Page 5 of A Trap So Flawless

“What the fuck is she doing in Montréal?” I ask, spinning away from the drenched scenery outside to face Rowan fully. He’s already dressed for the funeral, his long red hair tied neatly back, his bulky body encased in a black suit. I’ll have to put my suit on soon, too.

I only brought the one. The one I was wearing that night.

“Not sure yet. But Tommy said she’s been spotted at a wedding dress boutique with her mammy and her cousin.”

And just like that, I feel alive for the first time in fucking days.

I picture my pretty little pet trying on white dresses for me and something savage splits me open. I don’t know if it’s happiness – I don’t even know if I’m capable of that, especially today of all days – but it’s hot and bright and it makes my fucking dick hard.

I don’t have time to jerk off to thoughts of my angry fiancée wrapped in silk and white lace. Don’t have time to take my cock in my hand, to dig the nails in, and pretend it’s her.

Cold shower it is.

I leave Rowan in my grandda’s office, heading up the narrow stairs to the bathroom on the second floor. On my way into the bathroom, with its black and white tile and shower, I pass a familiar door. The door to my old bedroom, where I slept from ages fifteen to eighteen. I went in there a few days ago. It looked exactly how I fucking left it. Same single bed, same faded blue wallpaper, same stupid framed quote that one of grandda’s mistresses gave to me on my sixteenth birthday, incorrectly attributed to Oscar Wilde. Always forgive your enemies. Nothing annoys them so much.

Clearly, that advice never quite sank in.

In the bathroom, I strip, then get into the shower. The water is so much softer here than in Toronto. Even on the coldest setting, it feels oddly like a caress.

It makes me think of Valentina. Valentina in the fountain. Valentina soaked under the sprinklers of that club. Valentina sprayed by cold Georgian Bay in that tiny white bikini with its little red ribbon.

The ribbon that I took.

The ribbon I have with me now. I’ve had it on me ever since I took it from her. Had it in my jacket beside the ring when I saw her last. As I blink freezing water from my eyes, I can see the red edge of it poking out of the pocket of the pants I discarded on the floor.

I wash myself with Grandda’s soap. Same one he’s been using as long as I ever knew him. When I step out of the shower, I smell more of him than of her. But I know the effect is only temporary. By the time I try to close my eyes tonight, it’ll be Valentina overwhelming my senses once more.

I use his razor, too, shaving along my neck, cheeks, and jaw. A tiny nick bleeds scarlet ink. Scarlet like Valentina’s sweet pussy streaking blood along my cock.

I never should have let her talk me into using a condom. What I wouldn’t fucking give to have let her stain my skin.

But there will be plenty of time to fuck her raw. Plenty of time to get her juices all over my bare cock – or her blood, if she’s on her period – when she’s my wife.

I wipe the blood, smearing it more than cleaning it off. I pull the ribbon from the heap of clothing on the floor, twirl it between my fingers, and stalk naked from the bathroom. Rowan is still in the office when I get there.

“Where’s my suit?”

He tips his head towards the small closet in the room. “Got it cleaned, too.”

I freeze, jaw working.

Must be the lack of sleep. Or maybe the lack of proximity to Valentina. Because suddenly, it’s taking everything I’ve got not to turn around and break Rowan’s nose.

Of course he got my suit cleaned. He’s done shit like this countless times before. I can’t go to my grandda’s funeral a rumpled fucking mess, smelling like sex and sweet Sicilian pussy. It was the correct thing to do.

And I’m fucking seething over it.

The suit looks perfect. Pristine. Like my last night with her never even happened at all.

I put it on, hating the feel of the fabric. I clutch the silken surface of the ribbon in my hand the entire time.

Instead of donning a proper tie, I slide the ribbon around my neck, below the collar of my shirt, and tie it there.

Like a weird, skinny bowtie.

Or a noose.

“I’ll go bring the car around.”

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