Page 7 of Pretty Threats

“No.”

That causes my lips to form a small smile. I’ve started to get used to him. Where I’m concerned, he makes every little thing harder than it needs to be, which should be exhausting but for some reason isn’t. I’ve noticed he at least talks to me when I ask him something. A lot of conversation from other people, he just ignores. It’s so rude. Marianne calls him out on his behavior, but that doesn’t change anything.

My aunt gives me a side hug, which spreads warmth through my chest. It’s nice to have her here to support my dad.

“I don’t know if I’ll remember what to do for the mass part,” I whisper to Killian.

“Lucky you.”

“So, if you catch me watching you, that’s why.”

He says nothing. His current facial expression, with his brows drawn together in a straight line, makes him look bored. Killian’s interactions with people are so different than his brothers’. All of them appear serious, but whenever I speak to one of them, they’re friendly toward me. Despite being scary-looking men, they do more to put me at ease than Killian. He seems to lean into his identity as a “literal bastard.”

My dad, who’s a therapist, has picked up on it, of course. He says Killian’s surly personality is probably a coping mechanism he developed young, in response to a difficult childhood. A part of me thinks he should be over that by now. I lost my mom young, too, but I don’t have a resting bitch face or daily rude interactions with people who have only been nice to me. Maybe Killian’s childhood was damaged by more than just his mother’s loss.

I give him a sideways glance. The arms of his suit coat look as big as my legs in skinny jeans. His size is intimidating because he has a tendency to use it that way. When we pass each other in the hall, he purposely moves closer, so my personal space disappears and I end up brushing against him and the wall. And when he’s annoyed, his glare is so fierce he looks ready to tear my head off. It’s hard to imagine he was ever a small boy struggling to cope.

My dad’s tried to talk to him, but Dad says he can’t find a way in with Killian. I’ve seen what he means. If my dad tries to have a deeper conversation than “pass the milk,” Killian shuts down, reverting to silence or, at most, one-word answers.

The only person he seems willing to have near him for long is me. That feels good, though I try not to show it since Dad’s wary of Killian’s attention toward me. I think Killian’s tolerance of me could turn into a good thing if it causes him to confide in me about his past and that makes him feel and act better.

My pinky flicks the side of Killian’s hand. His head doesn’t turn toward me, but his eyes move to give me a sideways glance. Without even looking down at our hands, his finger curls around mine and squeezes until it’s painful.

I wince and then my jaw clenches and my furrowed brow communicates my annoyance with him. When he releases my finger, his eyes shift back to the altar where the priest is moving into position.

I rub my left pinky with my right thumb and index finger. I was just playing, which he must know. Was crushing my finger his way of making a playful gesture? If so, he’s not very good at it.

The music starts, and we all stand.

Marianne, wearing a cream and soft pink dress, proceeds up the main aisle, pausing each time her feet come together. It’s the walk of a queen and very different from her usual relaxed posture.

“She looks really pretty,” I whisper.

Liam’s eyes flick to my face, and he winks at me. Warmth spreads through me. It’s really cool to feel like I have older brothers now.

When I turn my head to check what Killian thinks, he’s not looking at Marianne or me. His narrowed gaze is directed at Liam.

Without warning, Killian’s strong arm slides around me and drags me left as he steps right. I almost gasp out loud as my feet leave the ground. A second later, I’m standing to Killian’s left with no one to my own left side. He’s now standing between me and my aunt and, more important to him apparently, between me and Liam.

My aunt glances over with a questioning look, and I shrug, pretending I don’t have any idea why Killian changed spots with me.

Marianne reaches the front of the church to stand with my dad. They’re almost the same height and look nice together.

“Why did you do that?” I whisper, thinking I’d better start talking to him about the way he’s using his strength to do whatever he wants around me.

Killian stares straight ahead, ignoring my question.

I purse my lips. Message received. He’s going to do whatever he feels like doing, regardless of where he is or what else is going on. And regardless of whether someone might object to it.

I stare at him with a raised brow, sending my own prickly message back. He’s so unmoved he might as well be made of granite. As the priest welcomes us, I turn my attention back to the ceremony.

A trickle of unease courses through me, but I brush it away. All he did was swap spots with me. It’s not as though he did something drastic.

A part of me is distracted from the event, though, as I recall the way I glided through the air as though I weighed nothing… He’s really strong. If I did want to stop Killian from doing something, there’s no way I could.

5

Now

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