Page 18 of How to Kill Your Rival

‘You’re a good egg,’ I say, which is likely the biggest compliment I’ve given the guy. In all honesty, I couldn’t have picked someone better for Maggie. He adores her. Imagine learning that the maniac next door is part of a contract-killer family and still choosing to spend the rest of your life with her. Bananas. There’s a reason that our kind marry within a certain sect of society. You’ve got to be okay with sleeping next to someone who knows perfectly well how to kill you with one carefully placed stab.

Gaston trots out of the bedroom when Maggie emerges, drying her hair off with a towel.

‘Sorry, I was in the shower,’ she says.

‘No shit…’ I roll my eyes at her before softening. It’s so easy to slip into sibling mode around her. But it’s not her fault that I’m stressed out. ‘Sorry. Tough day.’

Gaston jumps up on the sofa, narrowly avoiding my mug of tea, and plonks himself right into my lap.

Gaston appears to be assembled from leftover parts of other dogs. The frankenwoof. He’s Chihuahua-small, and has their bugged eyes, but set far more in the shape of a bulldog. I think. His hair is mostly short, but then sprouts out across his shoulders and head in dark tufts. A lolling pink tongue always intercepts the line of his mouth, and his ears don’t even look related, far less matching. He has the body of a chihuahua who has had ideas, the eyes of something that has seen things it can’t unsee, ears that have independently decided on different angles, and a tongue that left the building some time ago and hasn’t come back. It took him a while to come round to us all, but I’m pretty sure we’ve been accepted. God help if Gaston ever meets Coffin. I’m not sure who would be more terrified.

He looks up at me with his misaligned eyes.

‘He likes you,’ Maggie says, pouring two glasses of wine for Roman and me, and a canned G&T for her.

‘He bit the postman the other day down in the lobby,’ Roman says.

‘He tried. It was barely a nip,’ Maggie says.

I scratch Gaston behind his uneven ears.

‘We’ve got pasta bake cooking if you want to join us,’ Maggie says before passing out the drinks. I find a gap on the busy coffee table for my mug and take a long glug of wine. My shoulders sink as I finally relax, Gaston’s warmth like a weighted blanket. ‘Then you can tell me what’s got you coming by unannounced.’

‘Not that we mind,’ Roman adds.

‘Well, we could have be⁠—’

‘Maggie!’ Roman cuts her off before she can finish, his face flushing red.

The devilish little grin she gives lets me know just how settled they are together. Maggie’s never really been like that with guys. She’s always doubted herself too much. I can’t help but smile.

‘Can I not just want to spend time with you?’ I ask.

‘Always. But with a face like fizz, there’s something bothering you,’ she says. ‘It’s not Dad, is it?’

‘No, he’s still motoring through. This round of chemo has been worse than the last, but the doctors said the results are hopeful at his appointment the other day.’ Maggie can’t get up to our Highland home as much as I, and she just sees Dad looking sicker, so she worries more. But she doesn’t see his tough streak these days, which is very much still intact.

Maggie glances over her glass. ‘Is it James?’

Her voice has that sing-song quality where someone pretends they’re teasing but is fishing for details. Maggie has long questioned our rivalry as being more than just contract-killer hijinks.

‘James is just a professional acquaintance,’ I say.

‘He’s family now.’ Maggie rolls her eyes at my firm insistence.

‘No, he’s not,’ I say.

‘He was at the Death Council meeting last week.’

‘He’s on the Death Council.’

‘Priscilla said he always stays over when you do.’ Maggie raises a brow.

So his mum’s been keeping an eye on us?

‘We’re both there for the same meeting. We’re not exactly going to drive the eleven hours back to London after. I spend half my time there; I can’t help but bump into him.’

Roman takes his glass of wine into the kitchenette, which is only eight steps away from where he was sitting. As if the distance will make him any more comfortable being caught in our conversation.