A Necessary Sin: The Sin Trilogy: Book I

I get up from the table and go to the restroom. I pat my face with a cool, wet paper towel and breathe in deeply and slowly.

I must’ve been in the restroom for a while when I hear a knock at the door. “Bonny? Are you all right ?”

“I’m fine. Give me another minute and I’ll be out.”

Of course, he hasn’t returned to his seat when I open the door. He’s standing there waiting for me.

I’m pissed off so I walk past him but he grabs my arm. I yank it from his grasp. “You’re a total ass for doing that. I told you that stuff made me sick.”

He cups his palm around my cheek. “Are you going to be okay?”

I’ve always had a strange aversion to some types of meats and the medication I take for my insulin resistance with the polycystic ovarian syndrome isn’t helping. “It’s debatable, thanks to you.”

“I’m sorry. I thought we were having fun. I had no idea it would make you feel ill.” He puts his curled finger under my chin and lifts, forcing me to look at him. “How can I make it better?”

“I’d like some water with more than five ice cubes.” No way I can look at that stuff again. “And have those plates taken away from the table.”

“They’re already gone.” He loops his arm through mine and leads me back to the table. “She needs water over a full glass of ice, please.”

I feel somewhat better after a few sips. “I think I’m okay now.”

He cups his hand over mine. “We can tour the city together another day if you don’t feel well.”

“I’m really fine. It’s passed.”

“I promised you not even two hours ago I was going to take care of you and now you’re ill as a result of something I did. I feel bad about that.” He shakes his head as he looks down at his hand covering mine. “That doesn’t instill huge confidence about my ability to care for you.”

“It was a piece of haggis—not the end of the world. And I take medicine for the ovarian stuff. It’s a diabetic medication for insulin resistance. It often nauseates me so it’s likely that contributed as well.” I lean forward and grasp the back of his neck, pulling him close for a kiss, not giving a damn who’s watching. I press my forehead to his. “Not another word about it,” I whisper. “Got it?”

He nods, causing my head to move with his. “Got it.”

We leave Royal McGregor’s, walking hand in hand up the steep incline of the Royal Mile. We go into several shops along the way but most are full of souvenirs and things you buy when you know you’re leaving soon. I can’t bring myself to purchase anything because it feels symbolic of my approaching departure.

“MacAllister is Scottish. Have you ever studied your genealogy?”

Harry has done some research into his family tree but I’m not a MacAllister by blood, so none of what he has learned applies to me. “No.”

“You should. I bet you’d find some interesting facts.”

“I should. I have lots of free time on my hands, being a claimed woman and all.” I feel a few scattered raindrops against my face. I look to the sky. It’s suddenly dreary, the complete opposite of the way it looked only fifteen minutes ago. I’ve learned that’s typical weather for these parts. “Looks as though we’re going to get wet.”

“It rarely lasts for long. If it becomes heavy, we’ll duck into a store or covered alley until it clears.”

The raindrops fall faster as we trudge up the hill. “I’m glad I didn’t work on my hair and makeup for an hour.”

“You’re beautiful without all the fuss.” He gives me a crooked grin. “Come on. I know a place we can go.”

He leads me into a dark, cool alley with seats burrowed into the stone. “We’ll wait here until it stops.” He fidgets with my hand, running his thumb back and forth across the top.

“Will you tell me about losing your leg?” The records I have about Sin’s shooting are obviously incorrect since none mention an amputation.

“What do you want to know about it?” Everything.

“What were the circumstances?

“I was ambushed by a rival alliance called The Order. They had uzis. My leg was no match for that. It was barely hanging on when I arrived at the emergency room. There was no saving it.” That sounds gruesome. And it’s the kind of danger he faces on a regular basis.

“I don’t understand how you’ve kept it secret.”

“It wasn’t difficult. Dad sent me to Lucerne for months. I was rehabilitated by the best doctors in Europe. I could walk almost flawlessly by the time they finished my physical therapy.”

“It must have been awful.” He never exhibits signs of PTSD. I wonder if he sees a therapist.

“It wasn’t pleasant.”

I never suspected before I knew. “I notice times when your gait changes. But it’s only because I know.”

“The stump bothers me from time to time.”

“Thank you for sharing this with me.”

He rubs his thumb over my hand again. “I was thinking we might go for drinks later.”

“But not Duncan’s?”