Page 51 of Mercy (The Sins Trilogy 3)
Chapter Eighteen
Ivy
The next morning, I get up ten minutes late. I rush through the shower, throw on the first dress in the closet and dab some concealer and powder on my face.
“I wish you could sleep in,” Tony says, lightly brushing the delicate skin under my eyes. “You have dark circles.”
“That’s what coffee is for.” I palm his cheek and kiss him lightly. “I’ll just get some extra sleep tonight.”
When we go to the kitchen, Bobbi’s already made enough coffee for four. Yuna’s there too, still in the nightshirt.
“I have to go shopping,” she says. “Assuming I can find something to wear.” Some women wouldn’t mind going out in a nightshirt to shop, but Yuna isn’t one of them.
I murmur my thanks when Bobbi hands me a cup. Tony gets his own.
“What happened to what you were wearing yesterday?” I ask Yuna.
An expression of pure disgust fleets across her face. “I can’t wear the same thing two days in a row.”
I hide my smile. Sometimes I forget how particular she can be. “Grab whatever you want from my closet,” I say.
“Really?” Yuna perks up.
“Yup. Go pump up the local economy.”
“Perfect! You’re the best.”
“I’ve always been the best. Just admit it.” I grab a granola bar.
“Ha! I’m going to make you weep tonight. You aren’t the only one who’s been practicing ‘Mazeppa.’”
Oh crap. I haven’t worked on that in over two weeks. Still, there’s no way I’m going to cower now. “Bring it!”
Tony spreads a thick layer of cream cheese on his toasted egg bagel. “I’ll send TJ here to drive you,” he says to Yuna.
“I can Uber or grab a cab,” Yuna says.
“For our peace of mind,” he says.
She starts to argue, then nods. “Okay.”
I wave as we walk out, leaving Yuna. “See you later.”
Tony and I climb to the waiting Cullinan together. I sip the coffee and nibble on the granola bar. It isn’t bad, although I’d prefer yogurt and berries. But not today. Have to get up on time.
It’s the nightmare that woke me up and kept me up. Tony held me all night long, and it helped calm my nerves. And the images from the dream felt so real. Does this mean my memories are churning up toward the surface of my mind? If I’m careful, will I be able to gather them all up and piece them together?
I shoot a glance at Tony. If I told him about the boy with the minty breath who groped me—and probably wanted to do more—would Tony recognize him?
I don’t remember the guy’s face, but I feel like I know enough other details that if he was from Tempérane, Tony might figure it out. And most likely treat Minty Breath to a Jamie Thornton Special, something I don’t want Tony to do again. It’s too violent and dark.
But why do I need to know who he was and what happened back then? It’s best I don’t remember ugliness. Life’s already difficult and complicated without dwelling on darkness. And I have more immediate problems: the killer and Margot’s weird attempts to wriggle into my life. When trying to get me to accept her help with the wedding, she threw Katherine in my face. Now that I’m rested and fresh, I realize I can’t rely on Margot for a truthful account. Not Tony, either. He’s probably still broken up about his sister’s death, even if he doesn’t show it. I need someone else who knows the story…
Not Tony’s father. He also disowned Tony, so it’s likely he’s just going to agree with Margot’s version, even if it’s not entirely true.
Edgar? He’s the eldest, and he should know what happened. But even if we were close before, it would be kind of awkward to call him out of the blue. Maybe—
“Problem?” Tony asks.
