, never diving in too deep on topics about each other. They still don’t trust me completely, and I still understand that wholeheartedly.

When lunch is over, Lily tells me, “We’ll go out first to draw some attention away from you.”

I nod, a thankful smile on my face. “Thank you.”

Lily warmly smiles at me and says, “Be careful.”

I nod again, and then the famous ones are leaving through the doors of Indigo and Quinn and I are to walk out last.

I let out a breath at the crowd of fans and paparazzi outside the glass entrance doors. “This is my life now, isn’t it?” I whisper.

Quinn doesn’t answer, but I imagine he’s frowning. He does that a lot. I don’t think he’s a frowner, though. I think he just feels bad that a normal girl got her entire life turned upside down because she did something that is both foolish and beautiful.

She fell in love.

I fell in love.

“You ready?” Quinn asks, hand on the handle of the door.

I nod, unable to voice it out loud. I might say no if I open my mouth.

Quinn pushes open the door and I follow close behind, practically glued to his back. The second we step outside, bodies push into me and tug at my clothes. Cameras brightly go off in fast succession.

“ROXANNE, ARE YOU SLEEPING WITH QUINN OLIVEIRA?”

“ROXANNE, IS QUINN YOUR NEW BODYGUARD?”

“ROXANNE, WHERE IS CHARLIE?”

“ROXANNE, ARE YOU HAVING AN AFFAIR?”

“ROXANNE, WHAT IS YOUR RELATIONSHIP LIKE WITH ROSE?”

“Back up!” Quinn shoves people away, and they part, afraid of the potential Quinn Oliveira’s hands have at harming them.

When we step up to the curb near the cars, I spot Luna getting into one of the security vehicles. She spots me over the crowd and waves me over.

Quinn and I are about to follow when I hear a loud, shrill, “ROXANNE!”

I turn my gaze towards the street. Just instinctively.

A car drives past the chaos, windows rolled down. Two heads peek out of the opened windows, one in the passenger seat and the other in the back.

Quinn grabs my hand in his and shoves people with his other. “Keep moving!”

The car slows just as it nears us. The girl in the passenger seat yells at the top of her lungs, “EAT sh*t, whor*!”

And then her and her friend launch something right at me. Plastic cups. Smoothies, maybe. One of the cups hit me smack in the head—hard. The other hits Quinn’s shoulder.

Whatever it is, the thick, red liquid douses me and Quinn completely.

“f*ck!” Quinn shouts, wiping the liquid off his face. The crowd of fans and paparazzi go insane, taking pictures like crazy. “sh*t.”

The door to one of the cars swing open and Rose gets out immediately. “Back in the restaurant. Now.”

Oh god. The smell of iron engulfs me whole, and Quinn quite literally has to drag me back toward the doors as I go through my own inner turmoil. My own bout of shock.

Jesus f*cking Christ. Holy sh*t, holy sh*t, holy sh*t.

I’m covered in blood.

He pushes open the doors and Rose follows close behind with her own bodyguard. I barely register everyone else filtering inside as Rose pulls out a chair and shoves me down onto it.

“John! Get me a f*cking wet rag!” Rose yells. She looks at me and Quinn, breathing heavy—angry, I realize. So angry. “Make that ten!”

Daisy gasps, breaching the doors. “What the hell happened?”

“Insolent f*cking idiots happened,” Rose sneered.

Quinn bends down to my height. “Roxy. You okay?”

I silently nod, my hands fists on my thighs.

“She’s in shock,” Willow says. “Just give her some space.”

Rose snaps, “I will not give her space. I’m cleaning her up. John!”

“I’m coming, Rose, I’m coming!” A man in his early 40s steps around the counter with a handful of white rags and a bucket of water.

Rose snatches a rag from him and dunks it into the bucket he places on one of the tables. She immediately lifts my chin and wipes my face.

Quinn’s about to grab a rag too when Frog, Luna’s bodyguard, snatches one from the pile and says, “Let me clean you.”

Quinn slowly retracts his hand, eyes locked on the beautiful bodyguard in front of him. His lips lift slowly and then he says, “I can do it myself.”

“I’m sure you can. I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.” Frog dunks the rag in the bucket. “So grab a rag and help me clean this blood off you before it completely haunts my dreams.”

Quinn quietly chuckles and grabs a rag. “I knew you dreamt about me.”

“You knew right.” Frog plants the rag right over his entire face and annoyingly slides it down his face. He laughs as she does it, and it causes her to grin.

Ah, sh*t. My stomach churns as another wave of the smell hits me. My arms feel sticky, my neck and chest too. My breathing deepens just slightly, and Rose watches me carefully.

“Lily, get me another bucket,” Rose says tightly.

Lily scurries away toward the kitchen.

