Fiona’s head tilted. “You sound drunk. Are you drunk?”
Drunk? Catriona scowled and then remembered she’d wiped out the Parasol Picture’s private plane’s collection of tiny booze bottles trying to soothe her aches and erase the horrors of her trip to Las Vegas.
Could I be drunk?
No…
She didn’t feel drunk. She felt confident she wouldn’t ache as much as she did if she were. She licked her lip and tasted blood.
Oh right. The football on my face.
“I wish I was drunk. My lip is swollen.”
Fiona stood and ran her hands through her mane of ebony hair as she walked forward like a catwalk model, lithe and composed. Catriona looked away, disgusted by her sister’s natural sexy.
Why did she get all the feminine wiles?
Fiona drew close, inspecting her sister’s lip. Catriona retracted her own neck to avoid bumping noses with her.
“Get your face out of my face.”
Fiona grimaced. “You look like you had an overzealous pre-Oscars Botox touch-up.”
“Thanks. You’re not exactly Miss America in the morning either.”
It was a lie. Fiona always looked together. It was nice to see her a little rumpled in the morning. It meant she might be human. A terrible human, but human, nonetheless.
Catriona glanced down to be reminded her water had landed right-side up.
Hm. I couldn’t do that again if I tried.
She stooped to retrieve it, groaning with the effort, and took another swig from the left side of her mouth.
“Why are you here?”
Fiona shrugged. “Daddy tried to kill me, remember? Sean thought maybe I’d be safest here.”
Catriona recalled a fuzzy memory of Fiona arriving the previous evening, panting and frazzled and yapping about how their father had tried to kill her and how she’d… what? Done something to him…
“Did you stab him?”
Fiona nodded and pantomimed the action. “In the throat. Pen.”
“And you think he’s dead?”
Fiona shrugged. “Never dead. But gone. I hope.”
Catriona closed her eyes. There were so many things to deal with in the real world. This new reality, where she, Fiona, their father Rune, Sean and Broch were all supposedly some kind of tribe of time travelers really felt like too much to process with what had to be a cracked rib on her right side screaming for attention.
It might be a four-aspirin day.
Something Fiona had said earlier bounced back through Catriona’s brain and she cocked her head.
Sean thought maybe I’d be safest here.
“Wait. Since when does Sean care what happens to you?”
Fiona shrugged. “Since he realized we’re all in this together.”
Catriona rolled her eyes. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
Fiona stood and stretched her arms over her head with an exaggerated yawn. She wore a familiar t-shirt and it rose to expose her naked thighs as she reached for the ceiling.
My t-shirt.
Fiona motioned to the bedroom. “That moving mountain slept in there with you. You saw him, right? I don’t imagine you could miss him.”
“I saw him.”
“Like a Great Dane. I couldn’t have gotten near you if I tried. I got up once to go to the bathroom and I swear I heard him growl.”
Catriona nodded in Fiona’s direction. “That’s my t-shirt.”
Fiona scratched at her ribs. “No kidding. Cheap cotton. Itches.”
“It’s not cheap.”
“Trust me. It’s cheap.”
“It’s not cheap—”
“Guid mornin’.”
Both women shifted their attention to find Broch standing at the doorway of Catriona’s bedroom, still wearing nothing but his plaid boxers, the scar on his abdomen more visible than usual.
Fiona made a little whooph noise and Catriona glanced at her. It seemed Broch’s physical charms weren’t wasted on her sister. Fiona might have called him the moving mountain, but right now she looked as if she wanted to wrap herself around him like the snake she was.
Catriona eyeballed Fiona as she pointed at Broch’s scar. “I don’t think you’ve got a shot with him, considering you almost killed him.”
Fiona shrugged. “Gives him character. He should thank me.”
Broch ran his fingers over the scar as he padded into the kitchen. “It itches today.”
“It’s because of her,” said Catriona as he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of orange juice. “If you spend too much time near her it will start to open again. We have to get her out of here.”
Fiona clucked her tongue. “Jeeze. I’m right here. I can hear you, you know.”
“Then take a hint.”
Broch unscrewed the top of the orange juice and was about to raise the bottle to his lips when both sisters spoke in unison.
“Glass.”
Broch lowered the bottle.
“Richt. Sorry.”
Broch opened a cabinet to retrieve a glass and Fiona gathered her clothes from the chair beside the sofa. “Can I at least get a shower?”
Catriona sighed. “Sure.”
“And while I’m in there, you think about where I’m supposed to go. I think Sean wanted me to stay here with you until we figure out whether or not Dad is dead.”
“He must have forgotten about how your presence agitates Broch’s wound.”
Fiona glanced at Broch. “Or maybe he thought the big monkey would be in his own cage.”
Catriona gently pushed Fiona toward the bedroom, the location of the only bathroom in the small apartment over Parasol Pictures’ payroll office. “You’re about to be out on the street with no shower.”
“Fine, fine. I’m going.”
“Dinnae use mah shampoo,” Broch called after her as she disappeared.
Catriona moved to the kitchen island. “Why has your shampoo migrated to my shower?”
“Ah didnae wantae lea ye alone with her lest nicht, bit ah wantit a shower, sae ah fetched it fae mah abode.”
“You couldn’t just use my shampoo for one day?”
Broch looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“Right. Stupid question.” She nodded toward his stomach. “How are you feeling. How fast is that thing opening up?”
Broch
