Walking to the stairs, I glance into the kitchen and note the mess I was elbow deep in when the courier dropped off the invite. Slapping the stationary on the island counter, I quickly scoop the discarded cellophane wrappers and empty boxes from a variety of junk food, ignoring the discomfort in my gut as I consider eating more before she comes back out.
I’ve cleared about half of the counter when the woman reappears, hiking her distressed jeans higher on her hips.
“Why does no one talk about the postpartum changes in your bladder?” she asks as she comes to a stop in the doorway. “I swear, six years ago I could hold it all night long, now I’m lucky to get from the Asphodel to Kiko’s Bakery downtown.”
The Asphodel. I blink, trying to figure out why that name sounds so familiar as I push the last evidence of my binge into the garbage, tucking the bin back into its cabinet.
My gaze falls to the infant, and pain solidifies in my stomach, sending a ripple of agony up my spine. I grip the island to keep from doubling over, and clear my throat, looking away.
As if sensing my discomfort, she offers a little smile, rubbing the top of the baby’s head. “I’m Elena, by the way. I guess I probably should’ve started with that.”
It clicks, finally: Elena Anderson, wife of the notorious doctor who owns part of Aplana Island. His house, a renovated hotel on the south side, is a piece of property Daddy’s tried to obtain for years, with the intention of turning it commercial, but Dr. Anderson’s resolve is unwavering.
Like Jonas, the man has a reputation on the island, but unlike my fake fiancé, no one dares speak of it. At least, not where anyone can hear.
“By the look on your face, I’m assuming you’ve just realized who I am,” Elena says, pointing a finger at me with a little wink. “Or who my husband is, in which case you’re probably scared shitless.”
I shake my head. “I’m not scared. Just… confused.”
“Well, that makes two of us.”
The back door shimmies open, and a moment later Jonas pops through, his pistol drawn and aimed in our direction. When he registers the people in his kitchen, he frowns and curses under his breath.
“Blimey. I thought I told you not to let anyone in the house,” he snaps at me. The skin around his eye is three different shades of purple, and the white part inside is tinged with red where one of the blood vessels popped.
“To be fair, I basically threatened to pee myself if she didn’t,” Elena says.
He slips his gun back into his jacket, then walks over to the kitchen sink and runs a washcloth under the faucet, cleaning his hands with the material.
Leaning against the counter, he glares at me with his good eye. “Still shouldn’t have let her in. You think those bars on the windows are here to keep you inside?”
My eyes narrow, his terseness unnerving me. “Since that’s pretty much what you told me they were there for? Yeah, that was my assumption. Call me fucking crazy.”
“You’re bloody insane,” he grumbles, turning away to dab at his face.
Elena’s eyes volley between us, and she raises a brow. “Jonas, introduce me to your guest.”
“She’s not my guest.” A pause, as if considering what he should reveal.
Annoyance stabs at my heart as I wonder how close they are. Since she felt comfortable coming here to use the bathroom and seems totally unperturbed by his state of being, I wonder if he tells her other secrets.
“She’s my… fiancée,” he admits finally, and a strange sensation washes over me with the lie.
She lets out a half laugh. “Very funny.”
Jonas lifts his head, meeting her gaze. “I’m not joking.”
Silence blankets the air for several beats, and then Elena sputters. Shrieks. Covers her baby’s ears again.
“You got engaged? When?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Her head rears back like she’s been smacked. “It absolutely matters, dick. Does Kallum know?”
“Anderson isn’t my boss anymore, so no, I didn’t feel the need to tell him.”
Elena’s mouth falls open, and I can tell she’s shocked by his response, though I’m not sure why. She looks at me, and I shrug.
“It’s a recent development,” I tell her, ignoring the dirty look I can feel Jonas sending my way. Instead, I focus on the baby, my throat closing up as it lets out a little yawn.
“Well, color me offended.” Her eyes narrow, and she looks down at my fingers. “Where’s the ring?”
I swallow. “It’s… really recent.”
“Recent,” she repeats slowly. “Or fake?”
My muscles lock up, and Jonas groans, driving the heel of his hand into his bruised eye socket. His knuckles are cracked and caked in dry blood, and I wince on his behalf with the pained hiss he releases.
“You want proof, Elena? What? Want me to fuck her while you watch? I know you and Anderson are into that voyeurism shit.”
A choked sound comes from her throat. “No, I’m just—”
He cuts her off by stomping over to me, grabbing the back of my neck, and dragging my lips to his. The pressure on my spine doesn’t lessen, even as I lean up on my toes to try and relieve it. My hands come to his chest, twisting in the soft material of his shirt beneath his jacket, my nails scraping lightly at his skin.
One of his palms smacks against the counter behind me, and the sound makes me jerk, almost losing my balance. He shifts, trapping my hips with his, and a broken gasp bubbles inside my chest at the feel of him against me.
All of him.
Sliding his hand around to the front of my throat, I feel his fingers curl slightly, gripping tight. Not stealing air, but enough that a little thrill races through my nerve endings, and a tiny moan escapes me as he parts my lips with his tongue.
I taste coffee and mint, and a little hint of blood. My tongue explores, teasing and touching, deprived of sexual gratification for so long that making out with this murderer in front of a stranger doesn’t seem like a half-bad idea.
Jonas grunts, his hips grinding once, hard, and the friction between my thighs multiplies, a sudden jolt of electricity zapping my pussy.
“Okay, I get it.” Elena’s voice barely penetrates through the fog, and I wrench my mouth from Jonas’s, glancing at her from past his shoulder. “I think I just got pregnant again watching that.”
Breaking away from me like I’ve burned him, Jonas nods to her and clears his throat. “Next time, don’t doubt me.”
She rolls her eyes, and he follows as she exits the room. I try not to eavesdrop as they walk down the hall, but their whispers are loud enough that I don’t even have to strain to listen. Blinking at myself, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, then drag my fingers through my hair.
He asks what she came by for, and she said she was at the farmers’ market and needed to use the bathroom, and that her husband had happened to mention he was staying here. She assures him no one else knows, at least not because of her, then they say their quiet goodbyes, and the house falls silent again.
Jonas doesn’t speak when he returns, just goes to sit at the island with a heavy sigh. I walk to the refrigerator and wrap an ice pack in a dish towel, then bring it over to him.