Sinful Lies (Sinful #2)

Chapter 34

Chapter

Thirty-Four

“The past beats inside me like a second heart.”

― John Banville

Jade

Dropping my coat to the floor and kicking off my heels, I winced as the icy floor shocked my toes.

Ignoring the chill, I headed straight for the kitchen. I yanked open the fridge, and stared blankly at its contents before grabbing a drink—or ten.

My mind was a mess, the whispers of a thousand devils cackling and mocking me, each one louder than the last. I needed to shut them the hell up.

I poured myself a glass of wine, leaned back against the fridge, and took three generous gulps.

I sighed, long and heavy.

This wasn’t supposed to have happened.

None of it.

After that night with Angelo… the night I let him fuck me—“let” being a laughable word, considering I’d practically begged for it—I’d ridden him until my legs were sore, wrung out from more orgasms than I’d had all year combined.

The way he bit my neck each time he came, the growl in his throat when he?—

Stop.

I’d always loved my independence.

Loved making my own rules, doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and inviting company strictly on my terms. But now? Now I had a problem.

Because my boss—my goddamn boss—had awakened a side of me I hadn’t even known existed. A new, sex-starved, ravenous creature who only wanted him. Needed him.

And no one else would ever be enough.

But hey, at least I had finally gotten the answers to all those little questions I’d been obsessed with for years. Guess some rumors are worth testing after all.

I finished my wine in one go, poured another glass, and made my way to my secret room. My fingers hovered over the scanner, the lock clicked, and the door creaked open.

My heart plummeted to my toes.

I hadn’t stepped foot in here in too long, and that’s exactly why I’d lost my damn mind. If I had, if I’d taken a minute to ground myself, I never would’ve let myself sleep with him. Not even those manipulative, dangerously gorgeous eyes of his could’ve convinced me—no matter how hard they begged.

Oh, Jade… what the hell did you do?

Careful not to crush any of the scattered documents or photos littering the floor, I put my glass down among them, the soft thud drowned out by the buzzing in my head.

Sliding to my knees, I started rifling through the mess—papers, photos, whatever.

And then, I found it.

A photo.

I snatched it up, my stomach twisting the second I recognized it.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes.

My fingers trembled as I stared at it, the memory tied to it ripping through me like a jagged blade.

I flipped the photo over, and my breath caught.

There it was—J & S, Harvard Square Mayfair Festival , Boston, ‘14.

A heavy knock echoing at the door caught my attention, followed by the sharp ringing of the doorbell.

Padding across the floor, I reached the door and swung it open.

A delivery guy stood there. “Where do you want these?”

I frowned, but gestured to the kitchen island. He nodded, dropped the boxes there, and started heading back down the hallway.

But then, he paused and grabbed one last package to hand to me—a bouquet.

A hundred red dahlias—my favorites.

“Thanks,” I muttered, my gut twisting.

He said his goodbyes, and I shut the door behind him.

I sniffed the bouquet, and despite myself, a smile crept onto my face, soft and almost giddy. My fingers grabbed the note, tearing it off.

Merry Christmas, Miss Whitenhouse.

I couldn’t bring your gifts with us to the Hamptons, so I delivered them to you.

See you next Monday, amore.

Freaking annoying, amazing, overbearing, sexy Angelo Lazzio.

I wanted to be angry.

Hell, I was angry.

But all I could do was laugh bitterly, feeling that familiar rush of heat in my chest.

Amore.

God, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to slap him, or kiss him until I forgot my own name.

This angel will be your salvation, your savior. Your guardian angel. Tuo angelo.

My Angelo.

“Say that again, my child.”

“I had sex with the man who killed my sister—the same man I’ve spent six years working for, collecting every scrap of dirt to ruin his life, tear apart his empire, and end him exactly the way he ended her.”

The words poured out like a confession on fast-forward, but I couldn’t stop.

“But now, for reasons beyond human comprehension, I think I’m falling for him . It wasn’t supposed to be like this! I can’t fall for the man who destroyed my life and left me so… so alone ! But he’s so”—I threw my hands up—“ infuriatingly attractive! And he makes me feel things I didn’t even know existed, and it’s like the devil himself is squatting in my brain.”

I finally stopped, panting like I’d just finished a marathon.

Dead silence.

I squinted through the screen, willing the priest to say something, anything.

“Hmm. Father Harrison? Need me to explain your job to you? You’re supposed to help me! This is your moment—this is why they gave you the collar!”

He cleared his throat, but his voice was cautious, like he was trying not to set me off. “Miss Whitenhouse… I believe even I can’t help you.”

My jaw dropped. “What? No, no, no! You better find a way, Father, because I am not walking out of here without some soul-saving, or a blessing, or—I don’t know—a factory reset ! Purge me! Throw some holy water on me if you have to! I’ll even take a manual reboot!”

In my frantic rush, I stood up, forgetting about the low ceiling of the confessional. The top of my head smacked into the wooden frame with a loud thud.

Father Harrison cleared his throat. “Miss Whitenhouse,” he began slowly, like he was trying to talk down a wild animal, “I’m not sure… confession works that way.”

I slumped back against the wooden bench, my hands covering my face. “I knew I should’ve never come here! What was I thinking? ‘Oh, let me just unburden my sinful, borderline-psychotic love life on a priest. That’ll totally solve my problems.’”

“Miss Whitenhouse?—”

“No, no, it’s fine. You’ve made it clear. I’m beyond help. I’ll just… I don’t know, find an exorcist or something.” I waved my hands around like I was banishing a swarm of invisible demons. “Because clearly, there’s a little devil in me throwing a rave, and you’re just not equipped for that kind of insanity.”

I heard him cough—no, choke? Was he laughing? Father Harrison ?

“You know what? I think we’re done here,” I said, standing up a little too quickly and—whack!—smacking my head against the confessional roof, again . “Ouch! Great. Add a concussion to my list of sins.”

On the other side of the screen, there was no mistaking it this time—a definite snicker.

“Seriously?” I hissed, glaring through the wooden divider. “You’re laughing? Real professional, Father. Very holy of you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice tight, but I could tell he wasn’t sorry at all. “Go in peace, Miss Whitenhouse. Maybe… consider therapy.”

I scoffed, “Next time, I’m googling ‘sin forgiveness for dummies.’”

I stormed out of the confessional, my heels clicking against the church floor like divine retribution had landed in stiletto form.

The whispers had started before I’d even passed the first bench, and by the time I was halfway down the aisle, someone had the audacity to shush me.

“Oh, spare me !” I snapped, spinning on my heel to face them. “You think God can’t hear you gossiping about me from the pews? Newsflash, Brenda, he knows about that box of Chardonnay under your sink too!”

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, and I swear I saw one nun clutch her chest like I’d struck her with lightning.

“And you,” I pointed at a man polishing his glasses, “don’t think I didn’t see you giving me side-eye. You spent thirty years skimming off church donations, didn’t you, Harold? Go pray for yourself !”

More gasps.

Someone actually dropped their rosary, beads scattering across the stone floor like they were fleeing the scene.

I didn’t realize I’d interrupted the weekly game of Who’s the Biggest Hypocrite.

Reaching the massive church doors, I shoved one open with more force than necessary, the sunlight streaming through as I stepped outside like I’d just made my Broadway debut.

But I wasn’t done.

I turned back, propping the door open with one foot, and gave the crowd my best condescending smirk.

“By the way—Father Harrison? If God wanted me to stay pure , maybe he shouldn’t have made my boss so damn hot. Just saying!”

The door slammed shut behind me, cutting off the collective gasp from inside, and I strutted into the sunlight like I was walking a runway straight to hell.