Page 60 of Tangled Like Us

Jane jolts.

I put a hand to the small of her back. “Hold on.” I pass her and head to the locked door. Farrow is right behind me in seconds.

Temp guards should be securing the perimeter outside.

The next sound is awhack.Sounds like an object.

I speak into my mic and try to communicate with the temps while Farrow checks the security cams on his phone.

We figure out the issue in less than a minute.

“Are they throwing eggs?” Jane asks. She’s not even surprised that people would.

I shake my head.

“It’s a drone,” Farrow explains.

“Goddamn drones,” Maximoff growls under his breath.

“One more thing,” Farrow adds. “The drone dropped off a package.”

11

JANE COBALT

My curiosityabout the package is only half-full. Thatcher occupies the other half, and I catch myself looking backwards for him.

He’s not here.

He carried the luxury shoebox to security’s townhouse a few minutes ago, Farrow in tow. But only after they scanned the package for metal.

Our bodyguards have more tools to test the contents for anything hazardous. I know Moffy would prefer to be involved, but I don’t love hearing about all the ball gags and leather that stalkers send me.

Maximoff has stayed behind to keep me company, and our twenty-year-old cousin has finally arrived.

“It’s a fucking madhouse outside, guys. Way worse than a few days ago,” Sulli tells us in the tiny kitchen while the three of us unpack groceries from canvas tote bags.

At six beautiful feet tall with cascading brown hair, carved biceps, and a squared jaw, Sulli looks like the athlete she was born to be. She lingers in the walk-in pantry. Just so we can hand her paper towels and other items to shelve.

“Akara had to do some kind of reverse-maneuver and a three-point turn just to avoid running over some old dude with flowers,” Sulli says. “And there are literal fucking news vans. Like Channel 14 and Good Morning Philadelphia.”

I slowly take out a dozen eggs from a tote. I can imagine a morning news segment about the Cinderella ad. All the smiling anchors and their theories about who I’ll choose to date. It’s one thing to have my grandmother play matchmaker.

It’s another to have the world laser-focused and invested in my love life.

I’m trying not to worry, but I’m starting to realize this may be less of a passing storm and more of a staple to my every day.

I look to Sulli. “Hopefully they’ll disperse and we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming.”

Maximoff feigns confusion. “What is that again?”

“Glorious dumpster fires on Tuesdays,” I say theatrically.

He nods strongly. “Shit storms every other Friday.”

I smile at him. “And we can’t forget the evening apocalypse.”

Maximoff smiles back. “Jesus, we’ve survived the apocalypse. It’s like we’re pros at this already.”