Page 50 of Royally Ruined

Somewhere safe.Ice bit into my throat when I swallowed a gulp of clean air. Squeezing his hand, I started to walk ahead of him toward the car. “I know where we can go.”

I’d been avoiding it from the start. I’d had to. Costello would never forgive me for what I was about to put him through. But there was no choice.

It was time to go home.

- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN -

COSTELLO

“Is this maple syrup?” Gina gasped as we climbed out of the white Charger.

“Oh, that’s yours, yeah.” Scotch said it distantly, and I attributed her mood to what we’d just been through. Nearly dying would traumatize anyone.

“Thank you!” she gushed. “Do you think your mom’ll have any of those bear claws hanging around? I always loved those with maple syrup.”

Scotch shot her a look ... then me. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

Together we stepped through the powdery snow toward the front door. I didn’t think going to Scotch’s mother’s house was the best idea. However ... I didn’t have a better solution.

Scotch had broken it down convincingly enough: No one knew who she was, no one would know to follow us here. We could recover and make a plan without being hunted. Considering I was sure my father was about to turn on me when he heard what I’d done ... we really needed a base to work from.

On the doorknob hung a red ribbon. A gigantic wreath covered most of the stained glass window. The house was quaint and warm looking, even from where we stood in the freshly falling snow. It had been coming down since we left my condo, and though we hadn’t driven long, the ground was coated with icy whiteness.

Clearing her throat, Scotch let us in without knocking. The smell of powdered sugar invaded my nose. Around the edges was that heavy fried smell that comes from fast food. There were white boxes piled around the doorway, and on the coat hooks were several aprons in various pastel colors.

“Her mom’s a baker,” Gina said, kicking snow off her boots. “Best doughnuts in town.”

“The best?” I mused, looking down at the blank boxes.The best doughnuts are supposed to come from Sweet Staples.I’d never been; it was a known cop hangout. The exact kind of place I avoided.

Scotch made a tiny noise beside me. “Costello, maybe I should tell you something.”

“Jimmy?” a feminine voice called. “That you?”

“No, it’s us!” Gina shouted back.

All three of us were squished in the tiny hallway, so when the tall woman—who was clearly the source of Scotch’s height—came around the corner, we had nowhere to go. “Honey bun!” she squealed, rushing forward to grab Scotch in a hug. “I haven’t heard from you in a while! What’s been going on?”

“Mom,” Scotch laughed, blushing as she disengaged. “It’s only been what, five days?”

“More like three weeks!” Her kind brown eyes drifted to Gina, then to me. “Oh. Who’s this strapping young man?”

Gina giggled while Scotch went ever redder. “Mom, this is Costello. My ...” I saw her gears working. “Boyfriend.”

Well, it’s only fair.She’d pretended to be dating me before. Fake or not, it gave me a thrill. “Hello there,” I said, offering my hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Costello?” the woman asked, blinking. Squeezing between the girls, she grabbed me in a tight hug. The same sugary smell permeated her—this was definitely the mystery scent on Scotch. “Call me Margie. It’s great to meet you! You’re just in time for dinner, come sit down. Heather’s uncle and father should arrive soon.”

Scotch turned pale. “Are they both coming over?”

“Of course, of course. Come,” Margie said, waving us into a kitchen that tested the limits of bird-covered wallpaper. A round table was set up with three place mats. “I’ll go and get more plates, hang on.”

Sitting down, I studied the room. There were porcelain cows and roosters all over, magnets covering every inch of the fridge. Photos of Scotch were in abundance—alone or with Gina. There were also a massive number of Margie with some man I assumed was her husband.

Everything about this place screamedwarmandwelcoming... so why couldn’t I shake the bristling part of my brain that said something was wrong? Scotch kept giving me wary looks she thought I didn’t notice. That had to be the source of my unease. Something had her nerves going haywire.

“Sorry I’m late!” a coarse, familiar voice called from down the hall. “Got a call about gunshots downtown. Some guys shot up a place, but no bodies reported, so I let the boys handle it. Smells like tomatoes in here. You making spaghetti again, Margie?”

No,I thought, even as the man I’d never expected to see rounded the corner. He was more mustache than chin, a big man made bigger by a heavy winter jacket. His laughter died in his throat the second he spotted me sitting at the kitchen table.

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