Page 186 of I Will Revel in Glory (Death by Daybreak MC 3)
Crown follows me inside, and, before I can even slip past the door of the Pilates studio to the small staircase in the back of the building, he puts his hands on my hips and breathes in the scent of my hair.
“Stay safe,” he whispers, and I roll my eyes. He knows that I will; he’s just being extra protective because … well.
“I promise,” I agree, turning and throwing my arms around his neck for another searing kiss. We get carried away sometimes like this, enough that we’ve actually fucked in the janitor’s supply closet more than once. But not today. I’m already running late.
I pull back from DBD’s president before I get lost in him, turning and pounding up the steps to the private restaurant that sits on the second floor of this building. It isn’t advertised. It has no sign. It’s just here, and you either know about it or you don’t.
I ring the bell and wait to be let in. The hostess greets me with a nod—she sees me once a month so we’re familiar with each other—and then slip past her to take my usual table near the window. The glass is frosted enough that I can see a hint of downtown Ashbury, but not enough that anyone can see me through the other side. Also, it’s ballistic glass. Not bulletproof, no, but close.
“Gidge,” Grey greets, standing up from his seat and offering me a proprietary kiss on either cheek. He takes my hands in both of his and then looks down at my still-flat stomach. “I see this one’s coming along nicely.” It’s a bit of shade thrown at me in a dry but somehow still cocky tone of voice.
“Grey, go fuck yourself,” I tell him with a grin, turning to Reba as she rises out of her chair next and throws her arms around me in a shameless hug. “Sister Keller.”
“Oh, stop that,” she drawls, slapping playfully at my arm as we pull apart from one another. “How are you feeling?”
“Reba, I’m fine,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “I’m only six weeks along; I’ve got a ways to go.”
I take my seat as the waitress brings over a towering silver tray filled with … things. Mafia things, is what I call them. Really, it’s just fancy tea service shit. Finger sandwiches and whatever. It’s all gross, too. I never eat here. The tea’s nice though. Usually, we order oolong to go with our discussions of murder and mayhem. Sometimes, it’s green tea. Others, Earl Grey.
“This one’s Grainger’s baby?” Grey queries, and I give him a death glare before picking up a brightly colored macaron and chucking it at his face. It hits him in the eyepatch, and he frowns prettily, plucking it off of his lap and wrapping it in a cloth napkin. “Oh, so it’s Beast’s?”
“You know what?” I query, putting my elbows on the table—because I know he hates it—and leaning forward to narrow my eyes at him. “It isn’t too late for me to kill you and pretend like it was an accident.”
Grey snorts as Reba sighs and fills her plate with several sandwiches. She loves them. Maybe it’s because she spends too much time trailing Grey around his stupid mafia palace and acting as his spiritual guide? They’re both a bit uppity, to be quite honest with you. Not that that’s any different than the way they’ve always been.
“I could just as easily poison your tea,” he replies smoothly, smiling in such a wicked, awful way that I almost believe he’d do it. But no, not Grey. He really does give love sparingly, and I can see why. Once it’s out there in the world, he can’t take it back. I guess that’s why he’s still single?
I ignore him. As frustrating as he can be sometimes, he and Reba are the only people I can just be myself with outside of the compound. Shit, even when it comes to people in the compound, I can never be fully honest.
But here? Here I can be. Here I can talk about everything from my third pregnancy to worries about cartels from down south. I can discuss the way Grainger flips pancakes and makes Kat laugh to the way Sin sings with Avery while he works in the garage outside.
Reba listens and nods, and sometimes she reminisces about her parents, or talks about the kindergarten class she teaches that’s full of mafia royalty brats. She and Grey are like fucking this, so they share a lot of the same drama: politicking amongst silken snakes inside the cathedral, trips to Italy, espresso beans.
Grey is really, really obsessed with coffee.
“You two are downright insufferable,” Reba drawls, and then, unsurprisingly, she quotes the Bible. “Hatred stirreth up strifes; But love covereth all transgressions.”
Grey and I both grin at her, giving each other looks that promise we’ll be good for the rest of the luncheon.
