Page 158 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

I stop playing. “We have company.”

Luka follows my gaze, relaxing when he recognizes them. “Mary and Orton.”

My sister and Luka’s right-hand man. The unlikely couple that somehow makes perfect sense.

They climb the steps to our porch. Mary’s curls wild from the ocean breeze, Orton’s perpetual intensity softened by her presence.

“Don’t stop on our account,” Mary says, gesturing to the harmonica. “We heard you all the way from the beach.”

“You’re early,” Luka growls.

I give Luka a look. “You’re perfectly on time.”

Mary takes a glass from Luka with a smile. “We sold out pretty early, so we hopped on cleanup right away. Here’s to officially being on vacation for the next week while they install the new ovens.”

“And if they go over schedule, we will have words,” Orton growls.

Mary’s brunch bistro, The Flying Frittata, has become a local sensation, and now she’s expanding into the space next door.

“Congratulations on the book deal,” Orton says to me. “Mary told me the news.”

“Thank you! I’m still processing it.”

We settle into our chairs, the conversation flowing easily as twilight deepens. Stars begin to appear, scattered diamonds against dark velvet. The champagne makes an appearance, glasses clinked all around.

Mary and I take our glasses down the steps to the beach and wade into the water, the waves licking at our ankles as we plan our bistro-vacay craft night: embroidery thread, a big couch, cheesy popcorn, red licorice, and Hallmark movies.

“I downloaded a really cute squirrel pattern off Etsy,” Mary says. “He has this little flower crown? Sosweet. And I found this fox curled up in a ball of grass. Oh—and there were some great bluebird ones, too. I’ll send you the link.”

“No, I’ve been designing my own pattern,” I say. “It’s a coat of arms. For me and Luka.”

Mary stops mid-step. “A coat of arms.”

“Yeah. Medieval style. I’m doing a shield divided into quadrants—Arianiti’s eagle in one, a feather quill over parchment in another, a dagger in the third, and maybe the harmonica or a crown in the last. Symbols of us. I want to embroider it on linen and make a fabric tapestry for our reading nook. Maybe even do a couple of matching dish towels.”

Mary snorts. “A coat of arms for you and Luka. Yeah, you’re definitely not a nerd.”

“It’s gonna be the best,” I say, already picturing the whole thing in gold, crimson, and midnight thread.

“You forgot to add circle cookies,” Mary says. “Don’t you want that on your coat of arms?”

I grin. “I’ll put circle cookies on our coat of arms when you start baking them in your bistro.”

“Not likely,” Mary says.

The guys are talking intently up on the porch. I can’t hear them, but I know Luka so well now that I can read his posture—shoulders just slightly tense. If we were closer, I’d see the tight line in his jaw. He doesn’t like whatever Orton is telling him. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s something about Lazarus, the psychotic killer they’ve been chasing halfway across the world. The coffee farm. The monastery. So many dead ends it’s starting to feel like folklore.

“Hey, losers!” Mary calls out, holding up her empty glass. “Come on, the water’s perfect—and I need a refill!”

That’s when I see it. The ring.

I grab her hand. “What? Mary, what is this? Oh my God, Mary!”

“I was wondering when you’d notice. Some scholar you are.”

“Mary!” I pull her into a hug. “I’m so happy for you. You guys are perfect. When?”

She holds it out to glitter in the moonlight. “Tonight.”

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