Truth & Consequences (Boston Latte Book 2)

by Fiona Keane

  I held my posture, hoping to appear as regal as my tablemates and also trying not to let my dress reveal too much. I may have a vulgar mouth, but I can also be modest. Sometimes. I let my eyes wander to Julian, mesmerized with how his face changed as he smiled. His mouth opened to release the tortuously sweet sound of his laughter. I wonder if he looked like that in the neighboring suite earlier. His handsome face held by someone else. Christ. Aideen. This is fake. Remember? Just a little while longer and you can go back to work and save the world one latte at a time.

  Chapter Ten

  I picked out words from their father’s speech, barely listening as I focused on Julian. He must have felt my stare, as his head tilted to the right and his gaze ran along my face.

  “That’s a lovely necklace,” he whispered, glancing at the two stones. “We ne—”

  “Julian.” Their grandfather tore his attention from me. We ne—what? Dammit. These Fuckoys! Julian’s posture shifted, sitting possibly straighter than humanly possible as he acknowledged his grandfather.

  “Natalie has an announcement we feel would be appropriate for this time,” the patriarch said. “Sweetheart?” Mr. Save-the-refugees-and-end-racketeering-while-hating-Aideen glanced at one of the women who promptly looked at everyone except me. She avoided my eyes altogether, reminding me how out of place I was. I may as well have worn an apron and been preparing the cocktails those arrogant fools continued to pound.

  “We’re all eager,” Liam sang from my right. The uncomfortable, draining sandwich felt slightly more anchored with the sound of his voice.

  “I’ll be donating one hundred thousand to Saint Mary’s by March,” one of Julian’s aunts interjected, capturing my attention. “I feel we owe it to them for all they did.”

  “Saint Mary’s?” I looked up at Julian, catching his tightened eyes flicking away from mine in his periphery.

  “That’s lovely, but I’d much rather hear about how we’re going to address more of the current refugee crisis. That is why we’re holding this banquet, isn’t it?” Julian’s voice was gruff, an agitation that mirrored his stiffening posture.

  “Julian, it’s a very generous thing for Aunt Natalie to donate so much to the hospital. Goodness, think of what they did for you when you were there,” Maureen chimed in, her words staining my conscience. I felt Liam’s sharp intake of air at my right.

  “I need a fucking drink,” he grumbled, twisting in his seat. “Excuse me. Ma’am?”

  One of the women delivering flutes of champagne paused with his beckon. “Yes, sir?”

  “I need…how many do you have on that tray? One…six…nine. Give me all of them,” Liam urged, receiving snorting groans from his family while the woman handed him nine flutes of champagne.

  “Jesus,” I whispered through a laugh, “just ask for a bottle.” We watched Liam swallow three consecutive glasses.

  “Don’t be an embarrassment to this family, Liam,” Maureen scoffed, obviously disappointed in her brother’s behavior. “Put those down immediately.”

  Some of our companions laughed, humored by the rebellious, arrogant Molloy son, their conversation quick to change from hospital donations to something else. Saint Mary’s. The aura flashed, black and white dots forming behind my eyes, while memories of being at Saint Mary’s flickered between nightmare and tangible visions. Memories? I barely had any, just one of Elliott visiting and nurses tending to me. My nightmares were another story completely. I didn’t know what was real anymore. I didn’t know what was a farce.

  “Liam,” Julian rose from the table, stepping behind me to grab his brother’s neck, “stop.”

  “Boys,” their grandfather growled, “this ended when you were twelve and ten. You’re adults now. Enough.”

  I feared looking across the table at him while listening to his words. The image of young Liam and Julian arguing about anything left my mind somewhat humored until the distraction of two suits approached our table.

  “Sir,” one addressed Julian, “a word.”

  “Can I come?” Liam inquired, his mouth already spreading into a drunkenly loopy smile. Julian shot him a stare that emitted darts of death before his attention turned to the men. I tried to listen to their whispered conversation, but the table resumed its flurry of boisterous dialogue and shuffling silverware that scratched against the delicate porcelain plates. Realizing I would get nothing out of sitting with the Molloy family, especially if my date was otherwise occupied, I slowly scooted away from the table.

