Page 137 of The Right Wrong Promise

My phone buzzes in my hand and I glance down to see Daria calling.

Damnation.

She always did have the world’s shittiest timing.

Margot’s eyes widen when she sees the name on my screen. I’m sure the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up like thorns, and I don’t blame her.

“Um, it’s okay, Kane. You should probably answer that,” she whispers, stepping back.

“Right.” I’m practically vibrating with tension, but we have an agreement never to ignore each other’s calls.

I texted her about the trouble in Maine a couple hours ago.

The kids want to stay, of course, but I’m not set on keeping them around in a situation that’s less than secure. No matter how much they hate staying with their material girl mom, I’d rather have them annoyed than hurt.

“Daria?” I press the phone to my ear, unclenching my jaw.

“Really, Kane? Is it always such torture to speak to me?”

Yes.

“Did you get my message?” I ask flatly.

“Duh. Why else would I be calling? You have the cupcakes.”

My shoulders go rigid, watching Margot fiddle with her phone. She’s pretending not to listen in, giving me plenty of space, but I know she’s in earshot.

I’d do the same thing if the roles were reversed.

I’m no damn saint, whatever my name says.

I wonder what she’s thinking. If she regrets hooking up now.

Somehow, I doubt the other men she’s dated are single dads dealing with their ex-wives.

Shit, are wedating?

No, too far.

But I’ve always been bad at labels, especially with this casual stuff.

Becoming romantically illiterate must be the price of marrying young.

“Right. And that’s a problem with everything going down in this house.” There’s a long pause. “Daria?”

“Hang on,” she mutters. Her voice goes distant as someone speaks behind her before she comes back on the line. “Sorry, I only have a few minutes. The photog wanted some late-night shots by the fountain. But yeah, if they’re in danger, just get them out of there! Go home. Like, it’s not that deep, right?”

“Daria.” I forget how damnably annoying she is, always expecting easy solutions. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You need to take them if I have to send them home. You understand? I already gave their tutor the week off, thinking we’d be on vacation.”

“What? Me?” She makes a strangled sound. “Jesus, I can’t just take them when you snap your fingers, Kane. I’m leaving LA for a shoot in Cabo and it’s totally not kid friendly. I mean, what would they even do all day? You know how stir-crazy they get, and the beaches are rough this time of year. They’ll be safer with you. You can just check out early, right?”

Not if I want to throw Margot to the wolves.

I can’t.

I won’t.

“That’s the problem, Daria. I already told the owner I’d step up and help secure this property, at least for a little while. I can’t just ghost her and—”