“Nope, you don’t,” he said, his face victorious. “And now you don’t only owe me for the two months apart, you owe me for the next twelve hours or so—that will be teeth-clenching torturous at best—until we make it to Texas.”
“That’s a lot of debt to pay off,” I said, letting my mind wander a bit too far. That tingling sensation I’d managed to stifle returned.
“An overwhelming amount,” he said, his voice low.
“Good thing for you I pay all my debts back promptly and with an exorbitant amount of interest attached.”
“Well, I’m keeping track of every last you-know-what you owe me.” His eyebrows peaked.
I grinned. “Come on, Scrooge,” I said, ready to launch forward, never imagining I would have looked forward to crossing the Texas border so much. “Try to keep up.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
PROMISE
So we didn’t quite make it to the Texas border. We found ourselves tangled up before the Guatemalan dirt had flung itself off our shoes as soon as we crossed the border into Mexico. Tangled again in Texas, even more so in Colorado, and by the time we crossed into Montana, I was surprised the surface of my skin wasn’t rubbed raw or that my lips didn’t look liked they’d been stung by a swarm of killer bees.
“How’s my payback plan looking now?” I asked, as we lumbered up the steps of Charles’ home.
He scratched his head. “Well, you made enough of a payment to keep you out of default, but I’m afraid I’m going to need significantly more if you want to keep your account in good standing.”
“Something tells me I’m going to be paying this debt off until the end of time.” I laughed, not minding if that was what he had in mind.
“I think you might be right,” he said, shoving open the front door.
Leading me through the front door of his father’s home with his hand on my back, déjà vu made its appearance. It hadn’t been all that long ago when we’d climbed these steps following an event that nearly claimed both our lives. William’s face was set with resolution and I was nearly breaking out in hives just thinking about encountering another awkward Charles, William, Bryn triangle. The previous ones had gone so well . . .
“The prodigal returns,” a voice emitted from the kitchen before Patrick came around the corner, a salad bowl overflowing with Fruity Pebbles in hand. I let out one of those gut-deep sighs, relieved to see Patrick had made it back in one piece, and his ability to irritate just as spot-on as ever. I felt William’s relief flooding him at the same time. “You two love birds kept us waiting long enough,” he mumbled, crunching through the cereal before shoveling another heaping spoonful in his mouth.
“Sorry, we were delayed.” I bit the corner of my lips, sneaking a glance at the man on my left. He was a shade shy of crimson.
“Now that’s my kind of hold-up,” Patrick replied, doing jumping-jacks with his brows.
William cleared his throat. “Where’s father?”
Patrick held up his index finger, speed-eating through the rest of his cereal, finishing it off by tilting the bowl to his lips and slurping the milk.
“I swear they must put crack in Fruity Pebbles,” he mused, slamming his bowl down on the table, a trail of milk dribbling down his chin. “He’s in his study,” he said finally, glancing up the stairs behind us.
“You came from a time when manners were highly regarded, right?” I asked, motioning at my chin, hoping he’d catch the hint.
If he caught the hint, he didn’t do anything about it. “I like to think of myself as a man for the current times.”
“You are that,” I said, the smile fresh on my lips vanishing as William pulled me up the stairs. Even at Patrick’s and my worst, I’d take a battle of tongue-thrashing with him any day over a meeting with Charles.
I fidgeted with my clothes and my hair, smoothing and twisting.
“Will you stop?” William said softly. “You have nothing to prove.”
“Yeah,” I said, all sarcasm, “it’s not like I practically killed his son—not once, but twice—then ditched him for someone else who ended up becoming an Immortal against the Council’s wishes. I don’t know why I’d have anything to prove.”
William rolled his eyes at me, shoving open the door to his father’s study. He didn’t even knock, which would have given me a chance to compose my face.
“Welcome back, son,” Charles said, not appearing surprised, or phased, by the sudden barrage. “I’m glad to see you’re alright.” He looked up from his laptop and the stack of files piled in front of him, waiting.
“I need to speak with you. Right now.” William approached the front of his desk, me in tow.
“As you can see, now is not a good time.” Charles turned his attention back at the laptop. “From everything that’s going on, you’d think we were on the verge of an Immortal apocalypse.”
William slammed his hands down on the desk, thunder erupted through the house. “I am a member of your Alliance, as well as your son. That’s earned me two minutes of your undivided time,” he said, his jaw locked.
Again, the stone flat expression, but Charles leaned back in his swivel chair, extending his arms at William. “I’m listening.”
“I have a request I’d like put before the Council.”
Charles stifled something that could have been a smile. “Something tells me I’ve heard this request before.”