  “Bird,” Liam whispered, his fingers reaching around my wrist while his sloppy voice called my attention.

  “I just need some air,” I replied, faking a smile and leaving the table. It was liberating to be apart from them, separate from the aristocracy who so despised me. Liam saw right through me. I wasn’t about to leave the hotel and stand in the freezing January air without a coat. There was hardly any fabric to the top half of my dress. I’d die out there. Better than dying in here. The sea of wealth swallowed me as I wandered through the crowd toward the banquet hall entrance.

  “Hey,” Liam panted behind me, quickly blocking my path, “you can’t leave.”

  “My head hurts, Liam. You’re normally concerned about that.” He held my shoulders, the soft touch melting some of the pain from my body, but only building the throb within my skull. He looked behind me, nodding discreetly before returning his heated blue stare to my eyes.

  “I’ll get you to your suite, and then I’m sure we’ll see each other soon.”

  Somehow, his promise was less of a threat than anything Julian would say. Liam didn’t scare me as much, and maybe that should have been more frightening. Their attempt at Stockholm syndrome was successfully implemented in response to his soft, gentle, but entirely powerful demeanor. Liam was clearly a soldier in their game, manipulating my heart to gain my trust, and they were terribly intelligent for placing him in that role. I was certain it was default; Liam was so naturally cool, genuinely patient and affectionate within the boundaries of his lineage. He had the charm, the appeal, and surely his nocturnal occupants rotated as quickly as his brother’s, but that simple grin drew me in like a fool. I was becoming the damn hypocritical moth to the flame, ready to die for that mouth, fool. I pinched myself, reminding my heart that it was fake. All of it was a farce. I was a pawn, desired only as a consequence of my happenstance.

  My fingers rattled as we waited for the elevator, each digit catching onto the pain within my mind. Saint Mary’s. I hadn’t thought of that place for weeks outside of my haunting nightmares. It had to be one of those messed up theories in psychology, similar to Stockholm, where I projected images or people into my dreams to try and make sense of the mysterious. Or I’m nuts.

  We entered the space in silence and continued to exist in the eerie calm upon exiting onto my floor. I was riddled with nerves at the memory of arriving there with David and waking to Liam the following morning after the most terrifyingly tangible nightmare yet.

  “Thank you for escorting me up here.” I placed my key into its slip. “Goodnight, Liam.”

  “Aideen,” his hand covered mine against the knob, “if I may…I have an inkling things are only going to change for you.”

  “That’s quite cryptic. Thanks.”

  “No.” His head shook while he struggled to compose a thought. “Just remember whenever you conduct your research that you’re safe. No matter what happens, what you learn, or what Ju—Aideen, I wish we met in another life, under different circumstances. I would have prevented any of this from happening to you. I would have spoiled your heart as you’ve spoiled ours.”

  I had no response other than the tightening of my jaw, knowing that despite our faux relationship, Julian would’ve destroyed Liam if he heard that confession. Confession. I placed my right hand against Liam’s cheek, rewarded by its warmth while his drunken voice emitted a low sigh.

  “Liam,” I whispered, continuing to turn the knob beneath his hold, “most of the time, I want to kill y
ou less than your brother.”

  “That says a lot.” He pulled his hand away from mine and reached for my palm, still pressed against his face. “He gets it all. Whether real or fake. He always has.”

  “He doesn’t have my wings, Liam. I lost those a long time ago.” I pushed open the door, swallowed by the wall of warmth from the expensive fireplace already turned on for my arrival.

  “Goodnight, bird,” he murmured from the doorway as the panel latched behind me. Goodnight, Liam.

  My head hurt less, having returned to a peaceful environment. Even though it stunk of wealth and privilege, it was my temporary home, and I valued the fact it was void of Molloys. Kicking off my heels, I headed for the bedroom, ogling the bed as though it was my long-lost love.

  I fell against the mattress, consumed by Liam’s words. His lethal promise burned my ears, searing their way through my mind as sounds that repeated like a melancholy orchestra of longing.

