Chapter 5 （Killian）
Killian
I stare at Caroline, my brother’s fiancée, standing in nothing but a towel in my kitchen, and the only thing I can think is that I’ve forgotten there’s a hint of blue in her gray eyes.
No wonder I can’t get them right.
The other thing I register is if she’s here, that means my brother is here and the last thing I ever want to do is deal with my family. I live in New York for a reason and it’s not just the vibes. The farther away I am from them, the better.
I watch as a drop of water travels down her slender neck. She’s been naked in my apartment, probably with my brother. Fuck. I’m not really a psychopath, but something about the idea of Caroline with Beckett always makes me see red.
“Killian,” Caroline breathes.
I drop my keys in the bowl at the entrance table and cross my arms, frowning at Caroline. How the hell did they get in? The super’s grumpier than I am and he’d never have let them in.
Caroline’s phone rings and we both look down, where she dropped it. Beckett’s name and face flash across the screen and I grind my jaw so hard I’m afraid to crack a molar.
Caroline clutches the towel, bending down to pick up her phone. The towel wrapped around her hair falls off, leaving her long dark hair slinging over her shoulder.
I flex my hand as my fingers itch to grab my sketchpad.
I watch with interest as she presses the button on the side of her phone, disconnecting the call and putting her phone face down on the counter.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” She fires back, crossing her arms and matching my stance.
The setting sun behind her has lit the sky with a vibrancy of colors and the golden light spreading through the room makes Caroline’s skin light up like she’s been dipped in gold.
“This is my apartment,” I tell her.
Her mouth parts as shock flickers across her face and then she frowns, her head tilting slightly.
“Gerry gifted me this apartment when I turned twenty-one.” As if to prove it, she holds up the key she’d left on the counter.
Fucking hell. I wouldn’t put anything past my grandmother. I stalk into the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of whisky from the cabinet above the fridge. Grabbing a glass, I pour some of the amber liquid into it and drink it in one gulp.
“She gave me the apartment when I moved here,” I tell Caroline.
This is not what I need right now.
I turn back to look at her just as her phone rings again. This time, she doesn’t even check who’s calling before pressing the button on the side and ending the call.
“Look, no offense, but you can’t stay here,” I say. “I don’t need this drama in my life.”
I haven’t seen my family in five years and I want to keep it that way. I don’t need their toxic presence affecting my life.
“Yet, you RSVP’d to the wedding,” Caroline points out, nodding at the wedding card stuck to the fridge. “The biggest drama the York/Sinclair families will put on.”
That’s because I’m a masochist, sweetheart.
“If you didn’t want me to come to the wedding, you shouldn’t have sent the invitation,” I say.
“I obviously didn’t,” she says. “Don’t you think I would have remembered the address or thought it seemed familiar when I arrived here? Or do you think I’m an idiot?”
Her face is set, eyes angry, and she still hasn’t realized she’s only wearing a towel.
I’m not sure where I’m supposed to look because a part of me really wants to let my eyes travel down her body.
I pour myself another splash of whisky and drink it slowly.
I’m hoping the alcohol will erase the image of her in my house, in nothing but a towel while her bare skin glows golden in the fading rays of the sun.
She’s going to marry your brother in two months, asshole.
Right.
“Maybe you should put some clothes on before we continue this conversation?”
Eyes widening, Caroline looks down at herself.
“Oh my god!” She gasps, turning away from me. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I’m sorry, I was a little distracted by finding a woman in my apartment.”
She grumbles something under her breath before stalking to her luggage and taking her bag into the bathroom with her. She’s been in my apartment long enough to know where the bathroom is and she’s been naked in my apartment.
That’s the least of my concerns. Did she take it upon herself to give herself a tour? Has she been in my studio? No, that’s stupid. If she had, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see me.
I push a hand through my hair, setting my glass down on the counter. What was my grandmother thinking sending Caroline here? Did she really give both of us this apartment, knowing Caroline was always expected to marry Beckett?
I look at the wedding invite stuck to my fridge. I didn’t put it there so I don’t forget the wedding date. I put it there so I don’t forget Caroline chose Beckett.
The bathroom door opens and Caroline steps out in leggings and a thin t-shirt which shows the pale pink sports bra she’s wearing underneath. Her skin is flushed, hair twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck. She doesn’t look at me.
As much as I want her to look at me, maybe it’s for the best that she doesn’t.
“Caroline, I’m not saying this to be cruel, but you can’t stay here.”
“No, I got that from your very welcoming reaction,” she says.
“I don’t like people in my space,” I say, feeling defensive. Why the hell did I have to explain myself? “This is my apartment, not a vacation spot I’ve run off to because I’ve had a disagreement with my fiancé about centerpieces.”
“Killian.” My name is a sharp sound on her tongue, like tiny knives piercing the skin. She’s finally looking at me, her eyes red rimmed. Fuck.
“I get it. I’m not welcome here under any circumstances. I’m booking a ride share to a hotel right now.”
Picking up her phone, Caroline scrolls through it. Even though this is exactly what I want, I still feel a twinge of guilt. If she can fly out to New York on her own, she can live out her fantasies on her own. She’ll probably be back in San Francisco by the end of the week.
“You can stay here tonight and find a hotel tomorrow,” I offer.
Caroline scoffs. “Oh no, I wouldn’t want my presence to destroy your inner peace.”
Her ride booked, she drops her phone in her purse. Going back into the bathroom, she spends five minutes in there grabbing all her things before coming back out with her black bag. She sets it next to her suitcase before donning a sweatshirt.
“Guess I should give this back to you,” she says, setting the key on the counter.
“Caroline,” I start to say. There’s no way to come back from being an utter ass. I want her to leave.. I also feel guilty for demanding my space.
If looks could kill, I’d be dead as a doornail right now.
“You can’t possibly have more to say right now,” she snaps in disbelief.
Shaking her head, she turns away, pulling her suitcase behind her. As she walks out of the door, I open my mouth once again to say something, anything, to stop her, to make her look at me again. But the door closes behind her with a soft thud and all is silent.