Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Standing beside Donnelly, Quinn peers at the tabloid and points at a page. “Damn. Jane’s on the worst dressed list again.”
Thatcher pulls the magazine out of Donnelly’ grip and tosses it in the nearby trash. “No one should be reading that here.” He retrains his attention onto the photo shoot.
Donnelly mouths to me, grumpy.
That’s one word for it. I bite into my apple.
Oscar eats a fry and nods to me. “Fiancé is looking at you.”
Fiancé. That word rushes into me. I’ve always wanted to be married one day, and each morning I wake up next to him, I’m still overcome with a simple fact. I’m going to marry Maximoff Hale—the love of my life.
I chew slowly, my lips upturning. “I know,” I say. “He still does that.” Gradually, I turn around and pool all my attention onto Maximoff.
He’s alone. Standing in front of the white backdrop, dressed in jeans and a gray crew-neck. He’s waiting for the photographer to fix his camera settings, maybe even for a few other cousins to appear. I’m not sure who’s up next in the photo lineup.
And despite all the hell we’ve been through, Maximoff looks and stands like an unshakable force of nature. Ready to weather any squall because he’s as powerful as the storm.
Fuck, I can’t take my eyes off him, and I smile into my next bite of apple. Watching his forest-greens try not to melt over me.
The photographer shouts, “Can we get Loren and Ryke in here?”
Lo and Ryke leave their high-top table where they’d been chatting with their wives. And both men easily and assuredly join Maximoff.
Lo is on his right. Ryke on his left. And the three look straight into the camera. Severity in their gazes. Because the paternity issues surrounding the three of them aren’t amusing or lighthearted. And for the most part, We Are Calloway hits serious tones all the way through.
The studio seems to quiet, more people compelled to look at them. Not because of the paternity rumors. Everyone invited here knows that’s bullshit.
It’s how striking and domineering they are side-by-side-by-side. And Maximoff doesn’t look confrontational or angry. He looks proud to be standing between his dad and his uncle.
And Maximoff—pure, wholehearted Maximoff—can’t even see how Lo and Ryke look even prouder to be next to him.
“Incoming,” Banks says, and our heads turn as Sullivan Meadows weaves around a few tables, dark hair splayed over the shoulders of her jean jacket. She’s aiming for SFO. For this table.
For Akara.
We can all tell. Even if she doesn’t realize it.
“She’s hesitating,” Quinn narrates as Sulli pauses, turns slightly. Fingers to her lips.
Akara sets down his water bottle, brows furrowing. The two of them have been doing this concern-worried-for-each-other dance since their “fight” at the stair climb. It’s a little intense, even for buddyguards.
“And she’s exiting,” Banks says, just as Sulli swerves around and rushes away from SFO.
“I’ll be a sec.” Akara detaches from our spot and chases after Sulli. And when he’s well out of earshot, we all turn back to the table and look at each other.
Oscar says, “Either Kitsuwon is in denial about his feelings for that girl or he’s playing all of us.”
“Denial,” most of us say because Akara is adamant that they’re just friends. Not in the excessive way to cover a lie. In a peeved, fuck-off way.
“She’s back,” Donnelly says off the appearance of Luna Hale. Only he’s referring to the green marker on her cheeks, the blue-painted eyebrows and graphic tee. She makes a Spock symbol at the camera, and she looks genuinely lighter, happier. She dumped Andrew last week, and she told her big brother that her and this guy just “wanted different things.”
I smile into my next bite of apple. Good for you, Luna.
“Anyone read the story she posted online yesterday?” Oscar asks the table. A few days ago she gave SFO her secret username so we could read her fics. Honestly, I haven’t had time to delve into that rabbit hole yet.
Donnelly bites into a potato skin. “The one with the blue alien goddess and the glittery king of stars?” He licks sour cream off his finger.
Oscar nods heartily. “I give it a C+. Too many tentacles.”
Donnelly shrugs. “I thought it was pretty good.”
I’m not even going to ask or open that Pandora’s Box. The photographer bobs up from the camera and searches the studio for someone.
And then his eyes land on me.
“Farrow!” The photographer waves me over, and he’s already called Maximoff back to the plain white backdrop. I place my bitten apple back on the plate.
Donnelly says, “Go get ‘em.”
“Make us proud.” Oscar pats my back.
I spin and walk backwards, just to say, “Take notes, boys.”
They slow-clap, and I let out a short laugh. Heading over to my fiancé who stands alone on a white backdrop. And I’ve been craving to be by his side. Even when he’s facing a camera.