Page 26 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

Each one of them dressed unmistakably as the beloved fictional nanny from the award-winning filmMrs. Doubtfire.

9

I swearit wasn’t me.

Don’t get me wrong, it was hilariousand would’ve made for a brilliantly unhinged prank primed to push Dominic over the edge, but it wasn’t me. Only because—and I cannot stress this enough—I didn’t think of it first.

My palm slapped over my open mouth as a disbelieving gasp-laugh rushed through my lungs. I had no idea what to do. No idea who these men were, where they’d come from, or where on the psychological spectrum each of them landed on a scale of Mr. Rogers to Hannibal Lecter.

I continued to stare, wide-eyed, as the burliest of the bunch worked up the courage to wave at me. “Helloooo.”

Oh god.

Oh god oh god oh god. He was doing the Mrs. Doubtfire voice and a mangled, butchered version of the accent. It was horrifying. And so, so, sooo funny.

They all looked like they’d raided their respective grandmothers’ closets and snatched whatever garment was within reach in preparation for whatever this was. Two of themwere wearing stockings. Four of them were in ill-fitting, lopsided wigs.

My eyes were watering. It was taking everything I had not to spiral into laughter-induced hyperventilation.

“Is, uh, Mr. Crawford in? Could you kindly get him for us? We’d like a word, if possible.” His voice cracked. There was lipstick on his teeth.

Kill me. I couldn’t breathe, and the tears were starting to leak.

Rendered entirely useless and unable to speak, I held up a finger to let them know I’d be right back and gently shut the door.

Then I collapsed onto my knees, stuffed my face into the chunky sleeves of my uniform, and started gasping with silent, breathy laughter until my whole face was wet, I was rolling around on the hard marble, and my stomach was cramping painfully.

I tried crawling farther away from the door so they wouldn’t hear me and, as luck would have it, almost got trampled by the raging bull who’d chosen that exact moment to round the corner, snarling about something, something, Alice, something, fucking pay for this, something, building every single piece, something, something, by hand, so help him god.

I couldn’t quite hear him over my own wheezing, but it all sounded very threatening andveryserious.

He tripped over my leg. It didn’t help with the laughing.

“Christ—thefuckare you doing?” Dominic barked at my hunched, crawling form, actively regaining his balance. I curled deeper into myself with a small, squeal-like whine, my soul knocking on death’s door.

There was a moment where, even in the gasping, cramping chaos of my suppressed hysterics, I felt the air around me go eerily still.

“Alice?”

I couldn’t respond. I was clinging onto dear life, my face stuffed into my sleeve as I tried to breathe through the laughter and pain.

“Hey.” There was a tug at my shoulder. I shrugged it off.

The second tug was stronger, immediately followed by something heavy landing beside me.

The third one wasn’t a tug so much as two large hands lifting my upper body off the floor. I pressed both palms over my mouth, swallowing back the rough cackles clawing at my throat.

Dominic’s golden eyes scanned my wet, blotchy face. And went pitch-black. “What the fuck.”

He was on his feet, advancing toward the door, and ripping it open before I could regain enough control of my wits to stop him. Panicking, I scrambled to my feet, sniffling and wiping at my cheeks and reaching for the soft leg of the gray sweatpants he’d shoved on before storming downstairs.

But it was too late.

Judging from the delayed ripple of tension rolling up his back, it took him a few seconds to realize what he was looking at. Meanwhile, the five men were gawking at Dominic in all of his shirtless, muscled glory, like they couldn’t believe they’d actually managed to manifest him in the flesh.

Dominic’s thunderous attention zipped to me, and I bit down on my smile. This was when he realized he’d entirely misunderstood why I’d been curled up on the floor, wheezing. I could tell because the throbbing veins were back.

His threatening gaze cut back to the men. One of them jolted, his neck darkening to match the unblended rouge pressed to his cheeks.