Page 243 of Sinister

“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispers.

I hold myself still, eyes wide awake even as the minutes trickle down, turning into hours as sleep eludes me.

Good Lord, I am trapped.

68

PETRA

A semi-sleepless night later, I wake up and realize everything was real. Sin’s arms are tightly wrapped around me.

As I quietly shrug them off and get out of bed, I see he’s already wide awake, staring at me.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

“Good morning,” I reply, forcing a smile onto my face.

I quickly go take a shower and change my clothes, then return to find him still watching me from the bed.

“You should wear something black,” he says.

“Something black?”

“Don’t you remember? Today is François’s funeral.”

I blink. “And we have to go?”

He nods and stands up. He’s already dressed—black trousers and a dark grey blouse. “Yes, we do. Everyone’s going.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t be distressed if we happened to miss it,” I add dryly.

“Distressed? No. But there’s a reason you must be present, Petra.”

I frown at him.

“You know the detectives are already looking at you as a prime suspect. Not going to the funeral would give them more reason for suspicion.”

I think for a moment. He does have a point.

“Fine,” I mutter, rummaging through my closet for some dark clothes to wear. I end up settling on black tights, a dark grey skirt, and a black turtleneck.

When I’m done, Sin brings me downstairs for breakfast.

“Your parents have already left,” he mentions. “They didn’t want to wake you, but they told me they needed to take care of something for the business. They’ll be back to spend more time with you once they’ve finished.”

I nod absent-mindedly. They had said as much the day before. I’m still waiting to see if they’ll keep their promise, so I don’t put too much weight on their words.

Sin surprises me once more by preparing breakfast before taking me out to his car.

“And how’s our little champ doing today?” he asks, patting my belly affectionately.

“Good,” I mumble. “He’s good.”

He smiles at me. And I’m still left wondering—why are we keeping this charade going?

Now that we’re alone in the car, it takes me a couple of minutes to muster the courage to ask him.

“Why did you do that yesterday?”