“How so?”
I shake my head. “No, I… that’s not what I mean… I…”
“Esme,” Cillian says gently.
I stop my awkward stammering.
I avoid his eyes and play with the hem of my dress. “It’s nothing,” I try again.
“Is that why you won’t look me in the eye?”
I raise my gaze to his and stare directly at him in defiance. “I know you and Artem are close,” I say. “But you’re not my friend.”
“I’d like to be,” he says instantly.
“I… you would?” I say, genuinely surprised by that.
“Of course,” Cillian says. I don’t hear a lick of insincerity in his tone. “You’re Artem’s wife, and Artem’s as good as a brother to me. So yes, I would like us to be friends.”
“You don’t honestly expect me to believe that you’d keep my secrets from Artem, do you?”
He raises his eyebrows. “I guess I wasn’t aware you had secrets from Artem.”
Damn it.
I smile and shake my head at him. “You’re good.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says innocently.
I roll my eyes at him. “Is that why you stayed behind?” I ask. “So you could lull me into a false sense of security and trick me into giving you information?”
Cillian laughs. I can’t help admiring the way his blonde curls catch the light. He looks like he should be on the cover of some all-American magazine. Ironic really, considering he’s pure Irish.
“Come on now, you’ve got me all wrong,” he argues. “I’m just trying to get to know you a little better and you’re accusing me of ulterior motives.”
“Well, you’re asking me a lot of unnecessary questions,” I point out.
He smiles, apparently unaffected by how uncomfortable I obviously am right now. “Nuh-uh,” he says. “You let something slip and I simply wanted clarification.”
I open my mouth and then snap it shut again, realizing that he’s right. He’s absolutely right—I’m the one being cagey and weird.
I exhale and try to shake off the tightening in my chest that I’ve been feeling for the past few days now.
“Okay,” I concede. “You’re right.”
He smiles in satisfaction. “Listen, all I’m saying is, if there is something on your mind, you can talk to me. That’s all. No ulterior motives. And in this case, I won’t play the double agent.”
“In this case?” I ask, with raised eyebrows.
He chuckles. “Well, sometimes in this line of work, double agenting is necessary.”
“Double agenting?”
“It’s a real word,” he says confidently.
I can’t help but laugh. For a trained killer, he’s a little goofy.
“So, Cillian, I have to admit… Artem doesn’t talk about you much.”
“Ouch. My ego.”
“That’s not what I mean!” I protest. “I know how close the two of you are, and I know how much Artem loves and respects you, which is why it’s surprising that he doesn’t talk about you more.”
“Ah,” Cillian muses. “Well, Artem doesn’t really like to talk about the past much. Anyone’s past.”
“Apparently.”
“But in my case, I think it’s simply because he feels he doesn’t have the right,” Cillian explains. “Especially because my past is mired in drama, heartache and betrayal.”
“All three, huh?”
“Triple whammy,” Cillian agrees. He casts a glance around. “Do you by any chance have alcohol in this little love shack?”
I smile apologetically. “Sorry, but it’s a dry love shack for now.”
“Seriously?” Cillian says, looking at me in shock. “There’s no alcohol at all?”
“Sorry.”
“What did Artem do, finish the entire supply before I got here?”
“He hasn’t really drank at all since we’ve been up here. Actually, he hasn’t really drank since we left Los Angeles.”
Cillian’s brow furrows for a short moment before a smile falls back onto his face.
“Wow,” he breathes, impressed.
“What’s that look?”
Cillian shrugs. “Just amazed, really,” he says. “There was a time not long ago when Artem couldn’t go a day with some liquid courage. I guess that’s thanks to you.”
I feel my cheeks blush with color again. “I don’t know about that…”
“I do,” Cillian asserts confidently. Then he takes a deep breath. “I had hoped for a little liquid courage of my own to tell you this story. But I guess I’ll have to do it stone-cold sober.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You’re going to tell me about your past?” I ask.
“Yup.”
“The one that’s full of drama, heartache and betrayal?” I clarify.
“It would seem so.”
“Wow,” I say. “Not that I’m not flattered, and interested. But why?”
“Because, if I expect you to trust me, I have to trust you,” he says.
I smile, feeling more and more at ease with Cillian with each passing minute.
Then, after taking another deep breath, Cillian launches into the story of his life in Ireland and growing up in a small-time mafia family.
He tells me about Saoirse, about the boy that hit on her, and everything that followed.
And I listen silently, allowing him to tell his story at his own pace.
When he’s finished, he runs his fingers through his overgrown blonde hair and glances out the window at the mountains in the distance.
“So that’s it,” he says, turning his attention back to me. “That’s my little tragedy, the one that led me to the Bratva in the first place.”
“Cillian,” I whisper, emotion clogging up my throat. “I… I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago, Esme.”
“Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”
He smiles. I can see the hurt in his eyes for a moment.
“Your father didn’t even try to negotiate on your behalf?” I ask.
“My father was—is—an ambitious man,” Cillian replies. “The politician whose son I injured, he was powerful. My father had to choose between political advancement or his screw-up son. I guess it was an easy decision for him.”
“And Saoirse?” I ask, feeling guilty for even asking.
“She moved on with her life,” Cillian tells me. “And I moved on, too. As best I could.”
“Oh, my God,” I breathe. “Cillian… you still have feelings for her.”
He smiles sadly. “Maybe,” he acknowledges. “But it’s probably because I haven’t met the right girl yet. Artem’s lucky that way.”
I look at him with a start. “What?”
“Oh, come on, Esme,” Cillian says. “I haven’t seen Artem this happy in a long fucking
