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“Yes, I don’t … think …”

“I’m fine about the shit with my father,” I assured him. “I swear. Now come grab me like you mean it.”

He was on me like prey, shoving me up against the counter, hands down on either side of me, his knee parting my legs.

“Oh man, I was kidding.” I laughed into his ear. “Did you miss the part where I said we had to hurry?”

He leaned in to kiss me.

I lifted and turned my head at the same time. “Knock it off. A hard-on while I’m trying to put on that jock will not help me.”

“You’re the one killing me,” he cried softly. “Jesus, Duncan, you might as well be naked!”

I squinted.

“The shirt is too tight, the breeches are insane, and the boots are just hot. Please take me upstairs and play marauding pirate with me.”

I snickered. “So you’re a captured banker, and I’ve taken you prisoner?”

“Sure, okay, whatever,” he moaned, hands on my hips. “Can we just go there, please?”

“No,” I said, pushing him back gently but firmly. “People are counting on you showing up tonight.”

“And you’re going out like that?” he half yelled. “Your picture will be everywhere tomorrow morning, and you’ll⁠—”

I took his face in my hands. “It’ll be funny, and the guys’ll give me crap … again … but I’m the same as anyone else dressed up in a costume. It’s just instead of only friends taking pictures, everyone will be.”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“It won’t turn into the white party your friend Ron had. It’s a much more upscale event.”

At a blowout extravaganza Aaron had taken me to—a party he went to every year and subsequently vowed never to go to again—some paparazzi had gotten past security and come after me. It was fine until the point one of them got too close and ended up ripping my shirt. We got tangled, I fell, and the guy crashed down on top of me. Blood was really noticeable on all white. Until the moment Aaron came around the corner, the press had had no idea he could get quite that mad or move quite that fast. I did; I’d seen the man in action. I’d ended up having to hold him and tell the reporter to run. Now he only attended parties he himself threw or Miguel accompanied us to.

“I’ll send a check with Max.”

“No,” I objected with a laugh. “I gotta go just to hear someone make the booty joke.”

“Pardon?”

And an hour later, when we were squinting because of the flashes, one of the reporters yelled, “Hey, pirate, show us your booty!”

I put out my hands like, Of course.

Clapping, catcalls, whistles, and more flashing lights—enough to momentarily blind me—ensued before I turned, and Max was there with one of those enormous foam-core-mounted checks so everyone could see the five million dollars Sutter was donating to Alzheimer’s research. Unfortunately, even that did not take the interest away from my ass. It was hysterical, and the press was just having fun. My boyfriend, however, could not find the humor in the situation.

“That’s it,” Aaron said when we walked inside the gala. “We’re going out the back.”

I shook my head. “No. We gotta go take our place in line now, and besides, I wanna see Prentiss.”

He rounded on me. “Why?”

“Because he’s our step—” Max cricked his neck and made a face at Astrid like she would know what the hell he was asking. “I mean, half brother?”

“Half, yes,” she confirmed.

“I get confused with all that.”

“I know, sweetie.” She sounded playfully patronizing.