Keep Me (Sinful Manor #1)

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

When I wake, Sylvie is gone. Her side of the bed still shows the indentation of her body and carries her soft, flowery scent.

I hear movement downstairs, but I don’t stir for a while. Staring at the ceiling, I replay the events of the last twenty-four hours. This whole fake-wife arrangement is so strange. Only a month has gone by and we still have eleven to go.

What will we be like in a year? Will she still hate me? Will she hate me even more?

Can I truly go a full year without sex? Surely at some point, she and I can reach some sort of arrangement where we keep our extramarital affairs between us.

Last night I actively tried to keep her away from Liam, but what if something did happen between them? It would give me the leverage I’d need to do the same. Tit for tat. A secret between us. The contract stays in place, but we still get to have our fun.

Deep down, I hate the idea, but I know it would be better for me in the long run.

It was wrong of me to bring her to my room. The last thing I need to do at this point is treat my wife like…my wife. I don’t need her getting the wrong idea about me. When this is over, she has to leave. One year, and then I’m on my own again. Besides, I promised her we’d spend this time separately, not with me dragging her to my bed.

When I do finally get up, I hear shouting outside, so I peer out of my large window. Liam is on the vast grassy field outside, shirtless, with a rugby ball under his arm. When he sees me watching, he waves.

“Get your ugly arse out here!” he bellows.

I laugh, spotting Greg, Angus, and Nick on the field as well. They turn to see me, each of them waving. Briefly, I wonder where the women are. Should I be nervous about Sylvie being alone with them, especially Claire?

I shake the thought away. It’s not even ten in the morning. I doubt they’d be sharing stories this early, anyway.

After hurriedly getting dressed, I jog down the stairs. Heading straight out the door to the field behind the house, I greet the ladies, who are all sitting around a table with cups of tea in front of them.

Except for Sylvie, who’s sipping what I assume is her third cup of coffee. She glances up at me over the steaming liquid. Before jogging out to meet the guys, I hesitate.

I’m supposed to treat her like my wife, aren’t I? What would a husband do in this scenario? I imagine Greg or Nick would kiss their ladies. Sylvie’s eyes narrow at me over her cup as I hesitantly make my way over.

“Mornin,” I mutter as I press my lips against her forehead. The other women at the table ooh and aah over the gesture, but Sylvie barely reacts. With a cold expression, she softly mumbles, “Morning.”

“All right, two on two!” Liam bellows from the stairs of the veranda. “Let’s go, old man.”

He tosses the rugby ball at me with force, and I catch it against my stomach. It nearly knocks the wind out of me, but I keep my smile.

Before he and I rush off to the field with the other guys, I notice the way his gaze lingers on Sylvie.

My idea from earlier resurfaces.

If I could get Sylvie to sleep with Liam, it would clear my conscience for the rest of our marriage. He’s a good-looking guy. Built, tall, rugged. He has more of a clean-cut look without the beard, and he makes a lot of money. I know that’s important to her.

The four of us play a slow and painful match of rugby, all putting in far more effort than we have at our ages. Nick takes a hit that he almost doesn’t get up from, which we all tease him about since he’s the oldest by four years. The ladies come out and cheer us on a bit, taking pics and laughing at us as we fall over.

It’s nothing like it used to be when we played in uni nearly fifteen years ago. But it’s fun.

Not once in the past decade have I thought about what I was missing—until now.

After an hour, we are all sweaty, muddy, and starving. Angus ambushes Claire with a disgusting hug, making her squeal as he wraps his arms around her. Sylvie gives me a pointed glare.

“Don’t you dare,” she mutters. I laugh, wanting to hug her just to piss her off now.

I choose not to and walk beside her instead.

Liam strides beside me. “So, Sylvie. You’re not taking this big Scotsman to America, are you?”

She glances up, first at me and then at him. “No,” she replies, shaking her head. “I’m not going back.”

“Ever?” he asks.

She gives him a shrug. “I don’t have much reason to. My parents and I don’t get along well, and I like it here.”

“I read something about your parents,” Claire says from behind us. When we all turn, she gives us a sheepish grin. “I hope you don’t mind me bringing that up, but I saw it online when Killian’s family made the announcement. That your parents are famous artists or something.”

My gaze darts toward my wife, waiting for her reaction as the entire group meets the gray stone steps of the house. My sister mentioned something about Sylvie’s parents being artists, but I never gave it a second thought. I didn’t care much, and technically, I still don’t. It’s just curiosity.

