Keep Me (Sinful Manor #1)

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

My new wife and I have relaxed into a bearable routine. The only time I have to look at her is at dinner, when we sit on opposite sides of the table. A time or two, I’ve caught her glancing up in my direction.

She has watchful hazel eyes and the world’s fiercest resting bitch face. A slightly downturned mouth, big, full pouty lips, and a brow line so straight, it frames her face in a perfect scowl.

I knew from the moment she stumbled into my house that Sylvie was the perfect girl for the plan my sister was so enthusiastically orchestrating. She didn’t just break into my home uninvited like some entitled brat, but she dared to challenge me at the same time.

I had never met a more infuriating and bold woman in all of my life. If I was going to let my sister win this battle and find me a bride for a whole year, then it couldn’t be some dainty waif of a woman. She couldn’t be polite or delicate. I didn’t want to worry about hurting her feelings or being rude to her.

Sylvie is perfect.

It’s been nearly a month since she arrived. I’ve picked up on her routine. She starts each day with an ungodly amount of coffee. Then she goes into her room and takes the world’s longest shower. After which, she watches the trashiest reality television and eats nearly everything she can get her hands on in the kitchen.

Some days she asks the driver to take her somewhere, usually insisting he pick the place based on her requests. The best bookshop in town. The coziest coffee shop. The seediest pub. Then she leaves for a few hours, and I’m free to roam my own house without worry.

But for some reason, I find myself spending those hours in restless anxiety. The walls start to close in. The house is too quiet.

I could go into town too. I could easily walk into a pub or head farther south and go into the city. I just don’t want to. It’s too crowded and noisy, and people are daft idiots. Why would I want to spend my days there when I have so much space and comfort here?

It’s not that I can’t —it’s that I don’t want to.

When the front door closes in the distance, I listen for the footsteps. If they are clunky boots on the hardwood, then it’s Sylvie. If they are furious-sounding heels clicking, it’s my sister.

A disgruntled sigh escapes at the sound of heels.

“Killian,” Anna calls.

I could escape to the garden. Busy myself with the roses or tend to the bees, but she’s too quick. I’m barely out of my chair when she enters.

“Oh, there you are,” she says in a rigid tone.

“Here I am,” I reply.

“Where is Sylvie?” She glances around the room as if my wife and I would just be sitting together like a regular couple.

“How the fuck should I know?”

Anna rolls her eyes as she proceeds farther into the sitting room, dropping her purse on the table.

“How are things going with you two?” she asks.

I shrug. “Barely see each other really.”

She lets out a frustrated-sounding sigh. I briefly wonder what it might be like if my sister wasn’t perpetually disappointed in me. If, for one moment, she could just see things the way I do.

“You’ve been married for a month now, and no one has seen you together. The honeymoon period is over. So it’s time for you and Sylvie to make a public appearance.”

“Fuck that,” I groan, making my way to the bar for a shot.

“It’s barely past noon, Killian. Must you really start drinking already?”

“What else would you like me to do, Anna?” I reply before immediately regretting it. I just gave her an opening to meddle even more.

“Help me plan this outing for you and Sylvie,” she implores.

“I don’t want to go on some stupid fucking outing. What is the point?”

“So people can see you together, and our aunts and uncles believe in this marriage, Killian. Take her to a rugby match. Post some photos online. That would make them happy,” she says. I reply only with a deep sigh. Her heels click softly as she inches toward me. “When was the last time you went to a rugby match?” she asks delicately. “Or a football game?”

Her voice carries that worried tone that grates on my nerves. I hate that she worries over me. Especially when I’m perfectly fine here.

“I’m throwing a party,” I reply.

In my periphery, I see her shaking her head. “No, Killian. No parties.”

“Not that kind of party,” I mutter lowly. “I’ll just invite some of my old mates to stay at the house. A dinner party. Nothing too wild.”

It’s mostly true. My mates and I are still capable of having normal parties. Things might have gotten out of hand in the past, and word might have gotten around as to just how out of hand, but it doesn’t have to be that way anymore.

“Your uni mates? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asks.

I set the bottle of whisky down without pouring myself a glass. Anna wants to see I’m changing, and if that’s what I have to do to keep my house, I’ll do it.

“Most of them are married now with kids.” I turn toward her with an air of confidence I have to constantly force with my sister. Or else she’ll walk all over me. “If we’re going to do this, Anna, we’re going to do it my way.”

She relaxes her features and lets out a sigh. “Fine.”

We’re interrupted by the sound of the front door closing again. That familiar echo of boots on the hardwood causes the corner of my mouth to twitch. Instead of going up the stairs toward her room, Sylvie makes her way down the long hallway to the sitting room at the end, where my sister and I are currently standing.

When she enters the room, she’s gazing down at her phone with her earbuds in. When she looks up, she flinches, clearly surprised by the two of us standing here, watching her.

“Oh, hey,” she says nonchalantly to Anna and me.

“I’m glad you’re home. We have something to talk to you about,” Anna says, taking a seat on one of the large upholstered chairs. Then she glances up at our new housekeeper, Martha. “Could we get a pot of tea, please?”

“Of course, ma’am,” she replies before rushing off toward the kitchen.

Sylvie pulls out her earphones. “What’s up?”

Anna gestures to one of the chairs. “Killian and I were just speaking about you two making a public appearance as husband and wife.”

Her eyes dance toward me and back to my sister as she sits. “Where at?”

“Here,” I reply with a low hum.

