“Breaking and entering. Theft. Cyberstalking. General stalking—or harassment, if you will.” I list what she’s done; it’s the same things I did. “Should I continue?”
“But I didn’t get caught.”
She didn’t get... “Baby, you are now aware that I knew you made another account before you even messaged me. I’m not the writer here, so correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe that is, by definition, getting caught. You want me as badly as I want you.”
Also, it’s not the best argument for her point. Thus proving that she likes what I did, and this is all for show. Based on the red that’s nowdefinitelyflaming her cheeks, I rest my case.
She still doesn’t deny it.
I tug her to her feet. Just then she realizes that people are filing into the church, which distracts her from the fact that I have yet to let go of her hand—and I don’t plan to.
“You being here is insensitive and offensive to the dead.” She knows as well as I do that arguing is futile.
“Seeing as I killed the man, this might be the least bad thing I’ve done. Now, come on. You don’t want to be the last one in.” Because that means attention, and attention means pissing her mom off.
The panic from earlier replaces the shock and horror as she scans the courtyard for someone—I see where her priorities are. She hurries along beside me, alternating between squeezing my hand for dear life and letting hers go completely limp, as if it might make her look like the innocent party if someone starts pointing fingers.
“Mina,” a voice calls from behind us.
My future demon-in-law.
I don’t need to turn around to confirm it. Mina turning pale is all I need to know.
“Stay put, or I might decide to be honest about how our relationship started,” I mutter before allowing her to release my hand.
Her subtle nod tells me she heard. She slowly turns to face the petite woman pushing mid-fifties.
Christine’s hair is still jet black, styled in a modest clip-back that matches the rest of her pious, self-righteous attitude, which she’s decorated in a black blouse and lace skirt that reaches past her knees.
If looks could kill, Christine would be rolling up two more caskets for me and Mina beside Thomas, and she’d do it with a forced, friendly smile on her face. She drags her eyes up and down me, then does the same to Mina, lingering on the oversized coat on her shoulders, then focuses back on me.
I can feel my girl shaking beside me, and I amthisclose to throwing her over my shoulder and getting her away from the poisoned vessel that birthed her. Moving closer to her will have to do for now.
“Did you want us to save you a?—”
Christine cuts off Mina’s attempt at breaking the tension. “And who is this?” She offers her hand to me, plastering on the fakest smile I’ve ever seen as people walk around us to grab their seats.
I lean over to accept it, placing my arm around Mina’s waist as I do. “Leo. It’s nice to finally meet you, Christine.”
We’ve met before. She just doesn’t know it.
Her eyes twitch when they slide to the spot where I’m touching her daughter. “How do you know Mina?”
“He’s my fr?—”
“Boyfriend,” I finish for Mina.
“Your...” Christine blinks, seeming to lose herself for a second. I don’t buy her bullshit innocent attitude for two seconds. “Oh. You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.”
There’s something about the tilt in her voice that sets me on edge.
Mina’s soul practically leaves her body, and she might as well have killed me, too, when a glassy sheen takes over her eyes. I watch, in real time, as she escapes into her mind because she just looks... empty.
And it’s my fault.
The magnitude of what Mina was so stressed about since the moment I saw her hits me.
I don’t know who the fuck I’m mad at more—me, for putting her in this situation, or her mother, for a lifetime of psychological abuse. This isn’t the sort of reaction that comes from an off-handed response. This is what happens after years of being worn down little by little.
