Four Of A Kind

I kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips once more because I could. Because she was mine now, at least for the next thirteen days, and I intended to make every moment count.

"Thursday," I said. "When your mother summons me to her office. I’m coming with you."

"Isaiah."

"Not negotiable." I met her eyes, making sure she understood I was serious. "Whatever she throws at us, we handle it together. That’s how this works now."

Sabrina stared at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, the corner of her mouth curved upward.

"You really are an idiot."

"The biggest."

"I love you anyway."

The words crashed through me like a storm surge. I’d known it. Felt it in the desperate press of her lips, the way her fingers dug into my back like she was trying to pull me inside her skin, the soft violence in her eyes when she looked at me like I was the only solid thing in her world. But hearing her say it here, standing in the golden morning light of her father’s study, surrounded by frames of her childhood self, made it something I couldn’t rationalize away. It existed now. Out in the open. Undeniable.

"Yeah," I managed, and my voice came out lower than I meant, rough around the edges. "I’m starting to figure that out."

She walked me back through the manor. The path took us past the kitchen, where the original plan of breakfast had apparently collapsed into chaos. Her sisters had abandoned all pretense of cooking. Instead, they were clustered around the island in what looked like a three-way argument about time management and personal responsibility. Vivienne had her tablet out like a weapon. Cassidy was gesturing wildly. Harlow spotted us first.

"Isaiah!" She practically vibrated with excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Before you go! Can I give you something?"

I looked at Sabrina. She gave a microscopic shrug.

"Sure."

Harlow darted across the space and pressed something small and soft into my palm. A fabric heart. Bright red, slightly asymmetrical in the way handmade things always are. Someone had sewn tiny stitches around the edges with white thread, and there was a safety pin attached to the back.

"It’s for good luck," she said, her cheeks flushing pink. "I made it last night while I was waiting for the waffles to proof. You don’t have to wear it or anything, but I wanted you to have something to remember us by when you’re gone."

My chest did something complicated. "Harlow."

"I know it’s dumb. Vivi said it was dumb. But I thought maybe you’d like having something tangible, you know? Something you could touch when things get hard and remember that we’re thinking about you."

Behind her, Vivienne was pointedly not looking in our direction, her tablet held up like a shield. Cassidy had paused mid-argument to watch with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

I pinned the heart to the inside of my jacket, where it would rest against my chest.

"It’s not dumb," I said. "It’s perfect. Thank you."

Harlow made a squeaking sound and threw her arms around me in a hug that knocked the breath from my lungs. She was stronger than she looked, all soft curves and unexpected muscle, and she smelled like strawberries and vanilla and something uniquely her.

"You’re going to be fine," she whispered against my shoulder. "We’re all going to be fine. I believe in us."

"Yeah." I hugged her back, careful and brief. "Me too."

When she finally released me, Cassidy was standing right behind her with her arms crossed and her purple eyes blazing.

"If you break her heart," she said, jerking her chin toward Sabrina, "I will end you. And then if you break Harlow’s heart, I’ll bring you back and end you again. And if you somehow manage to break Vivi’s heart, which honestly would be impressive since I’m not sure she has one, I’ll make the first two endings look like warm-ups."

"Noted."

"Good." She punched my shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise. "See you tomorrow, asshole."

"Looking forward to it."

Vivienne appeared at my elbow, tablet clutched to her chest. "I’ve compiled some additional documentation for your review. Strategic recommendations, potential conversation topics for the upcoming meeting with Mother, and a detailed analysis of her known psychological pressure points."

"You profiled your own mother?"

"Know thy enemy." She pressed the tablet into my hands. "The password is Father’s birthday. Read everything. Memorize the key points. We don’t have time for you to go in unprepared."

I studied the tablet in my hands for a moment, weighing the implications of Vivienne compiling an entire psychological dossier on her own mother. The screen was dark, but I could feel the weight of whatever information she’d gathered, organized, and categorized with her characteristic ruthless efficiency.

When I looked back at her, the mask of perfect composure was firmly in place. But I’d spent enough time watching the Valentine sisters to recognize the microscopic tells. The way her fingers pressed just a fraction too hard against her own tablet. The slight tension in her shoulders. The carefully controlled breathing that suggested she was managing something beneath the surface.

Behind all that meticulous control, I could see what she was actually feeling. Fear. Not the dramatic, obvious kind that made people’s hands shake or voices tremble. The quiet, persistent kind that lived in the back of your throat and made every decision feel like it carried the weight of catastrophic consequences.

"Thanks, Vivienne."

Her expression shifted, the vulnerability disappearing behind another layer of ice. "Don’t thank me yet." The words came out clipped, professional. "Just survive Thursday. Everything else we can figure out later."

Sabrina walked with me toward the garage, our fingers laced together in a way that still felt new enough to be noteworthy. The morning had that crystalline quality that only happened in early spring—bright sun, cool air, everything sharp and clear. The grounds stretched out around us, immaculate as always, the product of Old Thomas’s obsessive maintenance. Somewhere off in the trees, a bird was going through its morning routine, completely oblivious to the fact that the human drama unfolding on the lawn below was probably going to get significantly more complicated before it got any better.

"Drive safe," Sabrina said.

"I always do."

"Liar."

I kissed her one last time, slow and thorough, committing the taste of her to memory. When I pulled back, her purple eyes were soft in a way I’d never seen before.

"Thirteen days," she said.

"Thirteen days."

"Don’t fall in love with any of my sisters while I’m not looking."

I laughed. "No promises."

She shoved me toward my car, trying to look annoyed and failing miserably. I climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, watching her grow smaller in my rearview mirror as I pulled down the long driveway.