Page 49 of Fearless

They both look at each other. Cole’s about to say something, but I stop him.

“We‘ll need to book somewhere. Somewhere big. We’ll have them reshuffle their diary. I want the biggest fucking wedding this country has ever seen.”

I get out from behind the desk and start pacing the same lines Cole’s made in the carpet. “Sarah, invites. Cole will give you a list, but send them to everyone. From the pettiest criminal to the fucking queen of England. Trump as well, see if he’s up north golfing and wants to swing by. The whole fucking European Union. Everyone except Ford, understand?”

She’s looking at me like I’ve just escaped from the mental asylum, but nodding her head anyway.

I turn to my brother. “We need to make sure this is leaked to the papers. Leader’s daughter marries the country’s most violent criminal. She’ll have absolutely no way to cover it up.”

He stares at me for a minute as if trying to find something to argue about. This isn’t what we do. I’m not the one who thinks shit up, I’m the one who does it.

After a long silence, he finally shrugs his shoulders. “Alright.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MEISIE

Cillian doesn’t seem super impressed by my blanket fort when he finally comes downstairs later that day.

Fuck knows why—it’s a masterpiece.

The moment I began considering suicide via bedsheets just to see what it would feel like, I decided a blanket fort might be a better call.

For now.

Yeah, shut up, Trish. You’d have been right all along, blah blah blah.

I do think I’m going a bit mental, to be honest. Being in danger is one thing…being locked in a dead-boring dungeon twenty-four hours a day is another. Some of those dildos in the closet are starting to look mighty distracting. But when I consider which orifices they might have been stuck in, the urge quickly passes.

So I moved the couch across the room. That took a while, because it’s really fucking heavy. Not much of a cardio workout, but at least I got some strength training in.

Then I stripped the bed sheets and arranged them to hang over the back of the couch and tucked them into the foot of the mattress.

Et voila!Instant two-hour-ish blanket fort.

I should patent this shit.

There were a lot of pillows on the bed. They make up the fort’s floor. Then I went into the fort.

That was hours ago.

I had a nap. Woke up. Had another. I bit off all my nails, and even considered trying to see if I was limber enough to do the same for my toes. I decided against it because, well, hygiene.

And really, once you start biting off your toenails, where do you draw the line? Not anywhere near fist-sized dildos, that’s for sure.

I’d sooner try the bedsheet noose.

When Cillian wrenches open the metal door, my heart flutters into my throat like a baby swallow…and then perches there waiting to see what’ll happen.

I shouldn’t be giddy with excitement, but in case I haven’t been blatantly clear…I’m fucking bored. Right now he is literally my entire world.

It should scare me that, instead of panic, I only feel joy. But maybe I’ve already lost the panic-centers of my mind to this boredom-induced madness.

“The fuck have you gone and done?” he grates, but in the kind of tone that makes me think he’s more intrigued than pissed off. I huddle into a ball in the back of the blanket fort, hugging my knees as I shiver with nerves.

His footsteps come closer. “Meisie? Get out here.”

“You don’t like it?” My heart sinks a little at that. “It took me all day.”

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