Page 117 of Beautiful Scars

The man is breaking my heart.

It’s too fucking...adorable.

And believe me, I never thought that was a word I’d use to describe Cillian Hendry.

Kill tilts his head to the side. “You like it?”

I smile up at him. “It’s going to be perfect.”

And then I swallow, the words I’ve just spoken leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

The perfect wedding for a sham of a marriage.

“Come on, there’s more.” He grabs my hand and leads me back up the way we came.

We pass by a large, brightly lit room and Kill mutters something about having the meal in there, so I grab onto the archway to get a better look. The walls are a beige stone color, with Juliet balconies high up on both sides. A massive fireplace dominates the back wall but apart from that, it’s empty. It’s the kind of space you want to enter just so you can discover how small you feel.

I’m about to take a step, but before my foot touches the floor two massive arms grab me around the waist.

“Woah. Steady on, darlin’. I made them repaint the floors. They won’t be dry yet.”

I look down and, right enough, the dark wood is shining and reflecting every bit of sunlight pouring in from the large arched windows.

Hemade themrepaint the floors. As if that’s something a normal person would do. “Did the floors look at you the wrong way or something?”

Kill chuckles at my back and drops me down on the circular step. We keep climbing until my cheeks are hot and I’m trying hard to mask the fact that I’m breathless. It’s not helped by the way the spiraling stairs are longer at my side than they are his, and I have to take three steps between every incline compared to his one.

“Struggling there?”

I take a deep breath before I reply. “I’ve been locked in a room for weeks. Not exactly marathon-ready.”

He laughs as he picks me up, curving an arm under each of my thighs. “Don’t give me that excuse. You’ve been terrible at walking since the day I met you.”

“Put me down you big—”

Kill just laughs, pinching the back of my thigh and making me squirm. “Remind me to lock you in the gym when we get home.”

“At least carry me properly,” I tell him. Honestly, if anyone was to pass us on these stairs they’d think we were both loons.

He grins. “Like a bride? But you make such a cute koala.”

I bury my face into his neck to hide how much he’s making me giggle. How much I’m smiling even when I shouldn’t be. Me and Trish need to have a serious conversation about this, because I’m pretty sure I might be succumbing to his Stockholm tactics and that’s uncharted territory for me.

I pop my head up when I feel the sun on my back.

We’re on what would have been the top floor of the castle—if it still had its roof. Old fireplaces dot the walls, worn smooth after being exposed to the elements for so many years.

Kill lets me down but keeps me close as he leads me across the stone slabs.

“Look, over there.” He points to a small opening that seems to lead down. We’re going back down? When we approach I see that it’s more stairs, spiral but not the same as the ones we just climbed. This passage is barely two feet wide, and it gets dark pretty quickly.

“What’s down there?”

If he tells me this is the bridal suite and I need to fit my big puffy dress into this rabbit hole, all the Stockholm tactics in the world won’t be able to save him.

But he says nothing, just nods his head and gestures for me to climb—yes,climb—down.

And I do it. Because apparently I’m a sucker for being in precarious situations with the big scary man.