Sylvie smiles at Claire. “It’s okay. They are pretty famous in the art world. They have paintings in museums all over the globe.”

“But you don’t get along with them?” Angus asks.

Softly, she shakes her head. “No. They’re just…fucking assholes.”

This makes the group laugh, but my mouth doesn’t move toward a smile.

Sylvie has been calling me an arsehole since she arrived, and I’ll admit…I am an arsehole—to her. Are they? What could they have done to warrant that sort of reaction?

“Well, you turned out all right,” Liam says with a wink. She gives him a soft smile.

That’s a good sign.

“Let’s get inside and get cleaned up,” I reply, breaking up the moment.

Once in the house, we all scatter in different directions. I jog toward my room while the rest of them move toward the guest rooms, which are mostly on the third floor. After taking a quick shower, I step out of the bathroom and dress in a rush. My growling stomach has me hurrying. Whatever Martha made for lunch smells delicious all the way up here.

Just as I burst out of my room, I nearly knock someone over in the hallway. It takes me a moment to register that the petite woman isn’t Sylvie.

It’s Claire.

My hands fly from her shoulders, where I held her to keep from bowling her over.

“I’m sorry,” I stammer.

“It’s okay,” she replies uncomfortably.

“I didn’t see you there.”

“I was just…poking around,” she replies. Her eyes stay on my face as I back against the wall, putting as much space between us as possible. Then I quickly scan the periphery of the hall to realize she and I are alone.

My lungs hold my breath, my gaze raking over her face.

“How are you?” she whispers.

I force myself to swallow.

“Fine,” I mutter quietly.

It’s clear she expects me to return the question, but I don’t. I shouldn’t be talking to her at all.

“Sylvie is really lovely,” she says, making casual conversation.

I glance around again, wondering where my wife is at the moment.

“Where is she?” I mumble.

“She’s downstairs,” Claire whispers so softly I can barely hear it. “Everyone is.”

My eyes lift to her face again. My feelings are so conflicted and hard to describe.

“Claire…” I start, trying to back away even more, but for some reason, she sees this as an invitation to step even closer.

“I’ve missed you.”

I force in a deep breath. There’s a part of me that’s dying to tell her I don’t think about her at all. And when I do, it’s only when I’m drunk, and my demons show up to remind me what a liar and bad friend I am.

“What about Angus?” I murmur in question.

“I love Angus,” she replies as if it’s obvious. “But there will always be a part of me that…”

She reaches out and rests her fingers against my chest.

Fuck . Fuck. Fuck.

“Angus can’t please me the way you do, Killian.”

I can’t breathe.

“I told you it was over,” I reply softly. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re married to one of my best friends.”

She takes another step closer. “I thought this was why you invited us.”

“I invited you all here to meet my wife .” If only I could just tell her the only damn reason I had this fucking party at all was to prove to the world that I’m not a fucking mess and that I have a happy marriage.

I can’t even pretend I’m all right.

“Besides,” I add. “I won’t do that to him again—”

A creak on the stairs makes the both of us jump back. We barely do it in time before I turn to find Sylvie staring at us skeptically.

“It was good catching up with you,” Claire says to me with a polite smile. Then she turns toward the stairs, passing Sylvie as she goes. “You two are such a lovely couple,” she says to her before she disappears down the stairs.

I’m left alone with my wife, who is staring at me with that cold, lifeless expression she so often has. “What was that?” she asks with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Nothing,” I grumble before pushing past her to go down the stairs.

She grabs my arm. “It didn’t look like nothing.”

Frustration builds inside me, and I turn back toward her, ready to blow with anger. I put my face in hers, muttering in a low, angry growl. “I said it was nothing.”

“I don’t care what it was,” she replies, stepping up, her neck craned to see my face. “Just keep it in your pants so I don’t lose what’s owed to me.”

“You think I would fuck my friend’s wife?”

She tilts her head with a cynical smirk. “Of course not, Killian. As you said…that was nothing, right?”

“Fuck you, cow,” I growl.

She shakes her head with a roll of her eyes. Blowing me off, she squeezes past and walks to her room. “You won’t be fucking anyone.” Then she turns toward me and gives me a fake smile. “Darling.”

As she disappears into her room, I have to fight the urge to punch a hole in the wall. Instead, I head downstairs to be with my friends—the real people in my life.

Last night, it was kind of me to remove her from the situation and spare her from Liam’s advances. Tonight, I won’t be so kind.