Fake Date, Real Fate

We were barely out of the driveway when I turned to Adrien, still half-smiling. "I can’t believe my dad actually let me come with you."

Adrien looked over, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on my thigh. "Why wouldn’t he?"

I gave him a look. "You asked to take me away for three nights. My dad’s still pretending I’m sixteen and allergic to men."

He arched a brow. "You’re a grown woman, Isabella. It’s normal."

"Tell that to the man with a shovel and access to horror films."

Adrien smirked. "He loves you. And he knows you’re in good hands."

"Good hands? My dad probably thinks your hands are too good, considering you look like you own half the city," I muttered, but a smile tugged at my lips. I leaned back, enjoying the hum of the engine.

He huffed a laugh.

"I miss Ivy already," I said.

Adrien glanced over. "Already?"

"She’s a baby!" I said. "What if Leo forgets to feed her? What if he teaches her to bark at squirrels carrying tiny briefcases or—God forbid—makes her wear a tiny beret and start an social account dedicated to canine existentialism?"

Adrien laughed—head tilted back, full-bodied and unrestrained. That rare, flutter-in-my-stomach kind of laugh.