Page 107 of Beautiful Scars

“Yeah...Sarah? My blond part-time babysitter and wedding planner?” My eyebrows lift. “Currently dating your psycho twin brother?”

“Marry? No.” Cillian settles back on the bench. “I give them two weeks, tops.”

“Before he dumps her, or kills her?” And then I grimace into my wine because I realize that Cole would never kill Sarah—he’d have Cillian do it for him.

Suddenly I’m not hungry anymore.

Suddenly I just want to get the fuck out of here.

“Is there a bathroom?” I ask, and then take a big swallow of my wine.

Cillian’s staring at me through slitted eyes. But he nods and cocks his head behind him. “Next to the piano.”

I shuffle out of the booth, keeping my eyes down as I head in the direction he pointed out. I hadn’t even noticed the piano, or the small stage it’s on. But it’s impossible not to notice the heads that turn my way as I move across the room.

The door opens to a short hallway, a door on each side. One side has a bronze plaque with an old-fashioned silhouette of a woman wearing a bonnet and a dress with a voluminous skirt, the other a man in a top hat with a cane.

The women’s bathroom smells of vanilla and roses, but just faintly enough to make it pleasant and not sickening.

I splash water on my face and stare at my reflection as it drips from my chin.

He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not even my lover. He takes what he wants, and sometimes I enjoy it, but this is the furthest thing from a relationship.

This? This isn’t a date. He was hungry. Neither of us can cook. This Lorenzo guy owes him a favor.

A transaction, that’s all.

Checks and balances in whatever fucking journal he keeps in his head.

But where do I fit in? Am I in the green...or the black?

And why is it so easy to forget about the psychotic mind behind those mesmerizing jade eyes?

I spin on my heel to leave the bathroom, infuriated with myself for falling for his shit again. The abrupt movement makes the phone in his jacket thump into my body.

I freeze, not even daring to breathe.

Phone. In.My. Pocket.

My hand slides inside. I grab the phone and pull it out. Stare at it.

It doesn’t have a password or a pin or anything. The last time I saw Cillian use it, he didn’t have to unlock it. I stare at the blank screen as my heart thunders away in my chest.

Behind me, the air freshener spritzes.

I jerk, my hand tightening around the phone. The screen comes on, truncated messages filling the screen.

Derek.

This time, I get to read everything up to the ellipses.

Derek

No news on the sprog. Will...

What the fuck is a sprog?

It doesn’t matter. I didn’t take his phone out to read his messages. I took it out to call for help. To message someone my location. To...