Page 126 of Bad Influence
“Killian,” I breathe out. I grip his wrist where he’s cupping my cheek.
“You’re the most beautiful part of my life and I’ve always been told I can’t have you because I’m not good enough,” he whispers. “When you refused to come with me, I believed you thought the same thing.”
I grab his shirt, pulling him close as I tilt my head back to kiss him.
“Killian, I was scared. Scared of leaving and scared of how much I wanted you. I didn’t realize until now that I was basically injecting myself with a slow poison by staying there. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
I pull back to meet his eyes. “For the record, I’m not scared of marryingyou.I’m scared of marriage altogether. I need some time before I stop associating it with everything our families wanted my life to be.”
Killian’s hand slips to the back of my neck as he leans down to kiss me.
“For the record, I’m not going to propose.”
He turns us around so we’re walking back the way we came, back to the Met.
“What are we going to do?” I ask, looking up at him.
“We won’t have to do anything. They’ll come here when they’ve had the time to digest the information,” he says.
“And that’s a good thing?”
His eyes cut to mine. “It means you won’t have to go back to California where they can emotionally manipulate you into agreeing to whatever they want.”
I open my mouth to argue and Killian presses his thumb on my lips.
“I’m not saying you’re easily manipulated,” he says softly. “I’m just saying that they will try everything in their power to make you feel guilty for living your life and to make them feel better and ease your guilt, you’ll be more likely to agree with them. They know how to play with people.”
Back outside the Met, he gives his ticket to the valet to get the car.
“So we just wait for them to show up and until then, we pretend our lives aren’t being used for gossip fodder?” I ask.
“When were our lives not part of the gossip cycle?” Killian asks.
This is true. I still feel this restlessness in my chest, which has replaced the guilt and anxiety. Now that I know the band aid is about to be ripped off, I want it done and over with so I can be free.
“Will you show me all the paintings you did of me?” I ask, resting my chin on his shoulder. In my heels, I can just about reach that far.
“If you want to see them,” he says.
“I can’t believe you have a soft ooey-gooey center inside this grumpy exterior.” I smile at him which quickly turns into a laugh when he glares at me.
When the valet comes back, Killian takes the keys from him and we drive back home. The whole while, I can’t stop looking at him, the way he easily maneuvers the car through traffic, the way he still hasn’t let go of my hand. The light flashing across his face every so often.
He glances at me and smiles, soft and confident and my heart feels like it’s going to burst. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or the day after. I do know that, tonight, the man I love told me he loves me back, and that’s all I want to remember.
Killian is right. Our families are master manipulators because they leave us hanging for three days before I receive a text from Carter telling me they’re at The Plaza and want to see me.
“Do you think all of them are here?” I ask. I show the message to Killian who’s lying in bed beside me. He looks up from his sketchbook and at the text message.
“Of course they are,” he says with a scoff. “When I had Bronchitis, Gran took me to the hospital because my parents were too busy. This is more important than that.”
“When I twisted my ankle falling down from the bicycle, my parents didn’t find out until three days later,” I say.
Killian smirks at me. “When I jumped off the second floor balcony and cracked my head open, my parents were in Aspen and told our driver that if I was old enough to think I can fly then I’m old enough to be left alone in the hospital. I was ten.”
“We should sue our parents for negligence,” I say.
“Why do you think I went no contact?” Setting his sketchbook aside, he slides under the covers and turns to face me.
