Page 12 of Trust Me

It wasn’t a complete fabrication.

Cillian snorted beside me.

Okay, perhaps it was a wee bit more than a stretch of the truth, but if Raphael or his guard, Liam, had read into Cillian’s reaction, they didn’t let on.

If I found myself in the unfortunate situation of being alone with Cillian in the near future, I’d have to remind him that we’d been sent with explicit instructions to be on our best behavior. Included in our marching orders was do not dredge up bygones—as my father-in-law had so heinously labeled my past. He didn’t want us saying or doing anything that would risk nullifying the agreement he’d struck between the families before we’d made it official. When I’d asked how I should reply when the man I was marrying would inevitably inquire about my origins, his answer had resulted in my blackened eye.

Aiden Brennan wasn’t one to waste words when he could let his fists do the talking.

Reflecting on Aiden’s severe response reminded me that Willa Callahan was destined to remain a long-forgotten memory to anyone with a pulse.

But—maybe not.

I turned to Raphael. “I’ve been told you have a twin brother,” I said, hating the slight quiver in my tone.

Zadkiel Flynn, or Lucifer, if you believed the tale—which I didn’t.

“Lucifer,” Raphael replied, not lifting his eyes from his plate. I tried to decipher the underlying nature of his tone. Unsurprisingly, I failed. Raphael Flynn was a master of deception, especially when it came to his brother. “You’ll meet him soon enough.”

The story of Boston’s devil was a secret that’d been buried for so long that there were only two living souls bearing the Flynn surname who knew what really happened on that fateful night. One was a common cold away from meeting his maker, and the other had agreed to make me his old lady. But that didn’t mean there weren’t others who wielded that truth like a loaded weapon.

Recalling the five minutes I’d spent in the Flynns’ empyrean garden with Lucifer thirteen years ago was all it took for me to surmise that the two brothers named after archangels could not be any more different.

Or any less angelic.

Raphael’s dark mahogany hair was coiffed just right with not a strand out of place. His face was clean-shaven with sharp cheekbones and an angular jawline. He was lean and muscular under his ridiculously expensive suit. I’d felt the contours of his body during our brief embrace. It was obvious that becoming acting boss hadn’t caused him to go soft. Raphael Flynn could hold his own in a fight, but if the rumors were true and it was against his identical counterpart, my money was on Lucifer.

I found myself wondering how the devil had aged.

Dinner plates were cleared away and replaced by a dessert of whiskey truffles. The faint scent of liquor wafted off the decadent dish, and I felt the self-control I’d been clinging to starting to fray.

I smoothed the cloth napkin on my lap to steady my trembling hands. When I raised my head, I was caught off guard by another of Raphael’s surveying looks. Everything stilled except the thundering of my heartbeat in my ears.

Aiden had been so giddy about sending me here that I doubted he’d ever considered that Raphael may call his bluff and make me fish food before dawn.

Or maybe he had—totally plausible.

I pulled the corners of my mouth back into what felt like a plastic smile. “I’m feeling a bit jet-lagged ... would it be okay if I retired to my room for the evening?” The lie peeled off my tongue with an ease that should have engendered shame, but there was none to be found.

Raphael’s gaze softened as he inclined his head. His simulation of sincerity was unnerving. “Of course. Do you remember where it is, or shall Sosanna escort you?”

I shook my head as I got to my feet, feeling the dance of the impractical diamond earrings Raphael had insisted I wear tonight. They dragged like anchors.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I remember. There’s no need to bother her.”

The earlier tour of the mansion was all I needed to commit each square foot to memory.

Sosanna, the Flynns’ nanny turned head housekeeper and cook, had been gracious in helping me get settled when I’d arrived. But the elderly woman was perceptive and keen. I was certain she hadn’t missed the guarded signs of my relief when I realized I’d have my very own sleeping quarters located in a wing opposite my fiancé’s.

Raphael reached for my hand, curling his fingers around my palm. His skin was soft, and the gesture was gentle, but it still felt like a brand. My breathing grew shallower with each passing second.

“Good night, Willa. We’ll visit more tomorrow.” His grip tensed, and I winced out of reflex. “Sleep well.”

He released me, and I fought against every urge to cradle my hand to my chest.

With tears burning behind my lids, I slipped through the heavy double doors of the dining room and stepped into the main hall. I was grateful for the solitude and quickly regained my equilibrium and the courage to press onward. My heels clicked on the onyx-veined marble as I navigated the first floor. The mansion was exactly how I remembered it—grand and breathtaking. It had every modern convenience and luxury but somehow flaunted an old-world appeal.

A palace fit for a king.

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