  I slowly exhaled from withered lungs, squeezing the final pieces of the evening from my heavy heart. Saint Mary’s. Julian had been there. Why? Probably some mob-related explosion, murder, illegal nonsense. Or having his wisdom teeth removed.

  I was lost in my thoughts and discomfort for over an hour, time leaving in a blink. Rolling onto my stomach, because my chest was too heavy to move, I slid from the bed. I froze, lost in a blank daze with my hands against my hips. I needed to shower, shower and then sleep. Who knows what shit they’ll have me in, doing, thinking about, tomorrow?

  The bathroom felt as daunting and intimidating as when David first brought me to the hotel. I didn’t bother turning on the lights, my feet knowing the way across the cold marble floor after one day of inhabiting my luxurious prison. The zipper of my dress was a struggle, catching every few inches on its way down my spine, finally releasing at my tailbone so the fabric could fall. It pooled against my feet, tickling my smooth calves as it plunged to the marble below. Its ending is nothing like the last fancy dress I wore.

  The air was warm, spun with the intoxicating aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg from the expensive potpourri nestled into white porcelain vases along the counter and bathtub, blowing toward me with the soft whisper of the heated fan spinning from the ceiling.

  I needed something intense, desperate to stop thinking about being at Saint Mary’s. I turned the showerhead to the hottest setting my alabaster skin could manage and slunk in beneath the scalding water. Closing my eyes, allowing the evening to trickle into the drain, I couldn’t help but focus on the images of Saint Mary’s that filtered through my thoughts. I want to go home.

  I stepped onto the bathmat, my feet giving in to the plush swaths of cotton that absorbed any chill from my toes, and bent forward to dry my hair. I wrapped the towel around me, patting my stomach and bottom before tucking a corner into itself above my chest. In the dimly lit space, I wandered toward the small galley kitchen for a glass of water to keep me company overnight. I was parched, and my stomach growled with ferocious hunger. I hadn’t consumed anything except anxiety downstairs. The dark counter of the kitchen housed an array of crystal glasses, and wanting to feel fancy in my own space, I reached for the prettiest glass and filled it with water from the tap. My throat was rewarded, swallowing the glass in almost one gulp. I ran the faucet once more, letting the cold water fill the cup again before crossing the suite and venturing back into my bedroom.

  “I wondered how long it would’ve taken you to try that zipper before I could’ve reached up and helped you myself.”

  The cup fell from my hands, water splashing along my legs while it spun against the floor. My skin changed to ice, fear consuming my existence. Be still. Be calm. He can fucking smell fear.

  “What are…how did you get in here?”

  He stood from the loveseat across from my bed, leaving the darkness to step further into my view. His eyes were darker in that light; something about the absence of his cerulean irises cautioned my beating heart. I followed his eyes as they stopped at the spilled cup, a pout twitching on his lips before he looked at me.

  “Should I call housekeeping?” Umm…should I scream? I shook my head. I did the opposite of what I should have done.

  “Very well.” He sighed and slowly closed the space between us. The bowtie of his tuxedo was loosened, dangling around his opened collar in exhaustion. Beautiful exhaustion. His impassive expression felt forced, his darkened eyes speaking volumes of intensity while they effectively filled me with fear.

  “H-How can I help you?” His head shook in response, dangling while a laugh escaped his smiling lips with a grin that suited any kind young man, but knowing what Julian was capable of made his grin suspiciously terrifying. Had I covered his body, hidden his face, and only looked at his parted mouth, I might have felt safe enough to return the smile.

  “Considering half of Massachusetts believes we’re together,” his smile persisted, distracting my confidence, “I thought it would be expected that I check on your well-being.” Well-being. More like he wants to make sure I’m not trying to escape from my suite. I couldn’t, not in this towel. Oh. Right. It was becoming more apparent, as I stood beneath his towering frame, that I was still only wearing my bath towel. Swallow. Just don’t die. You don’t want anyone to read about you having been found dead in only your towel.

