15. Alfredo
Alfredo
I sit in the passenger side of the silver city rental.
Killian sits in the driver's seat, though there's no steering wheel to speak of.
A bruised, purplish-gray sky presses down.
The heavy clouds appear to scrape the rooftops, while the icy air frosts the windowpanes.
There's an almost imperceptible shift as we drive into the mated couples' district.
City lights appear on both sides of the road while the car hums almost silently.
I miss the purr of the hellcat.
Killian, without his mirrored glasses, looks in my direction.
His missing eye is hidden by a black patch.
It makes him attractive, in a rugged way, but reminds me I have to stick to a fabricated story for the evening.
Killian is Thomas Wayne, and I am Jessica Wayne.
We work in production and Thomas lost his eye in a freak accident involving a forklift.
It’s easy to remember my character. I’m just not thrilled to have to play one.
Killian opens his mouth, but I press the car’s screen and turn on the radio instead.
Soft instrumental music floats through the speakers, filling the space with unspoken suggestions.
I turn to look out the window and watch couples walking hand in hand down the sidewalk.
They cling close to one another, like they couldn’t bear to be separated for even the slightest moment.
Billboard screens shine, showing couples enjoying products made just for two.
Even the benches outside storefronts are made with just enough room for two and curve inwards so those seated don’t have to take their eyes off one another.
The whole thing makes me feel uneasy. Like a society trying too hard to pretend it’s perfect.
As a mateless, I know all about the dark side of the world the mated couples refuse to speak about.
We are their dirty little secret. The stain on their otherwise utopian society.
It feels like the city is watching us. Like it knows we don’t belong.
The car pulls up to the curb of L’Effet. The building is black with elements of stained wood. The sign's elegant, flowing gold script hums with subtle energy, its letters glowing softly. A couple stand flanking the doors, wearing a matching suit while their eyes watch us through the car’s window.
Killian tilts his head in my direction, keeping his tone low. “You’re doing great, princess. You almost look like you don’t want to punch me.”
I smile, tilting my head to rest on his shoulder while I look up at him as if he’s my soulmate. “You’re lucky this dress doesn’t have pockets, or I’d have your balls in them by now.”
He laughs, cupping my cheek with his palm before leaning down to plant a simple kiss on my forehead. Just enough to sell our lie, but nervous flutters start in my stomach, regardless.
“I’m going to come around and open your door,” he whispers, and I nod.
I can feel the eyes of judgment, evaluating my every step.
The way I get out of the car and step on the hem of my new dress.
It’s the fanciest thing I have ever worn, black like the night, with glistening sparkles to reflect the golden hues of the lights.
It goes all the way to my feet, barely missing the floor, but allows me to wear my boots.
The full sleeves of the dress keep me warm despite the weather, but the low back exposes enough skin to send shivers down my spine as the wind whips past. Killian places a steadying hand on my back, warming me slightly with his touch while shepherding me toward the entrance.
Maybe this wouldn’t feel so weird if I went out to dinner more often.
We are led to a small table with just enough seating for two.
It matches the other tables around the room.
I wonder how Roman means to rub elbows with the other aristocrats of the city until my eyes land of the man in question.
I’ve seen him before, in pictures, but none of them had captured the foreboding but wickedly captivating energy that emanates from him.
Bill Roman is tall. Really tall. Even seated, it’s obvious he would tower above me like the looming dark clouds outside.
He isn’t large, he’s lanky. Made entirely of limbs, but they move with a loose confidence.
His face is unsettling, but in an almost alluring way.
He has high cheekbones, sharp and striking, and a long nose that wouldn’t work on most people but does on him.
His eyes are ringed in dark circles, wide set and seem to mirror back an untold horror.
He looks like he’s seen the kind of horror that doesn’t scream, it hums. The kind that doesn’t make blood curdle. It makes it freeze.
His glass is half full of red wine, and he sips it between a full set of lips that are unexpectedly soft for his otherwise angular face. Like he would whisper sweet nothings in your ear right before he slits your throat.
The seat beside him is empty.
I peel my eyes away, looking back at Killian, who is studying his menu as if we hadn’t spent the past month doing that in practice for this moment. I use both hands to pick up mine, forming a makeshift blockade before whispering. “Where’s his mate?”
Killian’s eye slowly looks up at me. There’s a simmering fire inside of him, but his tone comes out low and hushed. “Some people like to know their soulmate is safe by keeping them at their side. Others like to lock them up inside their fortress.”
“Which one are you?” I ask, raising a teasing eyebrow.
Killian narrows his gaze slightly, but before he can answer, the server arrives and asks for our drink order. I want to get a drink but know I can’t. Or at least, Jessica can’t. She just got the okay to have a kid. A martini might send the wrong message.
“By my side means my ego thinks if I’m there, I can prevent anything from happening,” Killian says as the server walks away from our table. “And the only type of locking up I like to do is in the bedroom.” He winks.
“Don’t I know it.” I say, a little louder, just hoping someone is listening.
“Have you decided what you want for dinner yet, princess?”
I’m smiling when I look back down at my menu, and let out an excited squeak when I notice a certain item that was missing from our practice ones. “Blackened chicken Alfredo! That’s what I’m having.”
“I think the last time I saw you this excited was when you got your white-chocolate coffee drink,” Killian points out.
“Food makes me happy,” I say with a shrug.
“Don’t I know it.” Killian gives me a little crooked smirk before turning his attention to the menu.
When the server comes back with our drinks, we are both set to order. Killian decides on a steak of some kind.
I take a quick glance in Roman’s direction and find his eyes directly on me, as he takes a slow sip from his wineglass.
