Page 189 of Safe Word

The warmth of late sunlight spilt over me as the door opened, painting golden streaks across the wooden floor. I stepped out. Both pairs of eyes turned to me in perfect synchrony, deliciously unaware of the sin that unfolded just moments ago behind that closed door.

Vinnie’s narrowed. His gaze sliced across my face like a scalpel, searching for something I didn’t want him to find. But the moment Genevieve leaned in, murmuring something soft, he recovered. That practised killer-smile bloomed – too fast. Too bright. Too fake.

I held my breath as the door clicked shut behind me.

My footsteps beat too loudly as I crossed the room towards the hallway.

‘It’s nearly time for dinner. Should we go downstairs?’ I asked, my voice gentler than the tension deserved.

The reporter angled her head, frowning faintly before glancing at Vinnie. They exchanged a puzzled look.

‘We just had some coffee,’ she said, brushing a strand of long, brown hair behind her ear. ‘I’m not very hungry.’

I hummed, eyes sliding to the old mantel clock above the fireplace. Nearly six.

‘If we want to avoid the crowd, we should probably go. Right, Vinnie?’

His eyes met mine. For a beat, he didn’t blink. Then something shifted, like fog lifting from glass.

Recognition.

It sobered him instantly.

His gaze veered towards the bathroom door. A twitch of muscle pulsed along his jaw before he dropped his stare to the carpet. When he spoke, his voice was distant.

‘Paula’s right. We should go.’

‘Where’s Mr D’Angelo?’ Genevieve asked.

I felt a smug, sharp-edged smile threatening to rise but I buried it. Barely.

‘He left some papers in his car,’ I lied, smooth as silk.

Vinnie’s jaw flexed again. A silent rearrangement of anger and restraint.

He moved past me, brushing my shoulder as he reached for the door and held it open.

Genevieve exited first.

I followed. But before I could cross the threshold, Vinnie’s hand slammed flat against the frame. The sound cracked through the hallway almost like a gunshot, but Genevieve was, thankfully, already talking on the phone.

I stopped, startled, eyes locking with his.

I’d never seen him like that. Not angry.

Wronged.

As if I’d cheated on a promise that was never made.

Those soft Mediterranean blues had frozen over, rimmed in dark steel that made them look all the more sharper. He was too quiet.

The door handle clicked behind us. Wood creaked.

A single step punctured the atmosphere.

I didn’t turn.

Vinnie slanted a glance to the side – the line of his throat tight, his expression etched in disbelief as he undoubtedly saw the state that Cain was in.