Marry Screw Kill(48)

Always the public gentleman, James pulls out my chair and I sit down. Sin follows suit and helps Emma into her seat across from me. To any outsider, we look like two couples set out to enjoy a meal together.

“So, this is the club,” James says, glancing around the room. “Harlow and I dine here often. I prefer this crowd to the local restaurants. I hate running into patients or their families.”

“Afraid of the masses, huh, James?” Emma asks with a snarky undertone.

I move my foot under the table toward her, gently tap her leg, and shake my head when she looks my way. I need her to be on her best behavior.

“Just kidding, of course,” Emma adds. I lower my shoulders and exhale.

Sin flicks his whiskey-colored eyes to mine and knits his brow. I can only imagine the anxiety showing on my face. I can’t afford a big scene between Emma and James today. When James gets angry or worked up about something, he wants to f*ck away his anger. I almost cringe at the thought.

One more day. Just one, and I will never have to worry about his hands on me again.

The server arrives at the table to ask what we would like to drink. It eases some of the tension in the air. I need to keep distracting James, even if it means talking about our wedding—anything to keep him from suspecting I’m leaving him tomorrow. I order my first dirty martini. God knows I need at least one to get through the rest of this crazy day.

“So, you live in New York City?” Emma asks while leaning toward Sin. Her white blouse falls open, wide enough to give him a perfect view of her cleavage. I grit my teeth at her display, but not at her personally. She has no idea I’m battling these odd feelings about Sin—feelings I can’t admit to having while sitting next to my fiancé, his own uncle.

“All my life,” he replies. I want to add minus a year in Australia, but I don’t. James would wonder how I know so much about Sin. In the past three days, I’ve learned more about him than the man I’m supposed to marry.

One man is a vault. The other an open book.

The contrast is what helped me see what was going on in my life more clearly, along with Sin’s warmth, humanity, and sincerity. I could kick myself for being so blind.

“I dream of going to New York,” Emma states.

“Me, too,” I add, because it’s true. My dream would be attending NYU and earning a degree in creative writing. Which will never happen since I’m having a hard time pulling together enough money to walk out James’ front door.

“I’ll have to take you there someday.” James reaches over to touch my hand. I fight the urge to pull away from his touch and flash him a weak smile instead.

I bury myself in the menu, searching for what I’ll order, even though I could recite each page by heart. Emma continues to ask Sin questions and I continue to tune them out. Finally, our drinks arrive and I almost order my next one as the server sets mine down.

Sin’s napkin drops beside my purse on the floor next to me and I reach down to pick it up for him, but his hand rests on my arm to stop me. A sliver of electricity pulses over my skin at the point of his touch.

“I’ve got it.” He moves quickly and rustles around on the floor. I can’t see what he’s doing, but he sits back up with the napkin in hand. He gives me a warm smile that does unspeakable things to me—things James’ smile has never done.

“Sinclair,” Emma preens, not missing a beat. Her interest in Sin is quite obvious. I think she would be perched on his lap if we were at one of the bars downtown. “What a name? I love it.”

I have to roll my eyes. Of course she loves his name and everything below his belt. I need to snap out of it and let it go. Emma’s my best friend. She’s single. He’s single. And I’m in limbo.

“Well, that makes one of us.” Sin chuckles and glances at me for a little longer than he should.

“Sinclair has always hated his name.” James throws his comment on the table with no emotion, as if he were referring to the weather. I notice a frown on Sin’s face and I want to tell him how much I love his name. It’s raw and strong, like him—forbidden with a certain edge—but I keep my mouth shut.

“Hate is a strong word. Let’s just say I prefer my nickname, Sin.” I swear, Emma’s eyes become dreamy. “Harlow, your name is unique.” Sin turns his attention to me. I shift in my chair, unsure of how much to engage with him.

“I can tell you how she got her name.” Emma solves the problem for me.

“Wait. I know,” James interrupts. I squint my eyes at him, wondering what he will say. “When she was born with a head full of blond curls, the nurses all said she looked like a baby version of Jean Harlow—the old movie actress from the nineteen-thirties—so her mother named her after the actress.”

“But …” I say in shock. What? My world starts to spin and I become light-headed. I never told James the story about my mother naming me. I’ve only shared it with one other person in my life. Emma.

“You remember telling me, right?” I stare back at James in disbelief. He knows he has been caught and now he’s trying to weasel his way out of it.

“Uh …” I stammer.

“She has trouble remembering things after her mother died,” James interrupts before I can tell him I don’t remember and it’s not because I forgot. I never once mentioned it to him. He never let me talk about my mother at all. She was a taboo subject in his house.