The Alcove mansion was at its usual level of over-the-top splendor, with crystal chandeliers glimmering overhead and the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the grand living room. Ethan's face smiled at me from the massive screen on the far wall, his jet waiting in the background.
"Xandria, please," he said, his voice calm and persuasive in that infuriating way he always managed. "Just stay at the mansion this week. It's safer. Your brothers will take care of everything."
I shot him a look, half-pleading and half-annoyed. "Ethan, 'safer' isn't the word I'd use. I've had friends flee mid-sentence because of those 'caretakers.'"
Marcus, the eldest of my brothers, leaned back on the couch, sipping his espresso with an irritating air of authority. "We're just being thorough," he chimed, his hazel eyes gleaming with mischief.
