And as I stood there with my mouth hanging open, she turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Dear God, that was some nerve she had.

First, it was none of her damn business what arrangement Lon and I had. And what did she think my leaving would accomplish? If I left for a few days like she wanted me to, I’d just be back when she went home after Christmas, shoving my wanton ways in her grandkid’s impressionable face. It made no sense. I wasn’t leaving. Forget it. Decision made. I had other things to worry about than her moral compass. Like stupid punks with impossible knacks and whether my serial killer mother was trying to make my life miserable again.

Putting a lid on my anger, I exited the kitchen and headed to Lon’s photography studio.

My fingers found the light switch and flipped it on. Bright white light illuminated an expansive room ringed on three sides by wide windows. In the daytime, it was warm and golden in here, lit up by natural sunlight. But at night, the glass made a dark, constricting bracelet around the white walls.

Various light stands, diffusion umbrellas, and scrims stood in a corner next to loops of cord hanging on the wall. Long, pale wood tables bordered by rolling stools held multiple computers and screens, a large format photo printer, and some other equipment that was lost on me. A couple of areas of the room were staged for shoots.

I liked it in here. It was both organized and messy at the same time. Quiet. My gaze flicked over a wall of recent photographs, some of them for work, some personal. One was of me, asleep on the couch with Jupe. When I’d first seen it, I was embarrassed: I looked half-dead, mouth open and lax. Seeing it now pinched at my heart. I forced myself to look away and headed to an area where Lon stored photography paper and framing supplies. He strolled into the studio behind me.

“I need some sketch paper,” I said, all businesslike.

He didn’t ask me why, just bent to reach an oversized pad. “Like this?”

“Perfect. I need a couple sheets.”

He tore out two. When he handed them over, he gave me a look that was all Cool Hand Luke and dismissive. “You live here. She’s family. No one has to leave.”

I stared at him.

“She just told me,” he explained. “No one’s going anywhere.”

All the emotions I’d been keeping in check flew out like a swarm of bees released from an apiary. “Apparently one of us is.” I knew she could probably hear me with her stupid clairaudient knack. I just didn’t care.

“This is silliness.”

“I agree.”

“You were right earlier,” Lon said, obviously not concerned if Rose could hear us, either. “This is about Yvonne.”

Clearly. But I still stood by what I said: I was not Yvonne. And Jupe wasn’t going to follow in his mother’s footsteps just because his father’s girlfriend worked in a bar or lived in his house without getting a ring on her finger first.

Rose was trying to push my buttons. Testing me. Maybe she wanted to see how far she could shove me until I broke and caused a huge scene. Then I would be the bad guy. I would be the one who ruined Christmas.

If I stayed, she’d leave, and Jupe would be upset. On the other hand, if I was the one who left, Jupe might just be confused. Better confused than caught in the middle of a family fight. As jealous as I was of these two women, and obviously I was—but, come on! How could I not be?—there was no way I was going to fight Rose Giovanni to prove a point.

Dammit.

I found a clean space on one of his photography tables next to the door to the darkroom and laid down the sketch paper there. After lining them up, I carefully folded and creased the papers together into a neat square, which looked a little like the white flag I was now ready to wave. “I’ll leave,” I said, turning around to face him.

Towering over me, Lon placed one hand on the edge of the table near the right side of my hip, then the other on the left, trapping me inside his arms. He shook his head slowly, then leaned down and dragged his mouth over my cheek. “No,” he whispered in my ear.

He kissed me, softly, deliberately slow. My resolve liquefied. His hips pushed against my lower stomach. Was there anything better than this?

“No,” he repeated against my lips.

Sure, he was using sex against me. And as far as arguments went, it was a good one. Just sex with Lon on its own was enough to sway me, but now his head dipped and he was inhaling deeply against my neck, his expanding lungs pushing his stony chest into my breasts as he sucked in the scent of my skin. His loose, honey-colored hair fell over my face, and I was overwhelmed by the urge to beg him to hold me. To give me a refuge. To allow me an unguarded moment. Because of all the things he could do to me, do for me, this particular ability was high up on the list. No one else, not a single living, breathing soul on this plane or the next, could I trust like I trusted Lon.

I didn’t always understand him. His motivations were often half-hidden, and the quiet strength he commanded, especially when he was transmutated, was sometimes frightening and alien to me.

Yet I trusted him. Utterly. And after what I’d been through with my parents, this was no small feat.

“Let me handle this. I’ll convince her to stay,” he murmured. “No one’s leaving.”

But an insistent thought danced in the back of my mind and wouldn’t leave, dousing my body’s revving heat. Even if Lon could convince Rose to stay, even if he changed her mind, what was I going to do? Go to bed with Lon, knowing she could hear the sheets rustle? She could probably hear the shiver-inducing scrape of his mustache against my neck right now.