Page 37 of Bad Influence
My stomach flips.
“Just people,” I say. “Out there in the world.” I wave towards the windows to indicate the world I’ve never had the chance to explore.
His arm brushes mine as he steps closer, bending down until he’s close enough that I can smell the hint of his aftershave.
“Are we talking about serial killers?” He whispers. “Will you bring a cult of serial killers here?”
Laughter bubbles up out of me at his ridiculous words and I giggle, suddenly forgetting his proximity to me. Killian’s eyes soften, his mouth shifting into an almost smile. Living with him is bringing back a lot of old memories. Such as his inability to smile. Though, if I watch carefully, I can almost see one every now and then.
“I’m not going to bring serial killers here,” I tell him, still laughing. “You can’t trust them and I want to live long enough to see the world.”
“The world, huh?” He leans back, going back to his vegetables.
I walk to the cupboard and grab a box of crackers, the ones I hid there a couple of days ago. If I drink wine on an empty stomach, I’m going to wake up with a headache, even if it’s just one glass.
I bite into a cracker, brushing off the crumbs as they fall onto my top. I return to my spot next to Killian.
“If not the world, then at least a small portion of it,” I say, dipping my cracker into the wine.
“I’m sure you will,” Killian says.
I hum, not exactly sure if it will ever happen. The future is looking a little ambiguous right now. More clear than it used to be and still not clear enough. I feel unsettled.
“You can start with New York,” Killian adds.
I glance at him. “Oh, am I allowed to leave the apartment now?”
“Maybe. We’ll see how you behave,” he says.
I snort at that, raising my glass to drink my wine. Should I be suspicious he’s being so nice to me all of a sudden? Probably. I mean, he’s always nice, just a little grumpy.
“I bet you’d just love to keep me locked up in your tower with you,” I say.
This time, the knife doesn’t falter. It comes down hard on the chopping block, harder than necessary. Killian’s grip on the handle tightens, the veins in his hand popping with the grip. Am I being mean by not telling him I’m not engaged to Beckett anymore? I’m living with him. We’re bickering all the time. It’s almost like---
No, don’t go there, Caroline. You know better than that.
“The company isn’t that bad,” Killian says eventually. “What were you going to make?”
I appreciate the change of topic. I take a seat at the island, letting him cook dinner for us while I tell him all the places Lilith showed me on our walk. Topics which are easier to digest and don’t have me questioning my whole life. As if I don’t do enough of that already.
Being with Killian is easy. I don’t have to pretend to be anyone other than who I am. He’s probably one of the few people who can tell when I’m being fake. And maybe that should scare me because it means he can see how hollow I really am.
CHAPTER 12
Caroline
It’s Friday night,which means I’m getting ready for Lilith and Eve’s party. They keep telling me it’s very casual and I’m not sure I’ve ever been to a casual party before. My mother had her stylist ready for us every time we needed to go to any event. A casual affair meant we were still showing up in dresses worth thousands of dollars to an acquaintance’s house for lunch.
My hair and make-up is great. Make-up is light, just a glowy skin tint, concealer, lip gloss, and mascara. Hair is in rollers while I’m in my robe, standing in front of my closet, looking through the few dresses I’ve packed. They are not…casual. If I wear any of them, I’ll stand out for sure.
There’s one dress that’s cute, light, summer-y. It’s black so it’s good for a party and I’ll blend easily into the crowd. But the last time I wore it Beckett had reacted so harshly that I’ve never touched the dress again. I swallow thickly, my fingers hovering over the dress.
With my heart pounding, I pull down the hanger. Beckett’s not here. And even if he was, I’m quite handy with stabby things, apparently.
I pull the dress on and stand in front of the mirror. It’s cinched in at the waist and then the skirt flows out, resting justabove my knees. The sleeves are short and slightly puffed. The neckline is deeper than I’ve ever worn, displaying the curves of my breasts in ways none of my other clothes do. For a second, I’m back to that summer evening last year, when I wore this dress for dinner. The way Beckett’s words had eaten away at my confidence.
“Caroline?”