“It would be a dinner party with some of Killian’s old friends. They’d likely stay the weekend. We have over sixteen guest rooms in the house.”

“Fifteen,” I correct her.

“Och, yes. Of course,” Anna replies. “Since Sylvie has taken one, we now have fifteen available guest rooms.”

“What do I need to do for this party?” Sylvie asks, glancing back at me.

“You two will need to appear as a couple. Which means you’ll need to be affectionate as well as talk to each other.”

Sylvie rolls her eyes and purses her lips. “Tell him he needs to learn his manners and stop being such a pompous asshole.”

“I will as soon as you stop being an inconsiderate little cunt.”

My sister gasps. “Both of you! Stop it!”

Sylvie doesn’t give up that easily. “What did you call me?” she shrieks as she bursts out of her chair.

“You heard me,” I reply.

“I’m here helping you ,” she cries.

I huff with a chuckle. “For how much?”

“You are such an ignorant pig!”

My lips stretch into a smile as the blood pumps faster through my veins. It’s invigorating how easy it is to rile her up and get her going.

“See, we look married already,” I reply with a laugh.

“I’d rather eat dirt than pretend to be married to you,” Sylvie shouts. “I’m afraid I’ll have to miss your little party.”

Just as she starts to stomp out of the room, my sister stands. “It’s part of the contract, Sylvie,” she calls, stopping Sylvie in her tracks.

I watch with pleasure as her hands clench into fists. She spins around angrily. “Then tell him to stop talking to me like that!”

Anna lets out a sigh. “Killian…please.”

I put up my hands in surrender. “Fine.”

“You two will need to be believable as husband and wife, or none of this will work.” She grabs her purse off the table.

“Where are you going?” Sylvie asks, looking terrified.

“I can’t help you with this part. I suggest you two learn how to talk to each other and figure it out. This party will be the true test. If you can’t convince your guests that you love each other, then this whole thing has been for nothing. And we’ve failed.”

My sister leaves just as Martha walks into the room with a pot of tea on a tray and three mugs. I fucking hate tea. And I know Miss America over there loves coffee, but I feel bad for having the staff make it for nothing. So, I thank her as she sets it down and leaves.

Sylvie lets out a huff when she sees me preparing myself a cup. With an obstinate expression, she walks over and plops down on the chair opposite me. I pour her cup and sit back in my seat, crossing my ankle over my knee.

“Look at us being civilized,” I joke as I hold the cup up to my lips.

“Your sister is right. We have a lot on the line, and we need to figure this out,” she replies grumpily.

“All right, darling. What do you suggest we do?” I ask before taking a sip.

Sylvie glares at me over her cup. I love to see the fiery hatred blazing in her eyes. It makes me so grateful I chose a little firecracker like her. This whole thing would have been so boring with some acquiescent young woman.

“Surely we can just fake it in public, right?” she asks.

“Of course,” I reply with a smirk.

“What are we going to say if they ask how we met?” Sylvie kicks her boots up and lays them on the coffee table. The sight of it would make my sister faint, but I find it fascinating. Much like the time she paraded through my home as if she owned it, Sylvie has this infuriating sense of entitlement. As if rules don’t apply to her. As if everything around her is absurd, and she stares right into the face of the absurdity.

It makes me hate her even more.

With a smile, I shrug. “What’s wrong with the real story?”

Her eyebrows bolt upward. “You want to tell your friends we met when I broke into your house?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Because it makes me look like a criminal,” she argues.

My eyes narrow. “But you are a criminal.” I set my teacup down. “Besides, it’s exactly what my friends would expect from me.”

The moment the words leave my lips I regret them. And judging by the creeping smile on Sylvie’s face, she’s about to tease me about it.

“Did you just admit that I’m your type?”

“No,” I reply with a growl.

“Careful, darling. You wouldn’t want your wife to suspect you of catching feelings.”

“Shut up.” With a grimace, I avoid her gaze.

Sylvie giggles playfully, and the sound is annoyingly sweet. “We’ll tell them it was love at first sight. You were head over heels the moment you saw me traipsing through your house. Most men would have tried to kill me, but not you… You were in love .”

“That’s enough, cow,” I bellow.

Sylvie bites her bottom lip as she smiles at me from the opposite chair. “You know, you can’t call me a cow at the party. Or bitch or cunt.”

“And you can’t call me a pig or a brute or an arsehole.”

“Deal,” she replies. “I’ll just call you darling.”

I screw up my face in disgust. “No.”

Her lips twist, and she closes one eye in a look of contemplation. “What about…honey or baby?”

I make another expression of revulsion.

“Fine,” she laughs. “What is Gaelic for my love ?”

“Mo ghràidh,” I reply in a deep rasp.

Her face falls as she stares at me. I watch as her lips part, and her eyes settle on my mouth. She attempts to repeat the phrase, stumbling over the second part with her American accent so it comes out as mo ger-eye .

Quickly, she sits upright and recomposes herself. “No, don’t use that.”

My smirk turns into a scowl. “Why not?”

“Because it’s too…”

“Too what?”

“Nothing. Just say darling.”

“I don’t want to say darling ,” I argue.

“Why do you always have to be so difficult?”

“You’re the one being difficult…mo ghràidh,” I add that last part with a hint of humor.

“Ugh!” In a fit of frustration, she bursts out of her chair and stomps angrily out of the room. Just before I hear her footsteps on the stairs, she hollers back, “This is sure to be a disaster, and it will be all your fault!”

I can’t help but laugh as I lean back in my chair, teacup in hand, propping my boots up on the table the same way she did.