Releasing his hold on her wrists, he fixed her jeans for her and tugged her shirt back into place before flashing her a bright smile and offering his arm like he was some kind of rake escorting a debutante to the ball. “Shall we?”
Ignoring his arm, she stepped around him, nose tilted in the air and headed for the dining room.
Maybe she would take him up on his offer to teach her how to stab people. And then she’d hold that knife to his throat and force him to get her off one final time before she sank the blade into his chest.
Killian
* * *
If looks could kill, as the saying went, he’d be bleeding out right on his dining room floor.
And judging by the sly grins Reagan and Lochlan kept sending each other, his princess’s murderous rage hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Fucking adorable.
Seated at the head of the long rectangular table, he sipped at the wine Brody had brought up from the cellar. His cousin, the only redhead of the family, sat to Killian’s right, a carefully crafted expression of boredom on his face. In reality, Killian knew, he was categorizing every movement, every tone shift, every expression of the people around the table. Even with family, he never let his guard down.
To his left was Aria, openly sulking and trying to murder him with her eyes, much to his continued amusement. Beside her sat Rowan’s latest conquest, the quiet, lovely Clara, her head bowed so she didn’t have to look anyone in the eye as she picked at her shepherd’s pie. Every now and then she would glance up, a shy smile curving her lips at some quip from Reagan or bawdy joke from Lochlan.
She really was a sweet little thing. Too sweet for the likes of Rowan, in Killian’s opinion. His cousin’s son might have been family, but he was absolutely useless. Murphy didn’t seem to mind his son living off him halfway into his twenties, and while Killian understood his cousin’s inclinations to give his son the safe, comfortable life he’d never been afforded, he still couldn’t quite come to terms with Rowan’s entitlement.
“So, Aria.” As she had been since they sat down, Reagan once more tried to draw her de facto sister-in-law into conversation. “Are you in school still?”
“I graduated early. With honors. I’m supposed to walk in May, but I suppose that will depend on whether I’m still being held hostage by your brother.”
At her dry words, Brody scowled, but the twins both grinned as if highly amused by her answer. And knowing them, they probably were.
“I’m sure we can make that work,” Killian assured her. “As long as you’re a good girl.”
It was an asshole thing to say, even if all his cousins and his sister were aware of his proclivities. But he couldn’t resist needling her when she was acting like a pouty child who’d been denied a treat.
To his delight, her cheeks went bright pink and her eyes narrowed. “Fuck you.”
“Not in front of the family, darling.”
“Asshole.”
“Guilty as charged.”
Beside Aria, poor Clara’s eyes had gone round as saucers, and she was looking from Aria to Killian with something akin to wonder in her eyes. Two seats down, Murphy was shaking his head and muttering something Killian couldn’t hear but that had Reagan throwing her head back and laughing, long and loud.
And just like that, the grief he always thought he’d wrestled down into a box deep inside him came welling up, threatening to choke the air right out of him. His parents, his aunts and uncles, they should all be here for this. He could see them so clearly, the way his father would try to shake his head disapprovingly, but he’d be hiding a smile the whole time. The way his Aunt Pat would have laughed right along with Reagan while the twin boys she’d loved so much sat as close to her as they could possibly get. Brody’s father, Uncle Finn, would have clapped Killian on the shoulder and winked approvingly.
And his mother, god, his mother would have loved Aria. Would have approved wholeheartedly of the hell she was giving him, even if she would have been pushing nonstop for them to get married already.
“Excuse me.”
Plucking his wine from the table, he rose and walked from the room without looking back. He carried his wine to his office, closing the door behind him before moving to stare out the window that overlooked the front lawn. He needed a minute, just a minute to put himself back to rights, and if his family knew what was good for them, they would give him that minute.
“Hey. What’s wrong? Why did you leave like that?”
The mother of his child, apparently, did not know what was good for her.
Par for the fucking course.
“Go back to dinner, Aria.”
A soft snick as the door once more shut behind them. “Not until you tell me what that was all about. One minute you’re fine, the next you’re storming out with a weird look on your face.”
