Killian #2
Since she got engaged to my brother.
It hadn’t felt appropriate to call her something other than by her name. She hadn’t felt like mine. Not that she is now.
“I think it’s time to bring it back,” I say with a shrug. “What do you think?”
Her cheeks are the prettiest shade of pink as she smiles up at me softly. “I never wanted it to go away.”
It occurs to me, maybe for the first time, that she was hurt by my silence. When I left California, I broke off all ties. Including my friendship with her. It’s never something she questioned or asked me about.
“I’ll show you around New York on one condition,” I say.
Caroline frowns. “I should have known there would be a catch. What do you want?”
“The same thing I wanted last night.” I lean towards her, lowering my voice. “Let me paint you.”
Her breath hitches in her chest, eyes widening. I think she expected me to have forgotten about my request. Nervously, she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “How about I just do all the cooking?”
I shake my head. I don’t need her to do my chores.
“You told me what you want, I told you what I want.”
She swallows nervously, her eyes darting around the kitchen. “I don’t know how to be a model. Wouldn’t you rather paint someone who’s stunningly beautiful?”
I get an inkling of how she must’ve felt when she stabbed my brother. Because I want to hurt everyone who made her believe that she’s not stunningly beautiful. That there is a single part of herself she needs to change.
“Caroline, I’ve never met someone more beautiful than you. You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to. That’s not going to change my truth. Whoever made you believe otherwise doesn’t know what beauty is.”
Her lashes remain lowered as she plays with the lid of her coffee cup. She chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip before taking a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling.
“Okay,” she accepts, raising her eyes to meet mine. I still see fear in them, but now it’s mixed with something else. Determination, maybe. “I will let you paint me. But I decide how you do it.”
“Agreed.” I offer her my hand so we can shake on it. After a moment’s hesitation, she places her hand in mine. It’s soft and warm, so much smaller than mine.
“I hope you know, verbal agreements are binding in the state of New York,” I tease.
Caroline wrinkles her nose. “I hope you know I’ve never broken the law.”
“That’s a blatant lie,” I say with a laugh. “Just last night you told me you were arrested for stabbing.”
She shrugs. “That doesn’t qualify. As far as I see it, if you stab someone who deserves it, it’s not breaking the law.”
“That’s not how a judge will see it. You should know that, you’re a lawyer.”
She shrugs again, taking a sip of her coffee. “Everyone should be allowed one mild stabbing a year. The world will be a happier place. As long as you don’t seriously injure someone, you’re fine.”
“That’s the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever heard coming from someone who’s supposed to uphold the law.”
She gives me the side eye. “That’s because you’re thinking about it practically, not emotionally.
Actually, I changed my mind. Only women should be allowed one mild stabbing a year because we have to put up with a lot of shit from men.
I’m actually trying to lower the cases of violence against women. ”
“Uh-huh. And who’s keeping track of these mild stabbings?”
“See, unlike men, we’re not liars and we’re perfectly capable of regulating our emotions. We can hold ourselves accountable.”
I stare at her, the sweetest, kindest person I’ve ever met. “This is a strangest fucking conversation I’ve ever had.”
“That’s sad,” she says with a sigh. “Does that mean you haven’t met a lot of interesting people in your life? At your ripe old age?”
“I’m thirty-three,” I say.
“You were born in the 1900s,” she says with a grin. “That makes you old.”
“You were also born in the 1900s,” I remind her.
“Yeah, 1999. Which is practically 2000,” she says, waving a hand between us. “Let’s not forget that this is a generation gap.”
This woman is determined to drive me crazy. I think she enjoys it.
“Yeah, but I’m a millennial. According to the millennial age, I’m only twenty-three so I’m actually younger than you.”
Her eyes go cloudy and distant, looking over my shoulder. Almost absentmindedly, she whispers, “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to date a younger man. Would he be eager to please?”
I push a hand through my hair, backing away from her. She’s clearly more dangerous than I expected. And I don’t want to tell her that if she gives me the chance, fuck yeah I’m eager to please.
“Why don’t you get changed?” I suggest. “We can leave now.”
“Okay,” she agrees. “I’m sure we have to be back by a certain hour so you can get to bed on time.”
I shoot her a glare which makes her laugh. She hurries off to her room to get dressed. It’s the lightest I’ve seen her since she’s been here. Maybe even longer. There are no shadows lingering in her eyes. No question asking if she’s worthy.
It takes her ten minutes to get dressed and she walks out of her room in a pink dress printed with dark pink and white flowers.
The dress has a V-neck, which dips low, showing off her cleavage.
Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, loose strands falling around her face.
She’s carrying her purse and a dark pink sweater.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she says, twirling in a circle. “How do I look?”
I look at her with soft eyes and for a brief moment, I picture a time, maybe in another life, when I would have pulled her close and kissed her. Right now, in this life, Caroline needs time to heal, time to decide what she wants.
“You look beautiful,” I say.
She beams at me, clapping softly. “Thank you. Now, let’s go.”
She’s moving towards the door before I can say anything else.