Page 242 of Sinister

So you . . . don’t want to?

That’s not the issue. But he never spoke to me about it. It feels like an ambush.

You’re making him sound like a diabolical mastermind

I think he is . . .

He’s your boyfriend! Why are you with him if you think that of him?

I’m not sure what to think anymore. I love him, but something is off about him, and I don’t know why.

I haven’t told her yet about all the connections I’ve found about present-day Sin and past-life Sin or the fact that he might be immortal. Not that anyone would believe me about that—not even Ames.

Answer me this then: Do you feel unsafe with him?

I stare at the message and take a moment to think about it. Do I? Do I feel unsafe with him?

No . . .

That’s your answer then.

But what if he’s a murderer? I want to yell.

A knock at the door startles me.

“Are you all right, Petra?” Sin asks.

I clear my throat and flush the toilet before placing my phone in my pocket.

“I’m good,” I say with a smile as I get out.

He pulls me to his side and leads me back to the dinner table.

The conversation continues with Sin saying all the right things and impressing my parents to the point that they look at him as some god walking among mere mortals.

We’re about to be finished with the meal when he suddenly asks my parents, “Mr. and Mrs. Valentine, may I stay over?”

Silence ensues as my parents stare at him.

“Stay over . . . ?” my mother whispers.

Sin places his arm over my shoulders. “In other circumstances, I realize this would not be appropriate, but there isn’t anything that could happen between us that hasn’t already,” he says smoothly.

My mother turns to my father, and they share a look.

“Please? I cannot bear the thought of being away from Petra and the baby,” Sin continues.

“I suppose that is all right,” my mother eventually says.

All the while, I’m still stunned by the entire exchange.

The shock doesn’t wear off while we wash the dishes or while Sin offers to clean the dinner table.

It doesn’t wear off as he leads me to my bedroom and rummages through my closet to find something comfortable for me to sleep in.

It doesn’t wear off even as he pulls me into bed, holding me from behind, my back flush against his front.

This strange reality only registers when he leans in to kiss my neck, his warm breath fanning against my skin.