  “A knock would have been polite,” I mumbled through painfully gritted teeth, “even in this farce. Fabricated boyfriends respect their fictional girlfriends’ privacy.”

  “You wound me, Aideen.” Julian clutched his heart. His hand moved the fabric beneath his open collar, revealing lines of his tattoos. There’s a mark for every person he’s killed. This man is a killer. I swallowed, feeling his intense glare on me even as his hand left his heart and grasped my bare shoulder, burning the skin beneath his warm palm. His body lowered, his head inching closer to mine. He knew my eyes traveled to his chest. This prick read my mind like I was a novel on display in the library.

  “I’m not like them, Aideen,” Julian growled in a whisper, his words pressing into my ear.

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “From whom?” His face pulled back, studying every piece of my expression. His brow met, almost appearing concerned, above his scrutinizing eyes. He looked at my nose, my eyes, my lips, my forehead, my lips. How do I tell him his brother spoke the same words to me two hours prior? How do I do that without one of them killing me? I stared at the floor, reminding myself never to look at Julian’s face. It was torture. Pure torture.

  “Aideen,” he whispered, the smooth tip of his index finger lifting my chin. How can a killer have such pretty skin?

  “Look at me,” he commanded in a hushed tone that almost had me trusting his intentions. My eyes began making their way from the floor to his face, but a knock at the door froze both of us. My glance was fixed on the hand attached to my chin while his right hand reached for the gun placed in the waistband of his tuxedo. Of course this bastard carries a gun. Why wouldn’t one carry a gun to a gala? Into my room? Obviously, I’m a moron for not owning one.

  I shifted my weight beneath Julian, but his index finger was quick to lift against my mouth, silencing any scream he thought I was stupid enough to elicit.

  “Are you expect—” His words were quickly castrated, his face draining as the voice crept through the door.

  “Aideen.” Liam’s whisper was soft, a velvet sound that crawled between the door and its hinges, trickling across the floor and spinning its hold around me while Julian’s posture stiffened like a rock.

  “It appears I’m not the only company you’ll have this evening,” Julian whispered in reply while he looked at me, his eyes burning with an emotion foreign to him. His gun slipped back into the waistband of his pants while his smile widened.

  “What’s so amusing to you, Mr. Molloy?”

  “You better answer the door.” His head shook in mockery. “You can’t keep the boy waiting. I’ll just be in the bathroom. And, Aideen, don’t do anything you’ll regre
t.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Julian’s hand squeezed my jaw, parting my mouth in its restrictive hold. “Liam’s no different than them. You seem to keep forgetting that I am the one who continues to save you.”

  “You think you’ve saved me?”

  “Answer the door, Aideen,” Julian growled in a whisper, his body quick to leave me as he stepped into the bathroom. My towel-wrapped body was tickling with the painful spread of goose bumps while I stood, like a fool, frozen and rigid with unease. One Molloy was hiding in my bathroom while one requested entry, all while I stood in a towel. Screw my life and everything that is me. With an anxiously heavy sigh, I opened the door, revealing Liam’s drunken figure. I tasted the liquor before even looking at him.

  “I wasn’t done,” he informed me, attempting to enter my suite. “Please. I have more to say to you. There are things you need to know.”

  “Now’s really not a good time,” I pressed. “My head is killing me, Liam, and I am about to go to bed. I was just putting on my pajamas.” I began closing the door, but Liam’s foot stopped me, sticking between the doorframe and panel.

  “It’s about your wings.”

  His eyes were blurred with drink as I studied them. “Come back tomorrow morning. We can have brunch. Okay?” His shoulders hung at my words.

  “Thank you for everything you said to me earlier, Liam,” I continued, realizing my words were more of a pathetic attempt to enrage the murderer hiding in my bathroom than express affection toward Liam. “You’re very kind.”

  “Tomorrow then?”

  “Yes,” I replied once his foot lifted from its barricade. “Goodnight.” Without giving him the opportunity to respond, I closed the door and pressed my back into the panel to catch my breath. I had less than one second before Julian would return from hiding and I needed to compose myself. I need to get dressed.