Kit’s violet eyes are the first thing I see when I wake.
Stirring, I stretch out, drowsy and warm as I breathe him in.
He knows. Knows what happened the night I left. Knows about Ella, even if he doesn’t have all of the sordid details.
And he’s looking at me as if I’m his sole reason for existing. The emotion locks in my throat, threatening more tears even though I don’t think I have any more left inside me.
His arms are still tight around me, even as edges of morning light glow from behind the heavy scarlet curtains. “What time is it?”
“Early.” He presses his lips against my hair. “Don’t go yet. Please.”
It’s the quiet, gentle plea that makes me turn to him. “Kit… what happens now?”
He sighs. At some point during the night he moved us, bracing his back against the wall opposite his piano, holding me as I cried out ten years of pain into his skin. I lean my face against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.
“I think we need to speak to Rafe and Silas.”
Every relaxed muscle locks up. “No.”
The rejection is instant, almost without thought. Kit scowls as he looks down at me. “Why not? You can’t carry on like this, Stasi. It’s not right. If they knew, things would be different. Here, at least.”
“Because…,” I struggle, trying to find the right words to explain. “You asked me for the truth, and I gave it. But… they haven’t asked, Kit.”
And they’ve given me no inclination that they think the truth is anything other than what my sister says it is. That they even care enough to look at another possibility, the way Kit has done. And Silas knows what happened the night I left. He knows.
But he hates me anyway.
Kit’s brow furrows. “I think you should speak to them,” he says finally. His voice is soft, reassuring as he pushes my hair away from my face. “But that’s not my decision to make. I won’t force another choice on you.”
I blow out a breath of relief. “Thank you. I don’t… I don’t want you to have to lie to them. Maybe… just don’t say anything? For now?”
I glance up at him hopefully, and his lips tilt up. “It’s going to be very hard not to mention you.”
“Why- oh!”
His lips descend on mine, his hand sliding up to tangle in my hair. I’m breathless when he finally pulls back, and I stare up at him. “So this…,”
His hand tightens, just the smallest amount. “I have a lot of making up to do.”
He kisses me again. “Making up?” I mumble against his lips.
“Mmm.” He moves to my neck, small, gentle bites against my skin that nearly make my eyes roll back as his tongue traces a slow, tortuous line up to my ear. “Ten years of making up to do.”
And as I pull back, I see his face. The pain he tries to hide. Cupping his cheeks, I force him to look at me. “I don’t blame you, Kit. You didn’t know.”
His mouth firms. “I should have known better. I should have come for you. There’s no excuse.”
My heart swoops inside my chest. I cup his cheek, my finger tracing the dark stubble creeping over his skin. Drinking him in, his violet eyes liquid and lazy as he does the same to me.
“We’re here now,” I whisper. “Don’t waste any more time torturing yourself, Kit.”
He doesn’t answer. But he distracts me with his lips, enough that my mouth feels swollen and rumpled when we sneak out of the room an hour later, his hand wrapped tightly around mine.
“This could be fun,” I breathe, when he presses me into my bedroom door and glances over his shoulder. “Sneaking around.”
When I wiggle my eyebrows, he groans. “Don’t tempt me. I don’t agree with this plan.”
But it’s my choice, and he’s letting me make it. He tips up my chin, and I let my hands wander up his bare chest, my nail scraping over his nipple until he hisses and pulls himself away.
“Anastasia.” His voice turns heated. “Don’t make me push that door open.”
Swallowing, I drop my hand. Maybe I’m not ready for that quite yet.
He presses a final, sweet kiss to my forehead.
“I have missed you every day,” he murmurs, stepping back. He rubs a hand over his face. “Get inside, unless you want somebody to see us. Rafe has been getting up early to head into the city.”
He doesn’t sound disappointed at the thought. My eyes roll, but I give him a little wave and duck inside, pressing the door closed behind me. My forehead thumps into the wood, even as I brush my fingers across my mouth.
I want more of him. Want to spend hours exploring his skin, learning every part of him. My entire body flushes a deep red.
“Get to work, Anastasia,” I mutter.
Turning with a sigh, I’m heading over to the drawers when I catch sight of the bucket in the corner. I’ve been keeping it close, waiting for the right moment. And then I pause.
Replaying Kit’s words in my head.
Rafe has been getting up early to head into the city.
Slowly, the smile spreads across my face.
Payback’s gonna be a bitch, Rafael Tate.
I don’t waste any time. I fly down the steps to the kitchen, praying Ellen isn’t already awake and letting out a breath of relief when I see it empty.
I know exactly what I’m looking for.
A dozen eggs, hastily cracked, go in first. Then the flour. I send a mental apology to Ellen as I grab the big bag she uses to bake with, tipping slowly until a huge clump falls out and I’m enveloped in a white cloud of dust.
Coughing, I grab the spoon and stir until it’s a clunky, lumpy mess.
I just need one more thing.
When I’m done, I can’t help whistling as I carry my precious cargo up the stairs and into the hall. I’m going to spend the whole damn day cleaning up this mess, and it’ll be worth every second for the look on his face.
