Page 9 of Love Me

“It’s not up to us,” he reminds me.

Hunter looks outside the window, always searching for something. He’s lonely if you don’t count the myriad of girls vying for his attention.

“Hey, you’re doing that thing again.”

He snaps out of it and smirks. “I have to get ready for tonight.”

“You know, being a playboy is not sexy anymore.”

He puts his hand on his heart like he’s insulted. He’s also the brother I never had.

“Tell me, you and my sister have a chastity pact going on?”

Mia shuts the romance book she’s been entranced with and pushes herself up from the mat in the gym’s corner. We’re the only ones here, using it only after classes so no one could question why we’re training to fight.

Hunter crosses his arms against his chest, lifting a brow. Their bickering is the highlight of my day.

“Sex takes away from focus,” she replies haughtily.

“I guess you get enough mental sex from all the romance you read.”

“What’s wrong with reading romance?” I ask.

“It sets unrealistic expectations,” Hunter says.

Mia scrunches her nose. “A man would say that, wouldn’t he? It’s still better than subpar expectations leading to disappointment.”

Thinking back, I once had a fairytale romance rivaling even the most beautiful love stories.

“They exist, but sadly, they don’t last in reality. Anyway. Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars,” I say.

“Whoever said that had no fucking clue what they were talking about. The moon is closer than any star,” Hunter says. He’s such a smart ass.

Mia tsks. “Someone is afraid he doesn’t have a heart.”

“Better than a guarded one.” He points at Mia and then at me. “And a broken one.”

“Asshole,” both Mia and I chime.

He flips us the bird and leaves.

“Chastity belt, my ass,” Mia says, poorly mimicking his deeper voice.

“He’s right, you know. You’re guarded, and I am broken.”

“You’re not broken.”

I cock a brow. “Like you’re not guarded?”

We look at each other, and neither of us wants to keep lying. Maybe being a part of this legacy comes with that.

Mia slaps her forehead. “Ah, my father wanted to talk to you.”

If Cillian doesn’t say the wench forgives me, I’ll go crazy. If I have to write her one more ass-kissing letter, I’ll explode.

My father’s quest has always been to find my mother, a mission as elusive as it is enduring. For the past two years, my father has come and gone, continuing to work on his business to keep his image intact and searching for clues. No one knows anything. Grandmother might be cruel, but I doubt she’d actually keep her own daughter hostage.

Inside his office, Cillian shows me the letter from Grandmother. Every week, I send her a letter. It took two years of groveling for her to respond.

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