I arch a brow.“Who’s the victim?”
“Some guy named Alan.He showed up, donated a bunch of cash at the bazaar, and got burned when a bottle tipped over on his leg.”She lifts a bent bottle as proof.
And right then, Fenella walks back into the room.Her face is clean now, her hair brushed, her navy sweater neat.She looks softer, warmer—and maybe it’s the light, but her lips look plumper, dewier, like she put something on them.God help me, I want to kiss her.
19
Christmas Eve
Laird
“You seem familiar with my mom,” Fenella says rhetorically, one eyebrow arched.
“Yes, we are,” Sharon answers before I can say anything.“You never come home on Christmas Eve, so Laird’s the one who always visits.I can’t even tell which of my kids actually belongs to me.”She sighs and walks back to the kitchen.
Fenella scowls.I can tell she’s feeling guilty now.
“So,” she says, clearing her throat as she drops onto the sofa beside me, “do you come to Boston every Christmas?”
“Yup.There’s an attendance rule if I still wanna be recognized by my father.”
She eyes the eggnog in my hand.“Does my mother also check your attendance every year?”
“Yup.She rewards my presence with something holy.”I lift my glass before taking another sip.
“Oh…” Fenella curls her knees to her chest.“I thought you came to see me.”
Her words hit me like a slow realization.Only then do I get what she’s thinking.She must’ve been disappointed, thinking the only reason I showed up was her mom.She’s so damn easy to read.
“I thought you asked for some space,” I say with a crooked smile, remembering what she told me at Gene’s office the last time I saw her.
Since that day, she hasn’t answered my calls or texts.Just one message saying she’s in Boston.At least she kept me in the loop.So that’s what I did.I respected her wish to cool off and sort things out before coming back to Beacon Hill.
“Yeah, but—” she huffs.“Forget it.”
I raise an eyebrow at her tone.Not wanting to tease her too long, I set my glass on the table and scoot closer.My thumb grazes her cheek.
“Are you still mad at me?”
Fenella curls up even tighter, but that doesn’t stop me.I lift her chin gently, forcing her to look at me.
“Weren’t you the one who was mad at me?”she shoots back.Her eyes shimmer, ready to spill tears any second, but she still narrows them at me with that stubborn glare.
I frown.“I wasn’t mad at you.”
Hearing that, she lowers her knees and sits cross-legged on the sofa, her posture stiff.
“Yes, you were,” she fires back.“You saw that ad at the office and lost it.You stormed into Gene’s office and beat up Alan because of it.”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down, baby.Take a breath.”
I raise both hands in surrender.“Calm down,” I say, my voice low and steady, hoping she’ll actually listen.“Alright, I admit it.I saw the ad.I got angry.I threatened Alan.But didn’t you say you’d try to trust me more and work on better communication between us?”
Fenella’s forehead tightens.Her lips press into a thin line.She’s waiting for me to explain, and I’m not here to fight her again.
“My adrenaline got the best of me, sure.But one thing’s certain—I’m not the one lying to you.Yeah, I was jealous of Alan.And now we know who he really is.You saw it yourself, how that bastard kissed me just to provoke me like some kind of sociopath.”
Fenella’s eyes widen.Her jaw drops.She scoffs.“Maybeyou’rethe one with the problem.Possessiveness, anger issues—you name it.You said he was tailing us, studying us.Now he knows how to push your buttons.Can’t you control yourself for once?What if he presses charges?”
