Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
KAT
It’s not until I turned my key in the towering front door earlier that it occurred to me that I never had a key until a few days ago. Not even as an adult. Not for emergencies. My parents have only ever seen me as an extension of their lives, not as a person in my own right.
We’ve spoken only through lawyers since the sale, and I wonder if we’ll ever get past that.
Will age bring them wisdom? I’m their only child, but their lives have continued mostly unaffected by my presence.
It was easier to pass me along to paid help than to change their lifestyles at all.
There’s no reason to believe that will change.
Liam humphs in the last box, adding it to the small pile near the stairs after bumping the door closed behind him.
Reggie yowls as I finally open his crate, letting him out. You’d think we’d left him in there a whole week, given the look he gives me upon exiting.
‘It’s not my fault, Reggie. Look at this place; you’ll love it.’
The cat categorically does not look excited about the house. Looking around me, I can’t really blame him. Devoid of furniture, it’s cold and harsh, and so very empty. Our little stack of boxes pales in the vastness of the hallway.
Reggie tails Hamish, who is happily sniffing around the place. Our silly sausage dog is pretty oblivious to everything, so he happily trots around the house without a care.
I know every inch of the house. It’s been the tower I’m trapped in and the pirate’s ship I escaped on. The stairs have been a pyramid I slid down as an adventurer and the mountain I scaled to save a teddy. The house has been just about everything except a home.
Liam wraps his arms around me from behind, kissing my neck until I melt against him. God damn, I love it when he does that.
Each day that passes brings us a little more ease. Less chance of being arrested. Less chance of anyone digging out the well.
The well will be the first thing to go. The concrete level is below ground level, so we’ll cave in the mossy stones and bury it. It may still be findable, but it'll be much harder to spot.
‘How does it feel to be home?’ I ask Liam, aware that his feelings about the house come from a whole different place than mine.
‘It’s a bit weird that my tattoos match it. That’ll take some explaining.’ He grazes his teeth over my ear, and I lose myself in the sensation. ‘I have something to celebrate.’
‘What is it?’
‘Patience, Princess.’
Liam goes over to the boxes, checking the top of each before finding the one he wants. Using the knife from his belt, he splits the tape and draws out a bottle of champagne.
‘Liam! You didn’t?’
‘I heard it’s customary for the previous homeowners to leave a bottle for the new owners, but I thought we might be out of luck there.
There are only mugs, though.’ He gives me a crooked smile that has me clenching my thighs.
The way this man can upend my senses with one pointed look deserves to be studied.
‘I’d drink it from your mouth at this point, crack it open.’
Liam’s eyes darken. ‘Oh really?’
There I go again, soaked like a paddling pool on the first day of summer. ‘You bet.’
His arms flex as he uncorks the bottle, sending the stopper flying before taking a sip of the champagne.
He crooks his fingers, and I go to him, stopping just short.
Tilting my face up, he uses his thumb to open my mouth, letting the fizz drip from his mouth into mine.
It’s so filthy with the way he’s looking at me that I may as well have turned into a cucumber with the percentage of my body that identifies as wet.
His lips meet mine, feasting on the remnant of champagne that clings, his hot tongue sliding over my own. ‘Who needs glasses anyway?’
Liam grabs his coat from the pile of boxes and spreads it on the floor.
We sit together, alternating swigs of the bubbles until I’m feeling a little tipsy.
Reggie’s found the cork and sets about batting it across the hall before commando-rolling over it and doing it again.
He’s certainly become more spritely with his diet.
‘I can’t believe all this is ours,’ Liam says.
‘I know. What the fuck are we going to do with it?’
‘Other than desecrate every room with our filthy sex?’ He grins and passes me the bottle.
‘Obviously.’ I take a drink, leaning against him. ‘Our furniture isn’t even going to fill a room.’
‘There’s no rush. We have a whole lifetime to decorate it.’
When the champagne runs dry, we lay back on the coat, hand in hand and look up at the ceiling. The mural there used to fascinate me for hours.
‘I used to lie right here as a kid. It drove my mum mad. Her guests used to have to step over me to use the stairs.’
Liam squeezes my hand.
‘I used to imagine the cherubs were me and my sibling. God, I was so fucking lonely. I’d imagine I was one of those angel babies, and one day I’d meet the rest of them. Turns out I didn’t grow up soft and sweet and good.’
I sigh, remembering those long days when I’d lie here and wish my childhood away.
‘Turns out I’m so far from good it’s crazy.’
‘You’re still good,’ Liam says. ‘You’re just one of those kick-ass angels who like kill the bad guys and shit.’
I can’t help but laugh. ‘I’m not sure that’s how it goes.’
‘Can’t say I ever spent much time in the church. The only godly men I met were sent straight from the devil.’ Liam tugs me over so I’m straddling him. ‘There, to me, you fit right in amongst them. You’ll always be my angel.’
Tracing my fingers over his cheek, over the scars and angles, I smile at him. ‘I’m hardly an angel.’
‘You just have a knife instead of a harp. And you do play it ever so beautifully.’
That brings a full laugh from me.
‘What?’ Liam asks, his brow furrowing.
‘I can play the harp. A bit. I spent more time trailing through the woods hoping to bump back into a certain dark-haired boy than practising.’
His face softens as he wraps his hands around my waist. ‘You looked for me?’
‘Of course I did.’ I place my hand over his heart, feeling its steady thump against my fingers. ‘The heart knows where it belongs, and my heart has always belonged to you, Mr…’
My voice trails off.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘Liam, what the fuck is your last name?’ I can’t believe I’ve never thought to ask. I guess I assumed it would be Ellie’s after I found out about his foster situation, but in all our shared moments, I’ve never asked.
‘Technically it’s Robertson, but that was my father’s name, so I don’t use it.’
‘What do we do when we get married?’
Liam pulls my face to his, kissing me with enough heat to flush my face. ‘Whatever the fuck we like.’