Killian slides his drink across the table. “I’m going to teach those motherfuckers a lesson.”
Then he stalks over to the game, kicks Nikolai away from his girlfriend’s side, and glues himself to her. Killian’s idea of teaching them a lesson is cheating, not even bothering to cover his tracks.
Both Gareth and Glyndon call him on his shit, but he remains completely calm and even accuses them of cheating.
Cecily merely laughs at the circus, her shoulders shaking and her eyes gleaming.
Me? I’m fuming.
Not only because there’s no alone time tonight, but also because everyone else gets to see her half drunk, smiling, and happy.
Maybe I’m sick, but I want to trap all those emotions so they only belong to me.
While Kill is busy stealing cards and arguing with Gareth and Glyndon, Nikolai throws back one shot after the other and offers one to Cecily.
She drinks some of it, wincing, then grins wide. “Wow. This is strong.”
“My specialty, babe.”
That’s it.
I stand, not caring about how crazed I seem, and haul her up by the elbow. She’s slightly lethargic from all the drinking and sways, then lands against my chest.
“We’re leaving.”
“Noooo, I still want to play,” she slurs, her words barely coherent.
“Yeah, let her play, Jer. Don’t be a bore— Fuck!” Nikolai rolls on the floor when I kick him in the ribs. He’s had it coming since earlier.
“What the fuck was that for?” he yells, gripping his side.
“My leg slipped.”
“You lying fuck!”
I shrug, and when Cecily continues squirming, trying to slip out of my hold, I pick her up in my arms and carry her toward the stairs.
“Why did you do that? Nikolai is nice.”
“Shut up, or he’d look nicer in a casket.”
She groans. “Ugh. You caveman.”
Her head falls against my chest and her breathing evens out. She’s started to go to sleep at healthy hours lately. And even I have started to let myself sleep for more than two hours a night.
Once we’re in my room, I lock it with the key, then remove her shoes and cover her. I’m about to search for a remedy for her hangover when her hand grabs mine and pulls me down abruptly.
I nearly crash into her, but I hold myself back at the last second.
Her eyes open, green and glittery, and then slowly, too slowly, she asks in a vulnerable voice, “Am I as dull as a nun?”
That motherfucker Nikolai will die in his sleep for daring to hurt her, even with words.
I stroke her hair away from her forehead. “You’re not. You’re the most entertaining person I know.”
“But you said I’m dull.”
“That’s because I don’t want others' attention on you.”
She blushes, her drunken face becoming all red. “But we didn’t know each other back then.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“If I hadn’t applied to that site, would you have found another girl to chase? Like one of the girls you dated?”
“I didn’t date anyone before you.”
“But Nikolai said—”
“Nikolai was baiting you to get the information he wants. Don’t believe everything he says.”
She grins so delicately and elegantly that I want to pause this moment and tuck it in my heart where no one but me can revisit it over and over.
“What if…what if…we’d never met?”
“We would’ve sooner or later.”
“How do you know?”
“You were always meant to be mine, Cecily.” Nothing else could explain this raging need to own her, keep her, and never let her leave me, even if I have to sacrifice a limb for it.
Even if she hates me because of it.
She calms the beast I spent years hiding beneath the surface. She tames and placates him like no one else has been able to.
I’ve always been shackled by an inheritance to one of the most powerful organizations and that means I’ve needed to count every step. Strategize every plan. Plot every decision.
Not with her.
She’s the only person whose company I feel free in. There’s no sense of duty nor a weight on my shoulders.
There’s just me and her.
Cecily Knight is the calm in a loud, chaotic world.
A glittery look covers her eyes, and I think she’ll fall asleep, but she lifts her head and brushes her lips against mine, softly, slowly, as if it’s the first time she’s done it.
“I’m going to miss you when I’m in London.” Her drunken voice floats around me like a gentle breeze.
And then she closes her eyes, and her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm.
I remain frozen in place for what seems like an hour.
Fuck me.
How can a mere chaste kiss and those words affect me this much?
Looks like I won’t let her do this, after all.
35
CECILY
My attempts to stop the dull ache in my chest have been an utter failure.
I still try to enjoy my visit home in peace, though. Or as much peace as there can be, considering the circumstances.
Mum and I are preparing dinner together, something we’ve done since I was a child. Uncle Kirian—my mother’s younger brother—would usually join us, but he’s traveling. Hopefully, I’ll be able to see him before I go back to school.
I’m sitting at the prep table while Mum is behind me, stirring ingredients on the stove.
“Pass me the salt, sweet pea,” she says, distracted.
Her hair is pulled up in a messy chignon with green highlights peeking out from everywhere. For as long as I’ve known her, she’s always had some green in her hair. Sometimes, it’s fully green. Other times, like now, it’s brown with green streaks.
She’s wearing a knee-length floral dress, and, you guessed it, a green apron.
Papa remodeled the kitchen into a chef’s dream when I was a toddler. It’s full of stainless-steel equipment, a large food-prep area, and it’s green-themed like Mum.
This is where I’ve often dabbled in internet recipes with Mum while Papa joins in just to annoy us, makes a mess out of the kitchen, and then stays to watch with a massive grin on his face.
The only reason he’s not doing that right now is because Mum sent him to get us a few things we’re missing.
I place the salt cellar in her hand, and she starts to put some in, then stops. “Cecy, hon, this is pepper.”
“Bollocks. Sorry.” I snap out of it and give her the appropriate cellar.
She shakes her head with a smile and adds the salt as I sit down again and get busy chopping the vegetables. I’m thankful she’s busy and can’t see my expression that I’m sure would give me away.
Mum always makes sure we do mother-daughter activities together. We cook, do yoga, watch movies, and shop. Though I’m not a big fan of the latter. She also plays the perfect role of my solicitor whenever Papa kicks up the overprotectiveness a notch and forbids me from doing things because they’re ‘dangerous’ for me.
It means a lot to me that we’ve always been so close, but not when she can read me. I really hate that part.
“Is everything okay back there?” she asks, glancing at me over her shoulder.
“Grand, yeah.”
“Is there anything you want to tell me, hon?”