“You have, but not in this many words,” William said, looking purposeful about towering over his father. “You and the Council—all the Guardian Councils—believe I’m the chosen one. You want me to do this, you want me to claim my supposed higher-calling . . .”—his eyes gripped me, the kind of warmth in them a girl could lose herself in—“Bryn becomes a member of this family.”
Charles sighed, looking between the two of us like we were as dangerous as a crystallized crate of dyn**ite. “I was wondering how long it would take you to figure that out,” Charles said, sliding his hands down the arms of his chair. “I don’t think there’s a single thing you could ask for that the Council would deny you in exchange for your cooperation.”
“I still have my doubts, but since you’re all so certain I’m the one, I’ll fulfill whatever calling the Council comes up with if it means being with Bryn.”
He looked between the two of us, studying us like we were a chess game and he was making out his next move. When the continued silence threatened to break out my fidgeting, Charles leaned back in his chair, staring absently through the window. “I’ll present your proposal to them first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll vote on it for formality’s sake, but you can consider Bryn as good as Betrothed.”
I blinked, making sure I wasn’t dreaming.
“However, I want your word”—his eyes commanded William—“that you’ll do what’s required of you if she becomes a member of this family.”
William didn’t let a moment of silence pass before answering, “You have my word.”
“It’s settled then,” Charles said, returning his attention to his laptop. “It appears we have a Betrothal Ball to plan.” I didn’t miss the humor in his tone or the smile that broke.
“Let’s hope it’s less eventful than the last one Bryn and I attended,” William replied, exchanging a look with me before pulling me away from his father’s desk.
“William,” Charles called out abruptly. I cringed, sure he was calling us back to yell something along the lines of April Fool’s! “Could you send your brother in? I have something important to discuss with him.”
“You got it,” William said, not breaking stride as we left the office. At the end of the hallway, he stopped abruptly, lifting me up at the same time my back made contact with the wall. “You’re mine,” he whispered, placing a kiss over my mouth that was soft and sweet.
“I always have been,” I said, my legs tightening around his waist, completely unconcerned that Charles was a few rooms away.
William beamed, his eyes soft. “But it’s official now.”
“What does that change?” I asked, knowing it changed everything and nothing, depending on how he was looking at it.
“My right to punch a guy in the face for imagining you nak*d,” his smile turned mischievous as he planted another kiss on my mouth before twisting around to the staircase. My legs still around him, he slid down the handrail, his face alight with exhilaration. We flew off the banister, nearly ramming into the front door. William twisted the handle open, hollering over at Patrick, still at the kitchen table upending another box of cereal. “Hey, little brother. Guess who wants to see you upstairs?”
“Oh, goodie,” Patrick said, crunching through his cereal. “He’s been trying to corner me for the past month. Wanting to discuss my future,” he said, curling his nose. “He seems to think I’ve been sowing my wild oats for a century too long and its time for the untamable man to be tamed.” He shoved the chair back, fastening the top button of his dress shirt. “Immortal hearts are going to be breaking around the world soon. It would be a good time to invest in Kleenex stock.”
“You might want to tell your broker to put your order in sooner rather than later,” William said, pressing me back to him. “I have it on good authority”—his eyes trailed up the stairs—“that a Betrothal Ball is forthcoming.”
Despite knowing it would be an event where I would be promised an eternity with the man I loved, my stomach dropped at the mention of it.
“I’d offer you my congratulations, but Bryn’s looking like she caught a bad case of cold feet,” Patrick said, looking me over. “Having second thoughts about being tied for-ev-er to my big brother?”
“No,” I said, warning him with my eyes. “It’s just my prior experience with Betrothal Ball’s has tainted my impressions of future ones.”
Patrick tilted his head back, laughing silently. “I didn’t think anyone could worry more than William, but low and behold, I’ve found a challenger.” He strolled towards us, clasping his hands over my shoulder. “Relax, Bryn. Everything’s going to be smooth sailing from here on out.” He looked up, exchanging a look with William.
“Unlikely,” I said under my breath as he patted my cheek.
“What’s up with Sierra?” William asked, guessing or knowing I needed a conversation intervention.
“What’s up yourself, handsome?” Sierra called out, sauntering out from the hallway. Her eyes circumnavigated William like she was Columbus and she’d just discovered America.
I cleared my throat, turning to Patrick. “Are you holding her prisoner until she concedes, or if necessary, is brainwashed into thinking you’re the pinnacle of the male species?”
Sierra cleared her throat, mimicking the undertone of irritation in mine. “Do I look like the kind of woman he, or anyone for that matter, could hold prisoner?” She didn’t wait for my answer. “I’ve decided to stay.”