Chapter 13
DAMIAN
The hole is more difficult to dig than usual. But I don’t mind the work. Winter ground, cold and icy. Rico’s dead eyes watch me from his spot leaning against a tree deep in the woods.
He’s even worse than Celine knows. He confessed some fucked-up things to me before he tasted my blade. Things I’ll never share with anyone. It’s for the Beast to carry.
Once he’s where he belongs, I drive back toward the city, calling Julian.
“She’s safe,” I tell him. “She’s at work and knows not to leave the building.”
He sighs. “Good.”
“I’m… sorry.” The words come out huskily.
I’m not apologizing for telling Celine about the mob.
I’m apologizing for the kiss. For the touching. Because I want to do it again… and again… and again.
“It’s done,” Julian says bluntly. “Just keep her safe.”
“How are things on your end? The Don suspect anything? Anyone else?”
“I’m walking the line,” he says, sounding tired. “But it’s getting tougher. Sooner or later, someone will have to make a move.”
But did you already make a move, Julian?
“Hmm,” I grunt.
I hang up, no warm feelings, a rift growing between us that was never there before.
As the city pierces the winter skyline, suspicion grips me, poisons me.
One step at a time, I remind myself.
When I pick Celine up, it’s like she’s made a conscious decision not to talk about anything that’s happening. She sits in the passenger seat with a breezy smile on her face. Probably forced, but no less beautiful.
“I think I’m going to watch a Christmas movie when I get in,” she says, looking out the window. “Curl up with some hot cocoa and disappear into my laptop.”
“You can use the TV,” I say. “Cost enough. Would be good to get some use out of it.”
She nods, keeping her eyes focused out the window. “Sure. Thanks.”
A long pause. I want to tell her she looks beautiful after a hard day of work, her hair frazzled, bags under her eyes from her lack of sleep. She looks gorgeous, stunning, powerful even. She looks real. And that’s the biggest gut punch of all.
“How was work?” I ask, trying to start a conversation.
“Hectic. A good distraction.”
“What movie are you going to watch?”
She finally turns to me, speaking with emphasis. “The Grinch.”
Is she sassing me right now, despite everything?
“Why do I feel like that has a double purpose?”
“Oh, really?” She murmurs, all innocence. “I’m not sure what you mean…”
“Yeah, right,” I say.
“What’s your grand theory then?”
“That maybe I’m the Grinch in your Christmas story.”
She laughs. Laughs. Hell, it’s a sweet sound. “I don’t know. You’re pretty grumpy, so there’s that.”
“Plenty to be grumpy about,” I say.
“Well–do you think there are any similarities?”
“Not sure. Never seen it.”
Her surface-level mask slips, and real shock punches through her shield. “You’ve never seen the Grinch?”
“Nope.”
“I mean the Jim Carrey version. How the Grinch Stole Christmas. The one everyone has seen.”
“Might come as a surprise, Sparkles, but Christmas movies have never been my thing.”
She sits up, looking at me with a challenge on her flawless face. “I think it’s time we changed that.”
What happened to you hating me? What happened to the resentment and the fear?
I know I should ask her this. I should break this spell. For her own good. For mine. For her brother’s. But I can’t. Because she’s making me forget who I am and what I’ve done and what I’ll have to do if we’re going to make it through this in one piece.
I think she reads my expression, something no other woman has ever accomplished. Not that I’ve given them much chance.
“Don’t,” she whispers.
“Don’t…”
“Don’t make it real,” she goes on. “My life is falling to pieces, and for a little while, I just want it to be Christmas, okay? Is that too much to ask?”
No. It’s not. She’s been through a lot.
“It looks like I’m going to pop my Grinch cherry tonight then.”
She laughs for the second time. It’s no less sweet. “Then it looks like we’re having a movie night.”
In a world of darkness and death, this is somehow the most surreal thing she could possibly say.
“Sounds like a plan, Evergreen.”
She folds her arms. “Okay, what’s with the nicknames?”
“Seems appropriate for a Christmas-obsessed girl like you.”
A smile, but then a glint of guilt she can’t hide. She looks at me like I’m breaking her and elevating her at the same time. Like I’m the answer and the problem. No one’s ever looked at me like this before. And if they had, I wouldn’t have cared.
With Celine, I care too damn much.
She pushes the conflicted expression away and lets her mask return. “Well, if you think of any more, let me know.”
As I drive, I do something foolish. I let my hand rest on her thigh. She doesn’t push it away. A shudder moves through her, but I don’t need to look at her to know it’s a good thing.
A pleasurable thing. Is there anything just good about this, in an uncomplicated way?
I take a different route than this morning, constantly searching the rearview and the mirrors, alert to any change or anything suspicious. She sighs and places her hand on mine.
Too damn natural. But we don’t stop.
At home, we hurry inside, walking through the overgrown yard and into the rundown house. She looks around the kitchen, her gaze resting on the floor for a few moments.
Then she looks at me. Confusion. Terror. A complicated mess of emotions.
“I’m going to grab a shower, then we’ll watch the movie?”
I force a smile onto my face, hoping it looks real… non-Grinch-like. “Sure.”
When she leaves for her shower, I step into the brightly decorated living room and urge myself to end this.
I shouldn’t turn on the TV and rent the movie on demand.
I shouldn’t go into the kitchen and make some hot cocoa…
which I only bought earlier because I know she likes it.
It was what she was drinking before Rico confronted her.
I shouldn’t want her.
But I do these things because I want her to be happy.
That’s the story I tell myself.
Deep down, I know the truth is more selfish. I want her to be happy, sure.
Also, I just plain want her.