Chapter 28 #2
That was always what I did. I reached higher than anyone.
I learned more than anyone and taught myself what school didn’t.
I always wore the latest fashions so that I never looked out of place anywhere I went.
I earned the family financial conglomerate more business partners and investors across different financial sectors than all my siblings combined at any point. It was never enough. It never would be.
I gritted my teeth and folded my arm around my churning stomach. The toilet seat lid knocked against its hinges as I rocked back and forth.
“I have to go,” I said, my voice small and flat. “Don’t count me in for anything until March.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
The sound of the call ending chimed with false cheer. Several unopened text messages from Maeve popped up. I ignored them as nausea climbed up my throat. I rushed to the sink and splashed water over my face.
“Síbhean?”
The door creaked. Warm arms wrapped around me. His chin settled against the top of my head, and I melted against his chest. The reflection we made in the mirror showed so much adoration it cracked a part of me wide open.
It wasn’t real. It wouldn’t last. I repeated those truths over and over, as if they would protect my battered heart. Somewhere along the line of this stupid personal dare, I’d lost a bit of myself to him, and I was desperate to get it back before he realized what he’d stolen.
“You alright?”
I exhaled, nose burrowed against his arm. “I’m fine. Just need a moment.”
His scent soothed me more than a good night’s sleep ever had. In a few minutes, I’d be back to my ball-busting self, with no self-pity, no moping, and no worries. Back to the me people expected to see, the version people liked.
“Look. Earlier, when I snapped at you…” He scratched one of his bearded cheeks, his mouth twisted sideways. The hesitation was almost cute on a big, tatted mobster like him, but I didn’t have the energy to smile.
“Is this your version of an apology?”
“I don’t do apologies, sweetheart.”
I grunted and thunked my head against his chest. “And I don’t forgive assholes. Try harder. That was a poor first attempt.”
His fingers kneaded my hips. “Only you could wrangle one out of me.”
“Well, go on then. I’m listening.”
“Spread your legs, and I’ll tongue the words for you.”
I slapped his arm. “Un vrai chaud lapin.”
“Sounds dirty.” He hummed and nosed my neck.
“Means you’re a randy devil.”
“Like I said. Dirty.”
“You are.”
“I look forward to dirtying you up some more.” He cupped my crotch, his fingers pressing into my slit.
I hissed at the raw ache between my legs and caught his arm, then literally crawled up over his shoulder to avoid the touch. I jumped down and swung my arms in surrender, half caught up in laughter at the mix of shock and lasciviousness on his face.
“No more. My vagina needs a break.”
He huffed a chuckle against my skin, grappling me close. “Try that again. You won’t get away so easily next time.”
He seemed obsessed with touching me today. Not that I was complaining, but it was such a change.
“I wouldn’t bet on your chances.”
“You don’t know how dedicated I can be when motivated.
” He lifted me onto the vanity and shifted between my legs.
“And right now, I’m very motivated. There’s no getting away from me anymore.
I’ll get so deep under your skin, síbhean, you’ll die before you get me out, and then you’ll drag me down to hell with you because you’re the rush I’ll live for. ”
Somewhere in that speech, I stopped breathing.
The rough grit of his words was music to my ears.
It was like sniffing the most enticing fragrance in existence, or like unearthing a new mixture of chemicals and their explosive reactions.
Yet instead of making me float, my emotions took a nosedive to the pit of my stomach.
These were words I’d waited years to hear, but so far, he’d done nothing to prove them.
In fact, he’d done the opposite, which made them feel cheap and tainted.
“How about breakfast?” I said with enough cheer to fool the best of them.
“Breakfast?”
“Yes. You know the meal you have in the morning.” I ducked out of his hold and back into his bedroom. I snatched my underwear out of his discarded pants pocket and slipped them on. “Do you have eggs?”
I didn’t wait for him to answer, already halfway to his bare kitchen.
Surprisingly, food packed the shelves of his fridge.
Stacked and filled containers took over the tallest shelf, while colorful fruits and leafy vegetables crammed the crisper drawers, and cheeses, an array of yogurts, and condiments lined the top.
I fully expected a letdown of an empty fridge when I barged in here, only to find this treasure trove.
I grabbed what I needed to make a yogurt sponge cake and headed for the pantry.
“What are you doing?”
“Baking.”
