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“You can’t know that.”

“I know your mother will be there, and I’d pay good money to see what happens if someone decides to fuck with her daughter and grandson,” I rest my hand on her stomach, “at their own baby shower.”

She purses her lips. “You have a point.”

“I usually do.” I lift her chin, taking the opportunity to swipe a kiss. I do this more often now. Taking little pieces of her when she’ll allow it. Getting closer because it feels like the only way I can breathe. “Go,” I insist, “get spoiled.”

I move, letting her out of my makeshift jail. Grabbing a banana off the counter she says, “I’m surprised one of you isn’t driving me.” She glances at Ballsack, who’s doing his best impression of an inanimate object. “Not that I won’t enjoy watching Ballsy get fussed over by thirty women.”

Ballsack looks more hunted than he had when the agent dragged him out of here. “I don’t have to go in.” He looks at me, pleading. “I don’t, right?”

The question was clear in her tone, so I choose my response carefully. “The rest of us have some frat business to take care of while all the women are busy. You’ll be safe with your very own Ballsack escorting you.” I pause, face scrunching. “Dude, your name makes for some really weird sentences,” I tell him.

A ghost of a grin tugs at his lips. “One of the other guys I pledged with got ‘Sphincter’, so I count myself lucky.”

She eyes us suspiciously, and I’m pretty sure our well-thought-out plan—decorating the nursery while she’s at the shower—has been blown. Until she says, “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

Huh. Plan not blown. I clear my throat. “No. Not today.”

“You sure?” Her eyes narrow. “You’re acting weird.”

I pull her into another spontaneous kiss, assuring, “Princess, as much as we’d like to get rid of him, today is not the day.”

“When then?” she asks, and I realize she’s getting anxious to get the weight of Rufus Ashby off her shoulders. That, or she’s still procrastinating.

Probably both.

“Soon. I promise.” I nudge her toward Ballsack. “Drive safe.”

“Will do,” he says, ushering her down the front hall toward the car waiting out front.

Ballsack has barely driven through the front gates when I hear a knock on the back door. “Took you long enough to say goodbye,” Remy mutters the instant I open it. “I thought maybe you were going to start going at it, and then I’d have to stab my ears out, but thankfully it didn’t go that far.”

“You were listening?” I ask, faintly disturbed.

He looks faintly insulted. “Only to see if it was safe to come in!”

There’s movement in the SUV behind him and my eyes slide over his shoulder, catching sight of Sy climbing out of the front seat. He rolls his eyes at Remy, saying, “Ignore him.”

I take in Sy’s ratty T-shirt and old jeans. “What are you doing here?”

Sy sidles up to him, arms crossed. “Every time my Duke comes into this fucking place, he comes out with another family member. I’m here to make sure you’re not about to ambush him with a long-lost sister or some shit.”

Ah.

So he told him.

“That,” I stress, “is between him and Wicker and whatever psycho is standing in as their father this week. I just wanted a nursery decorated for my Princess.”

“Well, here we are. Even Picasso had an assistant.” Sy walks back to the SUV, hauling a paint-splattered toolbox out of the back. “At least that’s what Remy told me.”

Remy gives me a look that doesn’t brook an argument. “Your one day timeline means I need another set of hands I can trust.” He grabs Sy by the wrist. “This is the hand of a man I can trust.”

I lift my chin to Sy, holding the door open for them. “By the way, how’s Bruin? I haven’t gotten any calls lately.”

“Pissy about having to take it easy for another few weeks, but he’s healing up well.” His expression turns awkward—maybe evensoftens. “Thanks, again.”

Before I can reply, I hear, “Incoming,” and Wicker’s voice enters the room before his body. Sy and Remy jolt, turning around and seeming startled at his sudden appearance.