Page 58 of The Sin

It wasn’t Julian.

My eyes rounded on Jessie. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” She stomped the dirt from her sneakers and came inside. “The last time I tried to visit you, I was given strict instructions to leave and not return for at least two weeks. Then this morning Roman suggests you’d appreciate a visit from me.”

A smile settled my testy nerves as we walked through to the kitchen. Roman was not sweet, not by a long mile, but that was an awfully sweet gesture.

Jessie rounded on me. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” I asked innocently.

“Whatever that goofy expression is.” She flapped her hands at me irritably. “Roman left the message with Harry, else I would have ripped one into him.”

That picture was so comical, I couldn’t hold in my laugh. The one time she’d met Roman, he’d been totally chilled, and she’d still found him intimidating. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, yeah?” She flipped her glossy black curls over one shoulder and lifted her chin high. “Okay, your husband is scary, but seriously? The barrier guard said you were under disciplinary action! What did you do? Burn his precious porridge?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well, I don’t care.” She gave me—or Roman, I presumed—her haughtiest look. “It’s not okay. I honestly thought he was above such a petty show of authority.”

“Actually, he is.”

“And yet here you are.” She threw her arms out wide. “Stuck in Parklands and not allowed to receive any visitors.”

I gave her a pointed look.

She rolled her eyes. “This doesn’t count.”

“It counts,” I assured her. More than she’d ever know. Jessie was exactly what I needed this morning. “Coffee?”

“No, I don’t want coffee!”

I hiked a brow on her. Jessie never said no to coffee.

“Fine, coffee,” she conceded with a heavy sigh and dragged a chair out from the table to plop herself on. “But I’m still mad. And you should be, too.”

Been there, done that, I thought as I busied myself with prepping the expresso jug with water and beans and putting it on the stove.

“Why aren’t you?” she demanded.

“There’s a story, Jessie.”

“Right,” she snorted. “I’dloveto hear it.”

She was being sarcastic.

She had no idea, and she never would…unless I told her.

I chewed on that, examining my motivations. Was I being emotionally spontaneous? Stupid and reckless? I didn’t think so. In the broad light of day, this decision felt solid, and right.

I would not be silenced.

Miriam deserved more than that.

I deserved better than that.

We all did.

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