I feel like that should be positive, but there’s a hitch in his voice that makes it sound more like an ending than a beginning.
‘At least Eddie won’t be a problem,’ he says. ‘No big red wedding for the two of you.’
‘His family are going to be furious if they ever find out what happened.’
‘If I believe anyone can keep the truth under wraps, it’s your family.’ He’s not unkind when he says it, more matter-of-fact.
I let out a breath. ‘They’re very good at what they do. Everyone but me. I couldn’t even kill Eddie, the one person I hated more than anyone. And he deserved to die.’
‘I’m not sorry he died,’ Roman admits.
‘Me either, so can I count on you not to call the police the minute we get home?’
‘Yes.’
‘And… thank you for the pity sex.’
He raises a brow. ‘It wasn’t pity.’
I give him a look. ‘Sure. You’re a liar, Roman. A very attractive liar. And I’m—’ I gesture at myself, one hand briefly leaving the wheel. ‘Whatever.’
‘Whatever?’ he repeats.
‘A woman who has to kidnap a wedding date and can’t even kill the bad guys.’
‘Maggie,’ he says dryly, ‘not killing people is generally seen as a positive trait.’
‘Not in my world.’
‘Your world is out of sync with normality. You just need to tell your dad no. You’re an adult, he can’t make you do anything.’
And despite all the crazy things that I’ve done in the past few days, the idea of standing up to my dad tops the lot.
34
ROMAN
London hits differently after a few days away.
The buildings press in around the car, lights and people everywhere. Traffic is slow, having hit the rush hour.
By the time we pull in, I’m exhausted and Maggie looks just as tired.
We climb the stairs to Maggie’s flat together, our bags bumping against our legs, both of us a bit wobbly. At least my head isn’t bouncing across the steps this time. There’s a strange limbo between us like we’re waiting for our credits to roll. The adrenaline of the last few days has drained away and I feel like someone has reached into me and scooped out my innards like I’m a fucking pumpkin.
I’m weary to my bones, everything aching. The deep bruise along my ribs is the sorest point. But when I press against it, nothing feels broken.
Maggie’s quiet, too. Her usual babbling and nervousness are gone. She keeps adjusting the strap of her bag, twisting it around her fingers.
Her door looms as we come to a stop outside it.
‘So,’ I say. ‘What now?’
Maggie exhales and blinks up at me. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t really think this far through my plan. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit of a mess.’
I picture Eddie’s horrific grin. The bat. The knife. Eliza’s blade. Coffin’s one bright, unblinking eye.
‘A hot mess, at least.’
