Literally.
If I had a job tonight, I would have executed it in mere minutes. Blood pumps through my veins at such a speed I can hear it pulse and roar through my eardrums.
I’m furious. But what makes me even more furious is that I’m not sure why I’m so angry.
I knew it. I told Frankie Clark and I were just friends, but she pushed. And pushed. And pushed until I thought—for just a moment—we could have something good together. Sure, my feelings for him have changed, but he’s a great looking guy; he’s sweet, adorable and a great friend, and I’m sure—given the chance—I could fall in love with him.
It took me all day to work up the courage to admit I wanted to kiss him, that I wanted to feel his lips on mine, because I know if I had been given the opportunity to kiss him, that’s all I would’ve needed to know if Clark and I are compatible.
Although, you felt the zing with James...
That wasn’t a zing. I was wrong about James. This time around, when I feel the zing, I’ll have something to compare it to. Something to judge it against.
This time, you’ll know if it’s lust or something more.
I sure as hell hope so.
After Clark and Michelle arrived, I stood in the kitchen blinking stupidly at the pretty woman, completely missing my introduction to her. Bob nudged me in warning, so I gritted my teeth and held out my hand to the obnoxiously kempt outsider.
As I shook her hand and smiled, I pictured picking every blonde hair out her head one-by-one. I thought about taking the fork from the long kitchen bench and gouging her pretty blue eyes out. It would’ve been so easy to take the carving knife next to the resting racks of lamb and slit her dainty little throat, then watch the blood and life ooze out of her simultaneously.
But then she smiled at the mention of my name. Then hugged me.
“Oh, wow! You’re Cat! Clark talks so much about you.” Winking, she chuckled. “You’re his special girl.”
I stood there mid-embrace, begging my lip not to curl at her touch, while pleading with my hand to avoid flipping her ass-over-tit and breaking her wrist.
My response was laced with venom. “That’s funny. He never mentioned you.”
Loosening her hold on me, she took a step back and fluttered her lashes up at him. When he smiled back down at her, it hurt a little. Irrationally. That smile had been directed at me so many times before; I wonder how I missed just how special it was.
That’s my special smile.
She beamed at me. “Well, we didn’t tell anyone we were seeing each other.” Taking Clark’s hand, her smile softened. “We wanted to make sure we knew each other a bit better before we took the next step.”
My heart skipped a beat.
Excuse me, Cinderella?
Next step? Next step?
I swallowed hard, then stuttered, “N-next step?”
Clark cut in then, “Yeah, meeting each other’s family.”
Family. Yes. We are a family. I should be happy for him. I should.
So why do I feel as though she’s won and I’ve lost?
Jaw set, I stab at a carrot with such force I almost crack my dinner plate. Father Robert sits at the head of the table, with Sisters Arianne and Francis by his sides. On one side of the table, Michelle and Clark sit close together, whispering soft words to each other.
I fight hard to hide my subtle eye roll.
Oh, puh-leeze. Someone gag me.
On my side of the table, Marco sits between Ari and me, leaving me at the open end of the table.
Michelle speaks up, “So, Cat, where do you go to school?”
Before I can answers with, ‘I’ve been training as an assassin since before you knew your times-tables’, Bob cuts me off as he states, “Cat is in training here at the church.” He smiles proudly at me. “She’s going to be a nun.”
Michelle’s brows rise in surprise. “Oh, wow,” her eyes narrow at my dress, “I didn’t realise you could wear things like that.”
My mouth opens, but once again, I’m cut off, this time by Frankie, “We’re a smaller church, and although our beliefs remain the same as the Vatican, you could say we’re a little more liberal that way.” Frankie smirks at Michelle. “The way Cat dresses doesn’t affect what she believes in, but most days, she wears a modest outfit and veil.”
Michelle nods, face blank. We all watch her intently, hoping to God she buys our bullshit. When she smiles for the hundredth time tonight, we all seem to exhale in relief.
While everyone chats away, I mope around my meal. When a husky voice whispers by my ear, I jump. “You look beautiful, pu**y cat.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks. “Thank you.”
It’s then when I stop focusing on the happy new couple and look around me. Frankie and Bob talk with their heads close together, while Ari and Michelle talk from across the table, with Clark listening in on their conversation. And Marco...
Holy shit.
I hadn’t really noticed Marco until he spoke to me. Conflicting emotions coarse through me. My cheeks flush hotter. Marco looks amazing. He’s made an effort this evening, and dressed up in dark jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. My eyes close as I suddenly catch his scent, and it makes me want to bury my nose in the crook of his neck and lick a trail up to his jawline.
Oh, f**k.
You don’t ever think about Clark that way.
No.
I don’t.
Before my mind can stop my mouth, I respond to Marco with, “You look beautiful, too.” He lifts his head and slowly turns to me, lips twitching.
Shit!
Cheeks so red they might just burst into flames, I quickly mutter, “Not beautiful—handsome. You look handsome.” I shrug in an act to seem as though I’m unaffected by his magnificence. “Not that you don’t every other day, but with the dress jeans and shirt, you don’t just look handsome—you look gorgeous.”
Oh, for fuc—SHUT UP!
Really. Kill me, please.
Having had this conversation quiet enough so no one else could possibly hear, I sit in silence blinking down at my lap, my face on fire. Thankfully, Marco gives me the silence I need right now.
My mouth is dry. I’m suddenly parched.
“I need water,” I croak, and reach for my glass at the same time Marco does. Our hands collide and knock my glass full of water all over the table, where it dribbles and spills over the side and into my lap.
Marco mumbles, “Shit,” as I jump up so fast, my chair flies back, tipping over with a boom that echoes throughout the room.
As Marco reaches out to me with his napkin in-hand, I step back, away from the source of my discomfort. “I’m sorry; I’m so darn clumsy sometimes.” I force a strained chuckle, holding my own napkin to my soaked dress. I look to Clark and whisper, “I’m so sorry.” Blinking away tears of mortification, I quickly turn to Bob and ask, “May I be excused?”