Thorne Princess(43)

“Everything’s a peach,” I cooed.

“Ya know,” one of them sighed, “it is a travesty to me that a Thorne child ain’t living in her home state. Rankles my sensibilities.”

“Oh, please don’t take it personally. I love Texas.”

Or I would, if I knew it.

The Lone Star State had some small pleasures that I found celestial. The vastness of the sky. How it stretched above your head like loving arms. The endless iced tea refills. The bluebonnets. The way people were friendly as a way of life, and not because they wanted to be invited to Heidi Klum’s next Halloween party.

“Thank fuck for open carry states.” Ransom strode out the door of our suite, tucking his gun into his waistband.

Ransom stopped, scowling at me. “There’s steam coming out of your ears. Don’t think too hard, Brat.”

“Are you insinuating I’m stupid?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“It was more of an open statement.” His mouth quirked to one side mockingly. “Ready to roll?”

No, but my stomach was. It churned violently, warning me that making an unannounced trip to my parents’ house was not a good idea. Ransom, however, acted as if nothing had happened between us on the plane. Probably because to him—nothing had.

“I don’t think we’re expected at my parents’ right now.”

Normally, I only arrived at their mansion when I was summoned. When they couldn’t take it anymore and threatened me with sanctions if I didn’t show myself. The majority of my time in Dallas, I usually spent drinking in my room or working on mockups of my next tattoo. Sometimes I’d catch a movie.

Dallas reminded me of some of my loneliest times. Of the family-shaped hole in my heart. Of memories I never made, and moments I never experienced. Of the fact that my entire being was a pappus—an individual piece of a seeded dandelion—floating in the universe.

Not so coincidentally, I’d inked a dandelion blowing away across the back of my left shoulder. Only those who squinted really hard could tell that each individual pappus was made out of the letters T, E, X, A, and S.

“Who cares?” He spun car keys over his finger, advancing toward the elevators. I followed him. “They’re your goddamn parents. They’ll find time for you.”

A nervous laugh bubbled from my throat. “They’re important people, you know. With busy schedules.”

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. We walked inside. Ransom chose a parking lot floor. I guess he’d rented a car. An armored one, no doubt.

“They’re not currently in office, which means whatever shit they have can wait. Your dad isn’t in a position to start or cease a war anymore. You only see them, what…a few times a year?”

I swallowed hard, uncomfortable at the casual stripping away of my historical excuses as to why their distancing shouldn’t hurt. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Once in the underground garage, we slid into a Ford Explorer that looked missile-proof. I wasn’t a fan of fuel-run cars, but decided to pick my battles.

Ransom drove, not bothering with a map app, like he grew up in this place. I was on edge the entire drive, as if I was on my way to face a firing squad. It was bad enough that my parents treated me like an embarrassment, but now we were going to have an audience in the form of Ransom Lockwood, hottest and scariest man alive.

Again, I wondered about him. About his family life. His background. I knew so little about the person who was sharing a house with me. Even the basics were cloaked in an enigmatic veil. Where was he born? Was he married? What had he done before he opened his security company?

I’d performed a cursory social media hunt on him as soon as I’d been able. Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t a trace of this man ever being alive. I couldn’t even be sure Ransom Lockwood was his real name.

“I can tell you want to say something.” Ransom’s eyes were hard on the road. “Just go ahead and say it.”

It then occurred to me that I was staring at him.

“Is Ransom Lockwood your real name?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Are you capable of answering one question without evading it?”

“I don’t know, am I?” he asked smartly, then sighed. “Yes, it’s my real name.”

“Aww, I feel like we grew super close in one sentence,” I teased.

He didn’t say anything.

“So…were you a SEAL, like Max?” I munched on my lower lip as we zipped past the glitzy midtown area, which was sparkly and new.

“No,” Ransom said shortly. Then, when he realized I was squirming in my seat, desperate for a distraction, he added, “Counterintelligence.”

“Look at you, Mr. FancyPants.”

“It’s a long word for a very broad department. Anything you have to break in your head into two separate words to write is considered extravagant.”

Well, I couldn’t write it if you gave me five hours and three dictionaries.

“Must’ve been dangerous.” I watched him intently. Not a muscle in his face moved. Treading carefully, I added, “Your family must’ve been worried for you.”

“I suppose they would have.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t have a family.”