If anybody thinks a little thing like organized crime is going to stop me from seeing my girl?
They're about to be very disappointed.
Twenty-Nine
Mary
It’s been a whole week.
Seven days since I’ve spent the night with Kai.
One hundred and sixty-eight hours.
Not that I'm counting.
Okay.
I'm absolutely counting.
Because while Kai and I talk every night, sometimes for hours, and he calls me every morning on his drive into whatever mysterious bodyguard thing he's currently doing, I still miss him.
Which is ridiculous.
We've only been together—together?
Dating?
Fake dating?
Whatever this is.
We've only been doing it for a few weeks.
Yet somehow I miss him.
His laugh.
His terrible jokes.
His constant texts.
The way he calls me Firecracker.
Like it's my real name.
The way he says goodnight every evening.
Like it's a promise.
And because life apparently enjoys irony, this week of all weeks has been insane.
The St. Patrick's Day Gala is Saturday—tomorrow.
Meaning everyone at Our Lady of Grace Academy is running around like their hair is on fire.
Sister Agnes has transformed into some sort of tiny Irish general.
Father Peter is pretending not to notice.