Page 111 of A Violet Obsession
The door swings open.
Finn ducks his head in, broad shoulders filling the opening. His eyes immediately narrow on his sister. “You shouldn’t be here. Leo told you the risks were too great.”
Emma bristles. “Is that what he told you? He’s just mad he can’t boss me around anymore.”
“He was doing his job.” Finn holds up one finger. “Actually, no. He was doing me a favor. What did you do to him?”
Emma gasps and clutches her chest in mock outrage. “What did I do to him? That’s rich. That’s really—”
“I don’t know what happened,” Finn cuts in, “but Leo is one of the easiest-going guys I’ve ever met, and right now he’s biting the head off everyone within a hundred feet. So?”
Emma crosses her arms and turns toward the window.
The tension rolling off her feels bigger than sibling bickering. I catch Finn’s eye and shake my head.
Whatever happened, Emma clearly isn’t ready to talk about it.
“Of course, the men stick together,” Emma mutters at the glass. “Fine, I’m the brat. Can you please go get in your own car now, so we can leave?”
Finn laughs. “Yeah. That’s not happening.”
He starts to climb into the back seat.
“Finn, there’s not enough room back here for your overgrown—”
“Then go ride with Leo.”
Emma whips around so fast I'm surprised she didn’t hurt herself. The blistering glare she gives him makes me wince. Finn just chuckles, which only makes it worse.
“Why are you suddenly so cheerful?” she snaps. “Do you enjoy seeing me miserable?”
“Believe it or not, Bob, not everything is about you.” He slides into the seat beside me and slips a hand under my ass, nudging me toward the middle of the bench. “Scootch, Butterfly.”
“Finn!” Emma’s voice climbs an octave. Her eyes lock on his hand where it’s now curved over my thigh. “You can’t—”
She doesn’t get the rest out.
Because Finn leans in and kisses me, and there is nothing subtle about it. A slow, deliberate kiss that leaves absolutely no room for interpretation.
For a second, I forget we’re in the back of an SUV with my best friend and cat. When he finally pulls away, my cheeks are warm as I reach for my seatbelt.
Next to me, Emma’s mouth is hanging open. It closes. Opens. Closes again.
“You look like a goldfish,” I tell her.
“Are you—the two of you—”
I pause. We’ve said I love you, but we haven’t actually talked about what comes next. What life will look like when I’m no longer on the run.
Apparently, Finn has no such concerns.
“Yes, we are,” he says. “And you’d better be nice about it.”
Emma stares at him.
Then at me.
Then at him again.
