Page 86 of The Kiss of Deception

Now he looks actually sickened—and sounds sick too. “I didn’t say anything about blood.”

On the first floor, the door demands our attention with a slam. “Honey, I’m hoooome.”

We depart in search of food, turning to the last flight of steps just in time to see Nicholas relieve Camila’s hands of the bags she carried.

Behind them, Miles’s smile from this morning is entirely gone, mashed under his working jaw as he looks between me and Rodrigo, and without a word, follows Nicholas to the kitchen.

I swat Rodri next to me. “I get the feeling they don't like you very much.”

“It’s fine.” He grins as we make our way to the open-floor kitchen. “I got the girls on my side, who else would I need?” One heavy arm around my shoulder, the other reaches for Camila to offer the same treatment. “Two little sisters.”

“I’m two weeks older than you.” I elbow his ribs to escape him.

“I said little—not younger.” Rodri flattens a palm on top of my head. “You’re little.”

For the umpteenth time in the hour he’s been here, he musses my curls, hiding behind his sister when I try to pinch him in return.

My boyfriend and his best-friend have cleared the island, uncovering containers upon containers of food. I spot Thai, Mexican, the traditional burgers and salads.

“You could definitely be his long-lost twin,” Camila supplies, as she pecks at the fries Nicholas extends for her.

“I’m funnier,” Rodri says, dead serious.

Camila considers this for a second, chewing and nodding. “That’s true.”

“Clowns are funny, too,” Miles quips, mimicking words I once used to insult him.

“They’re not.”

Rodrigo’s disagreement is strengthened by my agreement. “Nope.”

“Yeah.” The word blends into a moan as Camila dives into her quesadilla. “Twins.”

Miles places my nutritionally balanced plate in front of me. I look up at him. “I thought you were afraid of—” Clowns, I don’t say. His pleading eyes stop me.

I stare at the dramatically vaulted ceilings, asking the sky for patience to deal with these people.

Chapter Twenty-One

Miles

“Honey, I’m home,” I announce in my softest voice.

It’s early, but I don’t want to risk waking Zoe. She rests too little—not that she’s said a word, but on the days she’s alone, she’s crankier than usual, red cobwebs marring the white of her eyes and a heavier layer of makeup meant to hide the insomnia. But I also don’t want a repeat of previous scares.

Zoe’s shout carries an unconcealed sleepy note. “I’m awake!”

As I step into the living room, she bolts upright only to plop back down onto the sofa.

“Hey, love.”

“I swear I’m awake. I just had to close my eyes for a second to see something,” she mumbles with drowsiness.

On my haunches, I kiss her temple and breathe her in—no rational explanation as to how her sweet flowery scent instantly slows my heart rate and increases it at the same time, but it does.

Unfortunately, it’s not flowers that my nose registers.

“Were you doing fire spells in my absence?” Her eyes open wide as she kicks her favorite blanket and jumps over the sofa. As she rushes to the kitchen, her socks slip on the floor, and she’s close to sliding down to the next room or literally face planting on the floor. It would be comical if I weren’t too busy worrying about sprained ankles and (more) forehead stitches. “Zoe, slow down!” I warn, knowing it’ll fall on deaf ears. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

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