“John,” Price, Daisy’s bodyguard, calls for the restaurant owner. “A word?” Him and Akara go with John to a more private corner and exchange some whispers. A few moments later, they disappear into the backroom.

sh*t. A wave of nausea hits me. I don’t feel good.

I let out a hoarse breath, clutching onto my knees. Lily returns with the bucket and practically shoves it onto my lap before I throw up. She holds the bucket with me as Rose continues to clean me and I continue to puke. I want to cry at their sheer kindness but I have nothing left in me.

When I’m done, Jane is there with a damp towel to wipe my mouth. “Do you want some water?”

I shake my head and shut my eyes for a second. This entire weekend has been a sad*stic cycle of How Many Times Can Roxanne Ruiz get Embarrassed in Front of Her Boyfriend’s Family? And it’s cruel.

I blink up at Quinn standing across me. Frog is still helping clean the blood off him. The white rag in her hand is stained red.

sh*t. I thought blood didn’t make me squeamish, but I’m starting to think it does. I’ve also never been covered in it, but… I guess I learn something new everyday.

“Quinn?” I quietly say. He snaps his gaze up. “Can you do me a favor?”

He drags the rag down his neck. Unphased by all the blood. “Yeah, of course.”

My voice is hoarse as I say, “Can you radio Oscar about what happened? So he can inform Charlie? Because he’s going to hate it if he finds out later.”

I don’t want to worry Charlie, but he was very adamant about me telling him when things like this happen to me rather than hiding it. The bruise freaked him out, but he’d rather I tell him that not. He’d hate it if I hid this with the intention of protecting him.

Quinn’s eyes meet Rose’s, and whatever he sees in her gaze has him slowly nodding. “Yeah, okay. Sure.” He clicks his bloodied mic hooked onto the collar of his shirt. “Quinn to Oscar, are you with Charlie? I mean—of course you’re with Charlie, but you think you can stop him from running off for a sec? Something happened to Roxanne. She wants him updated.” He pauses for a moment, listening, and then says, “Some hecklers threw blood at us while driving by. No one’s badly hurt. It only got on me and Roxy.” He pauses again before clicking his mic. “Restaurant called Indigo.” He looks at me. “Charlie’s heading over.”

Of course he is. I nod. “Okay. Thank you.”

Quinn just nods, inhaling a deeper breath. He’s angry too, I realize. They’re all pretty angry this happened.

“What’s the update with the security cam footage?” Monroe, Lily’s bodyguard, asks Price and Akara when they return.

“Cams caught the plate number. We’re running it now,” Price quietly informs him. “In the meantime,” he looks at me, Quinn, then Akara and sighs, “call Farrow.”

Akara nods and clicks his mic. “Akara to Farrow, you’re being requested for medical.” He spews the rest of the details quietly, too quiet for me to hear any more.

“Why? Is she okay?” Lily hurriedly glaces between me and Price, worried.

“It’s just precautions, Lily. Don’t worry,” Price reassures her.

Five minutes pass before Akara goes over to the doors and opens it for someone. The loudness of the screaming fans increases in the sliver of time the door is open before getting quieter once it’s shut.

I count four bodies striding into the restaurant.

Oscar and O’Malley walk in first.

Charlie and Beckett come behind.

Rose stops cleaning me and tosses the dirtied rag on the table.

Beckett looks almost sick as he horridly looks at the bloody footprints that lead to two bloodier humans. “sh*t.”

Oscar glances at me and then Quinn. He asks, “You good, little bro?”

Quinn nods. He even smiles a bit. “As good as I can be after a blood shower.”

Charlie doesn’t even look at anyone else or anything else. He doesn’t even care. He walks straight toward me, his strides quick and long, and he looks furious.

I slowly stand up and shakily say, “Hi.”

He says nothing. When he reaches me, he just wraps his arms around me, our bodies colliding in a heavyhearted hug.

“Charlie,” I choke out, arms slowly wrapping around his waist. “I’m covered in—”

“I don’t care,” he murmurs, holding me tighter. He even buries his face in my neck as his entire body shakes. “I feel so helpless, Roxanne,” he whispers only for me to hear, his voice pained. So pained. “It makes me f*cking livid.”

I shut my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up with that sorry, will you?”

I quietly laugh. “I don’t think I ever can.”

He pulls back, holding my shoulders. I glance down at his white button-down and frown. Blood stains his clothes. “You’re laughing?” He looks at me like I’m insane.

I start to smile. “What’s wrong with laughing?”

He slowly shakes his head. But he says nothing.

I blink into eyes that carry heavier emotion, and my chest collapses into a deeper breath. “You make it easier,” I quietly—vulnerably—admit.

Charlie’s eyes soften as he cradles my jaw. He brushes a thumb over my bloodstained cheek. “I ty dlya menya,” he says. And you for me.

"You didn't have to come," I whisper, my voice cracking. "But I'm really glad you did."