I set all my ingredients on the counter and turned in search of bowls and a whisk.
Avoidance was currently my middle name. Between his constant confessions and my mother’s call, I needed something stable and immutable.
Hence baking. There was little else that made as much sense as a basic chemical reaction.
The process never changed—several substances combined to create a new product.
There was comfort in its guarantee. No guessing games.
No disapprovals or disparagements. No confusing sweet words and no fluttering feelings that were screwing up all my plans.
“Why?”
I winced under the weight of that question. I probably looked a bit crazy storming in here, half naked, and taking control of his kitchen, like I had any right to. My face flamed under the embarrassment of losing my well-practiced composure.
Oven on, I cracked the eggs over the sugar and yogurt in the bowl, unable to meet his eyes.
“It helps me think. Probably like cooking for you.”
“I don’t cook.”
My brows furrowed, gaze flicking over to the fridge as I whisked the ingredients.
“A cook comes twice a week. Whatever I don’t eat in time, he takes away and replaces.”
“You don’t like cooking?”
“Don’t have the patience.”
“I get that. Cooking frustrates me endlessly.”
“But you bake.” It was more a question than a statement.
“That’s different. It relaxes me. It’s about mixing portions of exact measurements to obtain a mixture, generally homogeneous, that will become something completely different.
There’s a simplicity to it you can’t find elsewhere.
It’s a predetermined feedback loop for a specific set of steps.
No guessing required, unless you change the formula.
” With the oil and baking powder added, I buttered the mold.
“And that’s the fun part. It’s as much about experimentation as it is the enjoyment of the end result, whether it fails and sours the tongue or tastes like summer in your mouth.
It all depends on nothing but you and your skill at combining ingredients, following instructions, and improvising if need be. ”
The clinking of the whisk against the mixing bowl echoed across his cavernous apartment, making his silence all the more poignant.
I poured the mixture into the mold as my phone chirped.
The moment the oven thudded shut and my confection lit up inside, I checked my phone.
Anything to keep avoiding these awkward moments of Cillian’s oppressive and unrelenting stare, like he was dissecting me and analyzing my insides.
His gaze might as well have been a laser pointer highlighting my defects.
My fingers cramped with the constant need to rake through my tousled hair, swipe under my eyes for smeared leftover makeup, and tug on the ends of my torn top, as if that would make it cover my butt.
I checked through Maeve’s older unread messages sent yesterday afternoon.
Maeve
So? Did you get to twist his head on straight? How’d it feel to tell him off?
What’s the verdict then? Still going with your plan?
You banged him again, didn’t you? Careful, babe, this is a slippery slope. He’ll only hurt you again.
Well, guess someone’s getting pounded into oblivion. That’s the only good excuse to not answer my texts.
Erel is taking me out to dinner. Text, bitch, or I’m not bringing you home anything.
I snickered, happy to have dodged another evening third-wheeling with them. It almost made this emotional rollercoaster worth it.
The newest message was from a couple of minutes ago.
Hey, just checking in. It’s been sixteen hours, and you’re starting to freak me out. You alive over there?
The aroma of gluten rising and the caramelization of sugar along the crust soothed my nerves. I texted back before she decided to go all vigilante after Cillian with a shovel and mortar bricks.
“I should probably head home after the cake is ready and leave you in peace,” I said, head buried in my phone, actively avoiding his stifling presence.
For a big man, Cillian moved faster than expected. One second, my fingers flew over the keys. The next, they typed over a void before my brain caught up with my empty hand.
He dangled my phone high above his head and buried his other hand in the back of my hair. Stony seriousness morphed his features.
“No such thing as peace, love. Did you think I wasn’t serious?”
While I wasn’t a small woman by any means, without my heels on, he still had a good head over me.
“Give it back. I outgrew these sorts of games years ago.”
“Let me make this clear, unless you didn’t understand me the first few times.” Prickles of pain ran over my skull as he tugged my head back. “You’re never leaving my side again, even if I have to tie you to the bed. Even if I have to chain you to me.”
I frowned, caught off guard by the intensity in his voice. His emotions seemed to be jumping all over the place.
“I’m not a toy. If you say jump, I won’t ask how high.”
“I can’t lose you.” He nuzzled my hair and breathed me in. “I won’t.”
“What’s gotten into you?”
“You. Fuck. It’s all you.”