All the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention and I move my gaze slowly around the room as if I were merely taking in the décor.
When I look back at the table, I notice Killian’s hand sitting on top, open and inviting.
It feels weird to place my hand in his. Too intimate.
But that’s the name of the game tonight.
His fingers curl slightly over mine and one moves almost rhythmically over my knuckles.
It calms me.
I let my fingers rest in Killian’s, my eyes trained on the sight while my ears strain to listen for Roman to speak.
Killian shifts slightly, leans closer, and I adjust my gaze. “Smile,” he mutters. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”
It’s said with just enough warmth to melt the edge of pretense, but Killian is too smooth. Too convincing. I force a smile. For the sake of the game we agreed to play for the evening.
His thumb strokes over the inside of my wrist, a place where soulmates often touch because that is where messages between them are often sent and received from. While Killian is operating under memories of the past, all I can think about is my Ghost.
I laugh, too loud. “You’re such a flirt, even after all these years.” I pull my hand out of his embrace.
I hear a chair move across the floor and my eyes flick in Roman’s direction. He’s standing, his eyes locked with mine. He’s coming this way, and he’s smiling. It’s the smile of a man who’s already peeled back your skin and is deciding what to keep.
Killian notices Roman’s approach, and his posture tightens. His hand reaches out to capture mine, firmer this time. Possessive.
Roman’s steps are soundless. When he reaches the table, he doesn’t look at Killian. His eyes are fixed on me.
“You’re not drinking,” he says.
It’s not a question. It’s an accusation.
“I have my reasons,” I say, straightening my back.
A sharp edge shines in Roman’s eyes before he nods. “You don’t look like the kind of woman who does anything without a reason.” His voice is like silk draped over a dagger.
“Bill Roman of Roman’s Holdings, correct?” Killian says, and Roman finally turns his gaze toward Killian.
“I am, and I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. It’s not often I see a face I don’t recognize. I’ll admit it’s made me quite curious.” Roman offers his hand for Killian to shake.
“Thomas Wayne,” Killian says with a forced smile, placing his hand in Roman’s overly tight grip. “We’ve never been to a place this fancy before, but since it’s our anniversary…”
“Oh!” Roman’s face flashes with too much animation. “An anniversary. Congratulations. And how long has the happy couple been together?”
“Ten years,” Killian says with a smile and a nod before pulling his hand free from Roman’s.
“Ten?” Roman says it like a question, but Killian doesn’t speak. Roman’s eyes shift in my direction again. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce me to your mate?”
“Jessica,” I say with a curt smile.
Roman’s eyes narrow, like he’s cataloging something. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you both. Be sure to try the tiramisu. It’s to die for.” Roman turns and heads back to his seat, and it’s only once he’s there feels like I have the space to breathe again.
“You did good, princess.”
I let out a small bubble of laughter before grabbing my glass of iced tea and taking a large swig, wishing it was anything stronger.
Our dinner arrives and I’m thankful to have something purposeful to do, even if my appetite is shit. It’s easily the best plate of Alfredo I have ever had, but I can only stomach a few bites before I resort to mostly pushing the pasta around my plate with my fork.
Every time I risk a glance; I find Roman staring at me. His lips are curled into a smile that sets off every type of alarm bell inside my body.
Killian places his fork down, pretense leaving him as he wipes the corners of his mouth with the black cloth napkin before placing it beside his plate. “You want to box it up?” The question is soft. Just for me.
I nod, grateful. My mouth is too dry to pretend to eat and my hands shake lightly with a nagging sense of unease.
Killian signals the server. He glides over like he’s been waiting for this moment. Before either Killian or I can speak, a plate with a perfect slice of tiramisu is set in front of me.
“I didn’t order this,” I say, but I already know who it came from.
The server smiles in the way people do when they are not allowed to speak. He’s nothing more than a puppet, his body moving exactly as Roman commands.
Part of me knew this wasn’t a good idea. I should have fucking listened.
The server slides something small and black onto the table. He doesn’t speak, he simply turns and walks away.
Killian snatches the envelope, tearing through the seal to pull out a small black card.
“Let me guess,” I whisper, “that’s not an invitation.”
“No.” Killian’s voice is flat. “It’s a summons.”
Two men dressed in black appear at the edge of my vision. They stand just far enough away to not interrupt, but close enough to make it clear that we are not going home.
I glance in Roman’s direction, and he lifts his glass and swirls the wine inside like blood circling a drain. He nods, and then the guards move in.
Killian’s hand is on mine before I can react. He leans close, speaking just loud enough for me to hear. “Let me do the talking, alright?”
Nervous laughter bubbles from me, but I nod anyway.
A guard gestures toward the exit. They don’t make a scene, and the other patrons keep their gaze on their plates as if nothing out of the ordinary is occurring at all. It’s quiet coercion of power, one that knows it never has to shout.
Killian and I leave, hand in hand. As we step outside, a sleek black car is already idling at the curb. The backdoor opens and I can see there isn’t a driver up front, just another man in a black suit waiting on the passenger’s side.
A guard comes up behind me, patting his hands over my body, and quickly discovers the gun strapped to my thigh. He takes it and gives me a slight look before checking to make sure I don’t have any others. Killian is searched next, his gun is also found and taken.
“Alright. Time to get in,” the guard says.
Killian hesitates for half a second. It’s all I need to know that he is also weighing his options as carefully as I am. I have to fight against every instinct to get into the car. But I don’t have a choice.
This was always a possible ending for the night. That’s why James and Tommy are watching from their car, parked just across the street.
I had wanted dirt on Roman. Enough to finally take him down. It looks like tonight, I might get my wish.