“I love my name.”
“It’s tacky.”
“It means something.”
“Nothing means anything.”
I whipped my head to flash him an angry look, my cheeks hot with anger. “Whatever you say, Dr. Seuss.”
Cillian took off my heels, leaving me completely naked. He discarded me on the bed to stand up and turn off the faucet, then he took a seat on the edge of the bathtub.
“Lady-in-bath.” He swirled his finger in the water, checking the temperature.
I cocked my head from my position on the bed.
“That’s another name for the bleeding heart,” he explained aloofly. “Get in.”
He turned his back to me, allowing me some privacy. I stepped into the bath, sucking in a breath. The water was ice-cold.
Cillian texted on his phone while the arctic water soothed my skin. I was already feeling much better after the shot. Despite throwing up most of what I’d eaten and drank that morning, I was still lush. Silence stretched between us, punctuated by staff and event coordinators barking instructions beyond the suite’s walls. I knew that despite the awkward situation, I only had one chance to tell him how I felt. The odds were against me. Other than his erection at having me buck naked on his lap, he seemed turned off by my very existence.
But it was now or never, and never was too long a time to live without the man I loved.
“I want you.” I propped my head against the cool surface of the bath. The words soaked the walls and ceiling, and the truth filled the air, charging it with electricity. Using the L-word was too intimate. Too scary. I knew what I felt for him was love—despite his rude behavior—but I also knew he would never believe me.
His hands busied over his phone. Maybe he didn’t hear me.
“I’ve always wanted you,” I said, louder.
No response.
A glutton for punishment, I continued, my pride and confidence collapsing brick by brick.
“Sometimes I want you so much it hurts to breathe. Sometimes the pain from breathing is a nice distraction from wanting you.”
A knock on the door made him dart up. Aisling was on the threshold, holding a replica of the bridesmaids dress we all wore.
“You said you needed my extra gown? Why on earth…” She trailed off, taking me in behind her brother’s shoulder. Her eyes flared.
“Holy Mother Mary. Did you two…?”
“Not in a million years,” Cillian snapped, plucking the dress from his sister’s hand. “Stall the limo. She’ll be down in five minutes.”
With that, he slammed the door in her face, then locked it for good measure.
Not in a million years.
White-hot panic mixed with good ole embarrassment coursed through my veins.
Reality sank in.
I’d poisoned myself.
Rambled to Cillian drunkenly.
Let him undress me, make me puke, give me a shot, hurl me into the bathtub.
Then confessed my undying love for him with vomit pieces still decorating my mouth.
Kill threw a bathrobe into my hands, all business.
“Dry up.”
I sprang up on my feet, doing as I was told.
He rounded on me with Aisling’s spare dress, helping me into it.
“I don’t want your help,” I bit out, feeling my cheeks flush.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“I don’t care what you want.”
Pursing my lips, I watched his dark figure in the mirror as he fastened my corset, working quicker and more efficiently than any seamstress I’d ever seen in action. It was jarring. His fingers moved like magic around the ribbon, looping it into the hoops expertly to tie me like a bowed present.
It dawned on me he knew I was poisoned from the moment he stepped into the room and saw the flowers in my hair, but hadn’t offered to help me until I asked him to call an ambulance.
I could have died.
He wasn’t kidding when he said he only saved me because he didn’t want me to die on his watch—he honestly didn’t care.
Cillian tugged at the satin strings of my dress, tightening it around me.
“You’re hurting me,” I hissed, narrowing my eyes at the mirror in front of us.
“That’s what you get for having a bleeding heart.”
“The flower, or organ?”
“Both. One is a fast poison. The other slow, but just as destructive.”
My eyes clung to him in our reflection. Graceful and self-assured. He stood tall and proud, never used profanity, and was the most meticulous person I knew.
It was what I admired about him the most. The thin film of properness engulfing the chaos teeming inside him. I knew that underneath the flawless exterior laid something untamed and dangerous.
It felt like our secret. The perfect Cillian Fitzpatrick was, in fact, not so perfect. And all I wanted was to find out how.
“You weren’t going to help me. You were going to leave me to die.” My tone was frighteningly mild. I became more sober with each passing second. “Why did you?”
“A poisoned bridesmaid makes bad press.”
“And they say chivalry is dead,” I said sarcastically.
“Chivalry might be dead, but you’re not, so shut up and be grateful.” He gave the satin cords another yank. I winced.
He did have a point. Cillian not only saved me this morning but he also didn’t try any funny business and was probably running just as late as I was now because my dumb ass had decided to pick poisonous flowers.
Begrudgingly, I muttered, “Thanks.”
He arched an eyebrow, as if to ask—for what?
“For being a gentleman,” I clarified.
Our eyes clashed in the mirror.
“I’m no gentleman, Flower Girl.”
He finished with a final pull, then stepped away and picked up his blazer from the mattress. I had to think on my feet, fast. My gaze drifted to the window. The lone cloud was still there.
Watching me.
Taunting me.
Waiting to be used.
You only get one miracle.
This one was worth it.