Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
ROMAN
I glance at Maggie across the breakfast table, wondering if she remembers her admissions from last night.
From the way she keeps avoiding my eyes, I’m guessing there is at least a murky recollection.
While she’d slept, I’d long sat up, considering running, but I couldn’t locate her car keys, nor her mobile phone.
So I’d taken a long shower and fucked my fist until I sprayed the wall, thinking about her flushed cheeks and the idea of her touching herself to my sex noises.
The filthy little thing, who could have known?
Maggie sits beside me at the long breakfast table, her shoulders hunched. She’s wrapped in a hugely oversized jumper and scowls at the sun as it glares through the window. Her curls are a wild nest of chaos, and she looks like a bear roused from hibernation.
I know the feeling, though I hadn’t been nearly as drunk as Maggie, I’d already downed two paracetamol and enough water to drown a rat.
At least the coffee is strong.
As I’m pouring my second cup, there is a notable shift in tension within the room.
Maggie’s back goes rigid beside me like someone has pulled her strings taut.
A man with a mop of brown hair comes into the breakfast room and lounges on a chair. With only a smirk, he leans in and grabs an apple, taking a hearty bite.
‘Eddie,’ Maggie says, almost in a whisper.
Eddie gives a grin bordering on deadly. He’s dressed impeccably, dripping with old money vibes. As much as I know about old money. Which isn’t a lot. Every movement he makes seems measured, a bastion of control.
His eyes sharpen as they pass over Maggie hungrily, before flicking to me.
Ugly anger coils in my stomach.
‘Maggie,’ Eddie says, the words as thick as custard. Possessive and familiar. ‘There you are.’
Maggie is like a rabbit in front of a fox. Frozen to the spot, her pulse hammering visibly in her throat.
‘Eddie,’ she says eventually, the tremor in her voice audible.
Eddie looks at me dismissively, like I’m barely worth a thought. I’m assessed and written off in under a second.
That stings more than it should. I’ve been left often enough in my life, but I’m not used to being so thoroughly ignored. Treated like I’m inconsequential.
‘You didn’t tell me you had company,’ he says to Maggie, turning back to her.
‘I don’t believe I ever tell you anything.’
‘You might not, but little birdies do.’
And that’s when something in me snaps into place. The absolutely not of it, all. This pepped-up motherfucker is the one that they want Maggie to marry? Over my dead body.
Maybe literally.
I slide my arm around Maggie’s waist and pull her tight into my side, like it’s something I’ve done a hundred times before. Like she belongs at my side.
Her body stiffens for half a second in surprise before she leans into me, her hand coming up to rest against my chest.
The contact sends a jolt through me that I very much did not plan for.
Eddie’s smirk tightens.
‘Roman,’ I say brightly, sticking out my hand despite my stomach lurching at the thought of touching the snake. ‘Boyfriend.’
He looks at my hand, pointedly ignores it, and leans toward Maggie instead.
‘I was hoping we’d get a moment,’ he says, eyes roaming her face with an intimacy that makes my jaw clench. ‘You look… delicious. Being home suits you.’
Maggie’s fingers curl in my shirt. And a flare of protectiveness wells up in me. Which is insane, because I barely know her. Outside the kidnapping and all.
‘She’s quite busy with wedding prep, and I’m sure you’re here to celebrate the bride and groom, not to pester your ex.’
Eddie finally looks at me properly. His gaze is cold and calculating.
‘Noone asked you.’ He turns back to Maggie as if I’ve ceased to exist. ‘We should talk. Alone.’
The casual entitlement of it makes me want to launch myself at him. Which would be unadvisable if he’s the killer Maggie claims him to be. Which looking at his demeanour, I could very much imagine.
Maggie inhales shakily, before steadying herself. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’
Eddie’s face contorts with rage for the briefest of moments, before it washes with an unsettling calm. Gone so fast I might have imagined it.
‘You always say that,’ he replies.
I don’t like the certainty in his voice.
Before I can think better of it, I guide Maggie away from the table by her hand, hating turning my back on him. Eddie gives me some serious creeps.
This protectiveness I feel is stupid. I should shove Maggie at Eddie and get out. She kidnapped me. I shouldn’t feel anything toward her. Her hand in mine calls me a liar. The way I weave my fingers through hers, and don’t hate it.
We round the corner, and the tension drains out of her in a shaky exhale, her face paling.
‘I hate him so fucking much,’ she breathes out.
‘You don’t say. He has the sort of face that you want to punch, huh?’
She nods, then freezes. Her eyes locked onto something over my shoulder.
‘There,’ she whispers.
I turn.
Priscilla stands at the counter with her back to us, crushing a pill with the base of a spoon. Her movements are methodical, like she’s done it a hundred times before. She sweeps the powder into a glass with ease, and stirs.
My stomach drops.
‘See?’ Maggie hisses. ‘I told you I wasn’t crazy.’
I give her a look.
‘Okay, I’m not completely crazy. In that way.’
‘I love the way your nose scrunches when you’re indignant.’ The words slip out before I can catch them, and Maggie’s eyes widen before dipping back over my shoulder.
We hover, pretending to be engrossed in each other, watching as Priscilla lifts the tray and walks away, pill bottle in hand.
‘Come on,’ Maggie says, tugging my hand.
We follow at a distance, skulking around corners like we’re in Scooby-bloody-Doo, until Priscilla stops at a cabinet. She opens it, slips the bottle inside, and locks it with a decisive click before sliding the key into her pocket.
Maggie deflates, frustration written all over her pretty face.
I glance at the cabinet, then back at her. ‘Didn’t learn lockpicking in murder school?’
She shoots me a look.
‘I’d have thought that was assassin one-oh-one.’ I shrug.
‘If you haven’t noticed, I’m no good at any of this.’
There’s something painfully raw in the way she says it. Like she really wishes she could excel in the murder business.
I squeeze her hand once. ‘At least you noticed what she’s doing, that’s got to count for something in the sneaky assassin handbook.’
She shrugs.
Behind us, laughter carries down the corridor. Eddie’s voice rising over it. Like he owns the place.
My stomach tightens.
Whatever’s going on in this house, I’m no longer convinced Maggie’s imagining it.