"I will always come, Roxanne," he strongly tells me. "I will never leave you."

Oh god. I can't remember what life was like before you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

He wipes the fallen tears off my cheeks and leans in to kiss me, but I block his mouth with my palm. “No, don’t, I’m gross.” I wince. “I threw up earlier.”

He slides my hand off his lips and murmurs, “I don’t care.” And then he kisses me anyway.

It’s a short kiss, but it’s heavy regardless. I completely melt, completely calm down, and completely fall harder.

When he pulls away, I look at him and frown. "Now you have blood on your face," I say sadly. It's on his chin and cheek and nose.

He reaches out and smears his palm on my neck and down my chest. Gathering blood, I realize. To spread more on himself. He paints it on his neck, in his hair, on his face.

"Charlie..." I whisper, voice thick with emotion.

"Ya s toboy," he whispers right back. I'm with you.

sh*t. sh*t. My heart. It chokes me up. I am so completely in love with this man.

“Roxanne,” Jane calls out. Charlie and I pull away and further apart from each other. Jane hands me a glass of water and says, “I know you said you didn’t want any, but I truly believe you should drink it.”

My hands shake as I take the glass from her. “Okay… Thank you, Jane.”

Jane smiles and nods.

I sip the water slowly as the door opens once more, and in walks Farrow. Moffy isn’t with him. He’s likely with their children.

Wise of them to not bring them. This bloodbath is not a scene young children should be seeing.

Farrow walks in, med bag strapped over his shoulder. He’s got a confident, easy gait. Carefree, calm, cool. Yeah. He’s really cool, covered in tattoos and has bleached white hair. Kind of scary, too.

Charlie tenses at the sight of him. “What the f*ck are you doing here?” He looks at me again. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

Farrow raises a brow and chews slower on his gum. “Man, I’m just doing my job. Better safe than sorry.”

Charlie inhales a deeper breath and tugs at his hair. He gives Farrow a tense nod. But his shoulders are tight and his muscles are ridged, like at any moment I’ll detonate.

Farrow’s eyes cut to Quinn who’s mostly cleaned now. He sits on a chair, elbows on his knees. “Quinn.”

“All good here,” Quinn says. He co*cks his chin toward me. “The cup hit her pretty hard on the head. Other than that, she was in shock earlier and she threw up, too.”

Farrow nods as I wince. sh*t, that was so embarrassing.

He locks eyes with me and I nearly shrink. He’s really intimidating.

I saw him yesterday, but he was entirely too preoccupied with his husband, his kids, his in-laws, and his friends to squeeze in a proper meeting.

“Hey,” he says. “Roxanne, right?”

I nod. “Right.”

Farrow takes his med bag off and places it on the table. He rests a knee on a chair and says, “Sit.” I sit my ass down immediately. “You remember me?”

“Remember you…” I watch him fit on some gloves. “We never properly met.”

“But you saw me yesterday, and I saw you.” He approaches me and says, “I’m gonna look at your head now, okay?”

“Okay,” I breathe. “Careful. There’s a lot of blood.”

I start to smile at my own joke, but I lock eyes with Charlie and he glares.

Okay. He didn’t like that joke.

I smile wider.

“Which side did the cup hit you?” Farrow asks.

“My left.”

He feels around with his fingers, pushing bloodied hair aside. He’s silent. I’m silent. The people in the restaurant chatter quietly while Charlie hovers.

A little higher over my ear, he pauses and presses down on a bump. “That hurt?”

I tensely nod. “Yup.”

“Oliveira,” Farrow calls out. Oscar and Quinn turn their heads. Farrow’s lips lift. “Oscar,” he corrects. “Get me some water.”

“A please wouldn’t kill you, Redford,” Oscar says. He walks behind the counter and grabs a cup, filling it with water from one of the beverage dispensers.

“You’re not classy enough for a please,” Farrow says easily.

“Nah, pretty sure that’s Donnelly.” Oscar returns with the glass of water and sets it on the nearby table.

Farrow laughs and grabs one of the many rags John brought out earlier. He soaks the corner of it in water and comes back to wipe the area around the bump on my head.

“Farrow?” I say.

He cleans right over it and I wince. “Yes?”

“This might be a stupid question,” I begin.

“No question is a stupid question,” he says breezily.

“Is this human blood?”

Farrow doesn’t say anything for a beat, and I almost think he didn’t hear me or he just doesn’t want to answer. But then he sets the bloodied rag on the table and says, “No.”

“No?”

“The likelihood of it being human’s blood is close to zero,” Charlie flatly tells me. “It’s pig’s blood.” He says it so confidently. Like he’s a human DNA test.

It’d make sense, I suppose. The animal with the most similar blood to humans are pigs.

