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“Because this isn’t a fun trip,” Rosalie answers.

“This can be a fun trip,” Emma says.

“Oh, really?” Rosalie asks. “Name one thing we’re doing that’s fun.”

Emma looks at me for help, but I really don’t know what to say. We landed in Chicago about ten minutes ago, and a convoy is taking us to Vera’s residence.

“Well, we’re meeting one of your uncle’s friends for dinner,” Emma says.

“We have dinner every night,” Rosalie says. “That’s not special.”

“Yeah, that’s not special,” James parrots, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking adorably pissed off.

“If it’s alright with your uncle, maybe we can make a little detour,” Emma suggests. There’s a gleam of mischief in her eyes.

My immediate instinct is to shut this idea down, but the sight of their hopeful expressions arrests me.

“What kind of detour?” Rosalie asks, glancing between the two of us.

“How does ice-skating sound?” Emma asks.

I’m shaking my head, but the kids are already bouncing in their seats with excitement. I’m outnumbered.

Twenty minutes later, we’re standing in front of the ice rink at Millennium Park. My security team has infiltrated the crowd, so they’ll be keeping watch over any potential threats.

“Today is my favorite day,” Rosalie says with glee.

The kids take off onto the rink with their assigned bodyguards.

“Let me guess, you just want towatch?” Emma asks, narrowing her eyes at me.

I’m a little tongue-tied as I look at her. She makes me feel like an adolescent boy who has a crush on a girl for the first time. It feels like my whole world revolves around her now.

“I’ll stay on the sidelines,” I say, clearing my throat. “Someone has to supervise.”

“At least have the guts to say the truth.” She smirks at me.

“What?”

“You’re afraid you’re not going to be good at it,” she says. Her breath comes out in puffs. “And now, you’re going to tell me you’re old enough to know what you like and don’t like.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” I ask.

She gets on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. My hand flexes over the small of her back, pulling her closer. But she slips away like a fairy.

“Suit yourself,” she calls over her shoulder. “But don’t blame me when the kids ask why you chickened out.”

I sigh. She sure knows how to get her way.

She gives me a big smile when I catch up with her.

“You better not let me fall,” I say.

“Never,” she says, taking my hand in hers. “You’re in good hands.”

I let her take me to the rink. The rest of the world fades away. It’s just her and me.

“It’s not that hard, I promise.” She laughs at the hesitation on my face—a light, carefree sound that melts the tension from my shoulders.