At eighty, her breath starts coming in a little shallower, anxiety warring with that flash of thrill in her eyes.
“Holy shit,” she says when it reaches ninety. It’s almost too quiet to hear it over the engine, and I wish the road were longer so I could really get into the way she looks right now, mouth parted, cheeks flushed, eyes wide.
Lucky me, it’s still there when she begins shifting down, the RPMs rapidly decreasing until she brings it to a smooth stop. She’s breathing heavy, chest rising and falling. When she turns to me, the exhilarated smile on her face makes my heart hammer faster than going ninety-five just had.
I exhale, “Goddamn, I’m in love with you.”
Her breath stutters for a moment, right before she meets me over the console in a searing, open-mouthed kiss. I grasp at the back of her head, grunting at the way she fists a hand in my shirt, dragging me closer.
It’s sloppy and frantic and completely artless.
But it’s ours.
Sugar still looks anxious when we finally arrive at my house, but the drive and ensuing make-out session seems to have leeched some of her nerves. Liesel meets us in the foyer, taking our jackets and directing me to the drawing room.
Mom’s obviously been waiting for us. She entertains more often than she’d probably like, but she’s never been super happy about it. Memories rush back to me of her doing the bare minimum as my dad followed behind her, happily lavishing everything up. It makes me feel a little guilty when we enter and I realize she’s gone all out—tea, scones, doilies, and all.
She stands upon seeing us, instantly coming over. “Sebastian! Twice in one weekend. You’re going to spoil me. Thankfully, you’re not bloody this time.” She presses a kiss to my cheek before leveling me with an exasperated look. “Who are you, Bono? Take those sunglasses off in the house.” I reach up to remove them and she pauses, frowning at my shiner. “Never mind, put them back on.”
Sugar snorts a laugh, drawing our attention.
“Mom,” I say, reaching out to rest a hand on the small of Sugar’s back. “This is Sugar Voss. My girlfriend.” I have this split moment of vision-blurring panic, because is she? Yeah, we fucked and slept together, and maybe there were some declarations, but none of those had been—
Sugar gives my mom a small smile, greeting, “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wilcox.”
Mom presses her fingers to her mouth, a grin peeking out from between them. She shoots me a glance that says just how precious she thinks this all is. “Sugar, the pleasure is entirely mine.” She extends a hand and I panic again, because I hadn’t thought to tell her about the whole touch thing.
Sugar looks down at her hand, and after a beat that’s barely even awkward, reaches out to take it. “Thanks for… having me.”
Mom leads us over to the sitting area, letting us take the couch side by side. “I’ve heard so much about you! I have one of your pieces, you know.”
Sugar looks briefly confused before she remembers. “Right, Abby. He said he wanted it for you.”
“It’s gorgeous!” Mom pours us each a cup of tea—gross—and nods to the scones. “I’m told you had a bit of a show yesterday. That must have been so exciting.”
I pretend to drink the gross-ass tea as I watch them talk. Sugar still looks a little awkward, but her smiles come easy, especially when the talk comes around to Abby and her kittens.
“She’s such a good mama,” Mom says. “We moved the box and everything into my rooms, because I couldn’t handle kneeling on that floor of his all day.” When I’d come here last night, I realized that she’s taken over watching Abby and the kittens. According to Liesel, it’s been good for her mood. “I think she likes it there. I’ve noticed her roaming out more. This morning, I found her on my settee, laid back, just as comfy as you please. Needed a break. I know the feeling.” She shoots me a fondly annoyed look, and I know she’s still smarting from both the trouble with Heston and the way I burst in here last night. Come to think of it, it’s probably a miracle that she’s in such good shape today, all things considered.
“Sorry,” I say, even though I’ve already apologized.
She turns back to Sugar. “Would you like to see them?”
“Oh, um…” Sugar sets down her full cup of tea, sliding her eyes to me. “Only if it’s not any trouble, or—”
“Don’t be silly,” Mom says, already on her feet.
Her rooms are nice and tidy, curtains open to let in the sunlight. She has the box all nested up in the corner where an end table used to be. Abby’s inside, head popping up over the edge at our approach, ears dipping low in nervousness.
Sugar coos, “It’s okay, sweet girl,” and instantly reaches into her bag for the treats. At the sound of the bag, Abby lumbers to her feet, disengaging the little army of eating kittens. “You remember, huh?” She gives one to Abby from her hand, and leaves another on the floor in front of the box. She looks surprised when Abby jumps right out to get it.
“She’s warming up,” I explain. “I think the new bougie life probably helps.”
Sugar shoots me a smile, edging forward to get a look at the grumpy pile of kittens nosing into the warm spot Abby just vacated. “Oh my god,” she gushes. “Look at them! This one looks just like her.” She reaches in to run a gentle fingertip over its weird little bean-shaped head. “They’re already so much bigger.”
“I think their eyes will start opening soon.” I poke at a little orange one. “This one is a fat little fucker.”
She swats my hand. “It’s just hardy. Doesn’t it look kind of like Lucy?”
“Yeah, Abby’s probably her mom, too.” Come to think of it, “Probably Hades’s as well.”
Sugar pauses, processing this. “Ew.”
“Yup.”
Abby returns, clearly feeling a bit sketchy about all the hands currently occupying her nest. We back off a bit to watch her aggressively clean the fat little orange one, working through a few names.
“Bub, obviously,” she says.
“Bub? That’s obvious?”
“Beelzebub.”
“Oh, right.” I point to the smallest. “What about Lilith? If it’s a girl.”
She grins. “I like it. I think the last one, should be Morningstar—”
“Since he came late on that wintery night.”
“Yep.”
We toss out a few others, Loki, Hela, but Sugar’s phone goes off. She pulls it from her pocket, thumb sliding over the screen. After a moment of reading, eyebrows furrowed, she says, “I guess everyone’s taking Georgia out for breakfast. I’m supposed to ask you if…” She buries a chuckle into a fist, quoting, “…if you got your head out of your ass far enough to come be a Devil again.”
I fight down a cringe, knowing that my mom and Sugar might have been the first stops on the Sebastian Wilcox Apology Tour, but are by no means the last. “What do you think? You down?”
Better to get it over with now.
Nodding, she shoots me a grin before putting her phone away. “Sure, I could do breakfast with my boyfriend and his weirdo secret society.”