I fly up the stepladder, carefully balancing the bucket over the door. If I get this wrong, it’ll just hit the floor. I close one eye and try to measure as best I can, until I hear the thick tread of shoes above my head.
Close enough. I hope.
Sliding down, I push the ladder out of the way and step back, crossing my arms.
I want a front fucking page ticket to this show.
I want Rafe to know it was me, to see the satisfaction on my face as he gets a little taste of his own medicine.
And I want a sincere apology. But since one doesn’t seem to be forthcoming, this will have to do.
My hand slips into my pocket, grasping the bottle I grabbed on my way out. Not something I had to clean up, unlike the contents of the bucket. This little addition is all of my own choosing.
Adrenaline surges through my veins as the footsteps get louder. I bounce lightly on my feet, pulling the bottle out and getting ready, flicking the lid off.
Ready.
The footsteps thunder down the stairs.
The excited whoop erupts out of me as the door opens and the bucket flips, crashing down to land perfectly over Rafe’s head.
Perfect fucking shot.
I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself as a yell echoes from under the bucket. Pale yellow gooey sludge oozes out, dripping down all over his fancy suit jacket and spattering his leather shoes too.
Grinning, I squeeze the ketchup in my hand, watching in glee as it makes a perfect arc to spatter against his chest.
“How are you liking that little taste of karma, Rafael?” I call smugly. I take a step closer, flicking the bucket with my nails as an enraged growl curls out.
“I,” I say softly, “am nobody’s whore, Rafe.”
It feels fucking good.
Right up until I hear another set of footsteps pounding down the stairs. Until the moment that a pair of bright green eyes meet mine, widening in confusion as he looks between me and the bucket. “What the hell is going on?”
The breath whooshes from my lungs. I jerk my head frantically from Rafe to the bucket.
It appears to be… snarling.
“Um,” I whisper. “Kit?”
Please be Kit.
Please.
I cannot be that fucking unlucky.
Rafe claps a hand over his face as I stare at him. He chokes. “This… this was for me?”
And then he bends over, slamming his hands onto his knees as he gasps for breath amongst his laughter.
“Genius,” he wheezes. “If only you got the right person.”
The person I did get is now struggling to lift the bucket from his head. Swallowing, I take a step back.
And another.
As Silas rips the bucket from his head, throwing it to the side with a large bang. His indigo eyes snap to mine, and if I thought he was angry with me before…
Shit. Shitshitshitshit.
Slowly, I raise my hands.
“Silas,” I say placatingly. Maybe a little pleading in there too. “I… I thought you were Rafe.”
Rafe is clutching his stomach, but he manages to snap his mouth shut when Silas swivels his head to glare at him.
When he turns to me, his fists clenching, my gulp is audible.
The egg and flour mix with the oats as they slide down his face, sticky lumpy trails that are going to be really hard to get off.
Possibly impossible.
I press my lips together, hard. Silas doesn’t say anything.
The snort sets itself free. I can’t stop it, can’t do anything but slap my hand over my mouth. Both hands, as the laughter bubbles up in my throat. My whole body shakes as I try to keep it in and fail.
He just looks so ridiculous.
And even if Rafe deserved it… Silas deserves it too.
For that fucking list.
A large blob plops directly into his eye, ruining the evil glare he’s pinning me with. Silas curses as he tries to scrape it off, and that’s it.
I’m gone.
I didn’t know it was possible to laugh this hard. Can’t remember the last time I did. Tears of pure entertainment slip out as I wheeze. Rafe isn’t much better. He reaches out to try and brush some of the mess off Silas’s shoulder, shaking off his hand when it sticks.
His eyes meet mine, bright with amusement.
Just for a moment, it feels exactly like it used to. When we used to run through these halls together, playing harmless, childish tricks on each other, on Silas, Kit, on anyone we could.
And when our gazes clash, I know he feels it too.
My laughter finally trails off. His smile begins to dim.
And Silas roars.
I jump back, my hand flying to my throat as he raises a finger.
“Run,” he breathes. “Run, Anastasia. Because if and when I fucking catch you, you won’t be able to sit down for a damn week.”
The heat rushes to my cheeks. “Did you just – threaten to spank me?”
Over my dead fucking body am I letting Silas Tate anywhere near my ass.
He bares his teeth at me. The rational Silas I know isn’t anywhere to be seen as he snarls again. “Run.”
Fucking hell. He looks really angry.
So I do exactly as he says.
I spin on my heel, and dash to the end of the hall.
Then I stop. Turn around.
And holding Silas’s gaze, I slowly lift my middle finger in the air. And smile.
His mouth drops open.
Then I fucking run.
Down the hallway. Jumping down the steps. Into the kitchen. And through it, past the washroom and into the porch as I twist the handle with shaking hands.
It opens.
And I fly out into the bright, cool morning air with a grin, leaving a furious, sludge-covered Silas behind me.
I’ll just… hang out outside for a while. Until he calms down.
