“I still think we should have run for it,” Oscar called from the back of the plane. Everyone—with the exception of Scarlet who was still tapping away at the tablet a million miles a minute—leaned into the aisle to look back at where he lay on a massage table, cucumber slices over his eyes as the masseuse worked his shoulders.
Selene had combined Scarlet’s thievery with Roman’s misspoken words, and come to the correct conclusion. That had been part of last night’s discussion/negotiation. If Tate had been willing to disobey orders and confirm what Selene had figured out—that Oscar was their third, and that they were going to Boston to be married—Tate and his partners could have been out of that room a lot sooner.
His partners. He liked thinking of Scarlet and Roman like that.
His attraction to them was off the charts. That went without question. What surprised him wasn’t the physical pull though. It was all the emotions churning inside.
The three of them should feel like relative strangers. After all, they’d only met a couple of weeks ago, but then, when he thought about everything that had happened in that short time, perhaps it made sense. Tate had seen it happen in the service—surviving something together was a bonding experience.
Just prior to Christmas, they’d spent several days in planning meetings for this surprise wedding, the three of them staying in the same hotel in Boston during that time. After their meetings at Trinity Masters’ headquarters, they’d often caught a cab back to the hotel before heading out to share dinner together.
Dinners with Roman and Scarlet weren’t the eat-and-run variety. Instead, they were marathon meals, as the three of them sat around the table talking about anything and everything over appetizers and wine, then the main course, followed by dessert and coffee.
From the first day he met them, he felt like they were old friends. They’d certainly fallen into that pattern of jumping into any conversation as if there was some years’ long association that brought with it familiarity and comfort.
And that closeness had only grown after yesterday, complete with stun guns, Baby Shark torture, and the hottest sex of his life.
“Why didn’t Oscar get a letter?” Selene asked, posing the question casually, as if it wasn’t the first, second, or even fiftieth time she’d asked it.
Roman sighed and stood, patting the top of his cousin’s head, and he gave the same response he had each other time she asked. “I don’t know.”
“I…we…are very sorry about attacking you,” Luca said...again. He was the most genuinely apologetic, and currently Tate’s favorite of the three. Not that the competition was stiff.
Tate was grateful the Grand Master had chosen to place Selene and Oscar in the same trinity because he wasn’t certain anyone else—with the exception of Luca, the bomber with a conscience—could have survived a lifetime with them.
“Apology accepted, Luca.” Tate uncrossed his arms and then slid into the seat across from Scarlet to get out of the way of the attendant, who brought around a tray of champagne and small bowls of fruit. He wondered if she’d heard Scarlet’s complaint about plain orange juice.
Tate scooted over so Roman could sit beside him. They could have asked Scarlet to move over one seat, but one glance at the scattering of paper she had both on the other seat and the table in front of it made it clear asking her to do so would be a bad idea.
Everyone drank their champagne and munched on fruit. By the time Tate had finished his second bowl—he was missing Andre’s cooking because Andre and his other roommates would have known a little bowl of fruit was not enough calories to qualify as even a snack—Oscar, looking well-oiled and a little ridiculous in a heavy terry cloth robe which only came down to his knees, ambled in to sit on the couch.
“You’re welcome to get massages, facials, or manicures,” Scarlet said, without looking up.
Tate glanced at Roman, who raised a brow.
“I’ll get one if you get one, Scarlet,” Roman said softly, trying to coax her toward the back of the plane to relax for a little while.
“Ha, I don’t have time.”
“Because you’re planning our surprise wedding?” Selene asked hopefully.
“I’m not a wedding planner.” Scarlet glanced at the trinity on the couch, scowling as if Selene had insulted her, even though at this moment, that’s exactly what she was.
“But you are a planner.” Selene smiled. “I’m sure if you were to plan a wedding, it would be lovely… You know I’ve always thought “All of Me” by John Legend would be a wonderful song for the first dance.”
“Cliché,” Oscar said. “Pearl Jam. ‘Future Days’.”
“Pearl Jam?” Selene huffed. “Seriously, Oscar?”
“I don’t know either of those songs,” Luca said, perking up at the mention of a first dance.
“I’ll play them for you later,” Selene said, her focus returning to Scarlet. “Hydrangeas are stunning in wedding centerpieces, don’t you think?”
Scarlet grunted, rolled her eyes, and looked at her tablet once more.
Oscar sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “As fun as all this dream wedding shit is, we’re getting distracted. All this not talking the three of them aren’t doing isn’t getting us any-fucking-where.”
Luca frowned, no doubt confused. English wasn’t the guy’s first language and between Oscar’s southern accent and way too many double negatives, Tate was even having trouble following along.
Oscar didn’t appear to notice as he plowed on. “I agree that there’s more going on here than we know. And I don’t think the two of you—” he motioned to Selene and Luca “—are marrying someone else. But I’m not sold on the idea that the three of us will be getting married when we get to Boston. I mean sure, the Grand Master might not have given me a letter just to fuck with me.”
“You’d deserve it too after the way you behaved when we were hunting for Luca’s sister. I told you not to provoke the Grand Master,” Selene
