The Villain (Boston Belles, #2)(6)

I’d poisoned myself.

Rambled to Cillian drunkenly.

Let him undress me, make me puke, give me a shot, hurl me into the bathtub.

Then confessed my undying love for him with vomit pieces still decorating my mouth.

Kill threw a bathrobe into my hands, all business.

“Dry up.”

I sprang up on my feet, doing as I was told.

He rounded on me with Aisling’s spare dress, helping me into it.

“I don’t want your help,” I bit out, feeling my cheeks flush.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I don’t care what you want.”

Pursing my lips, I watched his dark figure in the mirror as he fastened my corset, working quicker and more efficiently than any seamstress I’d ever seen in action. It was jarring. His fingers moved like magic around the ribbon, looping it into the hoops expertly to tie me like a bowed present.

It dawned on me he knew I was poisoned from the moment he stepped into the room and saw the flowers in my hair, but hadn’t offered to help me until I asked him to call an ambulance.

I could have died.

He wasn’t kidding when he said he only saved me because he didn’t want me to die on his watch—he honestly didn’t care.

Cillian tugged at the satin strings of my dress, tightening it around me.

“You’re hurting me,” I hissed, narrowing my eyes at the mirror in front of us.

“That’s what you get for having a bleeding heart.”

“The flower, or organ?”

“Both. One is a fast poison. The other slow, but just as destructive.”

My eyes clung to him in our reflection. Graceful and self-assured. He stood tall and proud, never used profanity, and was the most meticulous person I knew.

It was what I admired about him the most. The thin film of properness engulfing the chaos teeming inside him. I knew that underneath the flawless exterior laid something untamed and dangerous.

It felt like our secret. The perfect Cillian Fitzpatrick was, in fact, not so perfect. And all I wanted was to find out how.

“You weren’t going to help me. You were going to leave me to die.” My tone was frighteningly mild. I became more sober with each passing second. “Why did you?”

“A poisoned bridesmaid makes bad press.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” I said sarcastically.

“Chivalry might be dead, but you’re not, so shut up and be grateful.” He gave the satin cords another yank. I winced.

He did have a point. Cillian not only saved me this morning but he also didn’t try any funny business and was probably running just as late as I was now because my dumb ass had decided to pick poisonous flowers.

Begrudgingly, I muttered, “Thanks.”

He arched an eyebrow, as if to ask—for what?

“For being a gentleman,” I clarified.

Our eyes clashed in the mirror.

“I’m no gentleman, Flower Girl.”

He finished with a final pull, then stepped away and picked up his blazer from the mattress. I had to think on my feet, fast. My gaze drifted to the window. The lone cloud was still there.

Watching me.

Taunting me.

Waiting to be used.

You only get one miracle.

This one was worth it.

I took a deep breath and said the words aloud, not wanting to half-ass it in case there was a fine print and I needed to do the whole Hocus Pocus thing.

“I wish you’d fall in love with me.”

The words surged out of my mouth like a blizzard, making him freeze midstride on his way to the door. He turned around, his face a perfect mask of harsh brutality.

Drawing a breath, I continued.

“I wish you’d fall in love with me so hard you won’t be able to think about anything else. To eat. To breathe. When my Aunt Tilda died, she granted me one miracle. This is the wish I choose. Your love. There’s a world beyond your ice walls, Cillian Fitzpatrick, and it is full of laughter and joy and warmth.” I took a step in his direction, my knees wobbling. “I’m going to pay back your favor. I’m going to save your life in my own way.”

A curse.

A spell.

A hope.

A dream.

For the first time since he entered the room, I saw something resembling curiosity on his face. Even my naked body splayed on his lap didn’t make him as much as blink twice. But this? This pierced his exterior, even if it only made the tiniest of cracks. His brows pinched, and he advanced toward me, erasing the space between us in three confident strides. Outside, Belle and Aisling banged their fists on the door, yelling that we were late.

My entire life spun out of focus at that moment. My carefully crafted fantasy unraveling into a nightmare.

Cillian tipped my chin up with his finger, his eyes hard on mine.

“Listen to me carefully, Persephone, because I will only say it once. You are going to walk out of this room and forget you know me, just as I’ve failed to notice your existence thus far. You will meet a nice, sane, boring guy. A perfect fit for your nice, sane, boring self. You’ll get married to him, have his babies, and thank your lucky stars I wasn’t horny enough to take you up on your less than subtle offer. I’m giving you the gift of turning you down. Take it and run for the hills.”

He smiled for the first time, and it was so unpleasant, so twisted that it knocked the breath out of my chest. His smile told me he wasn’t happy. Hadn’t been for years. Decades, even.