Page 23 of It Must Be Fate

“And now you’re just letting me drive off with a kiss and that’s it.” Her eyes narrow on me. “Cough it up, Royal. What did you do?”

So what if I didn’ttellherabout the cameras? Double sue me.

“If you make my wife wait outside your car for one more second, I’ll shove the first roll of poker chips I find down your throat, Rogue,” Phoenix snaps from the doorway.

“Phoenix!” Six exclaims.

“She doesn’t have a jacket on and there’s a breeze,” he continues, unperturbed.

“You heard him, sweetheart. Be safe on the road, text me the second you’re home.”

“You’re doing what Phoenix asked you to? Now Iknowyou did something bad.”

“Love you,” I tell her as I exit the car.

“Nice to see you, Rogue,” Six says, patting my arm. She knows that touching me beyond that, especially while her husband is watching, is a bad idea. I grunt in response and brush past her, coming to stand next to Phoenix at the top of their stoop.

“Hello, wanker,” he calls distractedly, his eyes still pinned on his wife. She gets in the car and they drive off with a wave.

His body tightens the second they’re out of eyesight, a feeling I understand all too well.

“Don’t worry about it, mate. I’m keeping an eye on them.”

“How?”

“I’ll show you in a bit. Are the others here?”

Phoenix leads me down the hall and downstairs where their game room is located. “Tristan’s downstairs. He made some sort of intricate gourmet snacks for poker night.”

I roll my eyes as we emerge into the room. “Pompous asshole.”

“I know. I wanted to give him shit for it, but annoyingly they’re actually delicious as fuck.”

“Dickhead,” I say, making eye contact with the man in question.

“You’re welcome to stick to the chips and salsa, Rogue,” Tristan answers, casually flipping me off. “I wouldn’t want your unrefined palate to go into shock when it comes into contact with something sophisticated.”

“Given that every time I eat your food it’s something ridiculous like deconstructed duck mousse or jellied dolphin nose, the fact that I’m still standing here, palate intact, is a small miracle.”

“Weird. I seem to remember your name being the very first reservation when my newest restaurant opened,” he points out, nonchalantly dapping me up.

“That had nothing to do with you,” I argue with a sniff. “I want my wife’s best friend to have a certain standard of living and unfortunately that means supporting you.”

“Right.”

“No other reason.”

“Uh huh.”

“It wasn’t memorable.”

“Of course not.”

“Barely edible.”

“Is that why you have another reservation in two weeks?”

Ignoring him, I grab a cracker topped with sauce, a piece of smoked trout, and a slice of cucumber and pop it into my mouth.

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