Farrow pulls his gloves off and says, “You have a cut on that bump on your head. After you shower and clean yourself up, I’ll apply some ointment and a bandage. For now, you gotta ice it.”

I nod quickly. “Thank you.” I pause for a bit and ask, “And um… when I threw up? Was that just a natural reaction to the blood? I was never affected by it before this.”

Charlie tenses at those last two words.

Farrow tosses the gloves over the discarded rag and studies me for a long beat. “Could be. There’s a lot of reasons you could’ve thrown up.”

“Like?” I tentatively ask.

“Fear, anxiety, the smell, the feeling. You could’ve been overwhelmed.” He pauses for a second and shrugs. “You could be pregnant.”

Uhh...

“She’s not f*cking pregnant,” Charlie heatedly says. The way he says it isn't defensively, but more like Farrow is dense for assuming he would have unprotected sex in the first place.

Farrow’s lips slowly lift as he chews his gum and holds his hands up in surrender. “Whatever you say, man. I don’t know your sexual history.”

Charlie rolls his eyes.

A little while later, I overhear Rose ask Farrow if I’m okay. Farrow tells her that I’m okay physically, but he can’t say anything about emotionally. Considering I went into shock, there is a good chance that all of the emotions are going to come crashing down on me later.

It’s going to pile on top of every other preexisting fear and memory. And when that happens, I’m afraid I’m going to crash and I’m going to crash hard.

Chapter 38

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT — Charlie Cobalt

The second we stepped into my childhood home, Roxanne deeply thanked my mom once more, stripped off her shoes, and practically bolted up the stairs to my bedroom.

I followed, of course. Slower. To give her space. If that’s what she needed.

Because I don’t know what she needs, and I don’t know how to be what she needs either. Not when I feel so f*cking angry and so f*cking helpless.

I knew these things were going to happen. I f*cking knew. And yet I was careless anyway. I’ve gone out in public with her, I’ve posted a single picture of her to my Instagram—and for what? To expose her to the world and therefore expose her to this?What the f*ck was I thinking?

I shut the door of my bedroom and twist the lock. Roxanne stands in the threshold of my bathroom, lights turned on, with her back to me.

Her shoulders are ridged. It makes me both concerned and furious.

She turns around and looks at me leaning against the door. We share a silent look, but we are thinking different things. She looks nervous. Antsy. I’m simply studying her every move, every breath, wondering when the shock will wear off and how I am supposed to pick up the pieces afterwards.

“Charlie?” She says it through a breathy exhale that has my heart softening.

“Yes, moy mir?” I softly murmur.

She scratches her cheek and avoids my eyes as she asks, “Will you shower with me?”

Shower… with her…

f*ck. My muscles tighten. And Roxanne unfortunately notices.

She starts to shake her head—backtracking. Taking it back. But I quickly say, “Yes.”

She looks up at me. “Yes?”

Her voice is so vulnerable. So unsure. It devastates my heart in the worst of ways. I hadn’t known that this kind of pain would be so strong and so unbearable.

I push off the door and walk toward her. “Yes.”

Roxanne quickly nods, eyes locked with mine, and as I near her, she takes two steps back, traveling further into the bathroom. We share a heady look, where buried beneath is pain and passion and lust and understanding.

I close and lock the bathroom door behind me and Roxanne exhales a deeper breath. She notices her reflection in the corner of her eye and winces, turning her entire back to the mirror.

And I understand. She doesn’t want to see the blood any more than she already has.

I wordlessly reach a hand into the shower and turn it on. My shoulders are tense, my heart beating wildly in my chest—entirely too aware that Roxanne has begun undressing behind me.

“Are you sure you want to do this? We can take separate showers. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” she says.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” I ground out.

“Then why are you so tense?”

I turn around. “Why are you interrogating me?”

She’s clenching her shirt in her hand, brows furrowed. “I’m not interrogating you. I’m just… caring about you.”

Oh. I feel like a f*cking asshole.

I exhale a deep breath and tug at my bloodstained hair. “I’m not uncomfortable, Roxanne,” I repeat. “I’m just nervous. I’ve never done this before.”

“Oh,” she breathes, watching me. Baring myself to her so completely feels so vulnerably tortuous. It makes me flush under her gaze. She reaches out and grabs my hand, softly brushing her thumb over my knuckles, and then she places my palm over her chest. Over her heart.

It beats wildly beneath my touch, and my own chest collapses. I slide my hand up to her collarbones, then to her neck, and I kiss her gently. She all but melts against me as the shower begins to steam up the bathroom.

I need to be good for her. I need to be worth it. Everything that happens to her is fueled by who I am. Who I am is inevitable, but the harassment is the same.

It won’t stop. I can threaten everyone in the world, but Roxanne will always be a walking target. I hate it. I want to steal her away and protect her from everything. I want to lessen the hurt. I want to be worth it.