Page 203 of Sinister

“At first, it was just my own little secret,” Sin continues. “Then, there were the murders, and then we got together, but then we had that falling-out at the ball . . . I guess I just didn’t want to overwhelm you with more secrets, if that makes sense.”

I nod. He seems earnest. And for a moment I feel bad for doubting him in the first place.

We both fall silent, the unease between us starting to fade.

But there are some things around this room that don’t make sense, nor do they particularly validate his version of events.

Although there are some newer-ish items lying around, there are also old ones: a broken radio in a corner, a tube TV behind a stack of old records. Sin is not the only one who’s been down here.

He follows my line of sight, and I note the tension in his body. His lips are drawn in a tight line, and I’m sure he’s trying to think of excuses, or . . . more lies?

“Why do you think they did that?” I ask suddenly, needing to change the subject. I don’t know if I can handle more revelations at this particular moment—at least not while we’re under the fucking ground.

He frowns at my words, so I add, “The Puritans? Why would they torch Arnoult the First’s mausoleum?”

“Perhaps they know of his death prophecy as well? That he said he will be reborn on the next blood moon?” Sin replies with a shrug.

“Do you think they blame him for those deaths in their community?”

“It certainly seemed so.”

“Would your family be in danger, you think? They might want to take revenge on Arnoult the First’s descendants.”

“Don’t worry about them. They’re fine.” Sin waves his hand as if a mob of angry people isn’t cause for concern. “My father hired some fancy security firm after the last murder, so I doubt anyone can get close enough to my house.”

“That’s good,” I add pensively. He doesn’t seem remotely worried about them, so perhaps that security firm is that good. But it’s just a little . . . odd, isn’t it? Could a security team save them from a crowd of fanatics?

He comes to sit on the floor in front of me. Taking my left foot, he removes my shoe and sock before he starts massaging it softly. He does the same to my right foot, and a wave of relaxation envelops me.

“You have a magic touch,” I say on an almost-moan.

“Glad you can recognize my skills.” He winks at me. “Don’t tell anyone but . . .” He leans in conspiratorially. “This is why I spent all those hours in the gym.”

“To spoil me with feet massages?” I laugh aloud.

“To spoil you. Period.” His expression is suddenly serious. “To protect you, keep you safe and comfortable. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, Petra.”

A shiver goes down my back as I gaze into his earnest expression. And there it is—the reason why, no matter how many doubts I may have, or crazy theories, I will always be partial to him.

Because no one’s ever looked at me like that.

No one’s ever put me first before.

No one.

“I think you’re doing a good job, Sin.”

“Am I?” He swallows hard. “Do you think . . .” He suddenly seems unsure of himself. “Do you think I would make a good father?”

His question surprises me. But what surprises me more is my immediate answer.

“Of course. You will make the best father.” And I mean it. He’s so gentle with me, so loving, that I know he’s going to offer the same to our child.

A shy smile pulls at his lips.

“I want that. I want him to know I’m going to be there for him. That I will not let anyone hurt him or bully him. That . . .” He trails off as he takes a deep breath. “I never want our baby to feel lonely, Petra.”

Somehow, those words hit me right in the heart.