Page 43 of Sugar Coated

Days passed. As much as the memory of what I did to the man in that warehouse filled me with a certain type of dark satisfaction, I also knew I had to confess to Kieran. I had to tell him what the man said, how the bullet was always meant for him and not me—and in doing so I’d have to tell him about the party, too, and everything that took place that night.

The party was coming up. Oh, sorry, the charity dinner. My dad was throwing it at some place downtown. The dress code was suit and tie for the men and dresses for the women. I’d invited Fang to the party after my little torture session, and he’d hastily agreed to come.

Lola and Sylvester would be there, too. They both had money to throw around, so even though they weren’t exactly the kind of people a man like my dad should want at one of these events, he wouldn’t turn them away, either.

Lola had told me, before I walked away that day, covered in blood, that anytime I wanted to get my hands dirty, to let her know and she’d set something up. She’d been delighted with how much I got into it.

Let’s not talk about how badly the blood had stained my hair and clothes, though. It had been quite the job to get me looking fresh again—had to go to Fang’s place, just to make sure my dad and Tessa didn’t see me coming home covered in blood. I even had to visit the salon the next day.

But, anyway, back to Kieran. Since he was staying in the house, I figured there was no rush. It let me imagine certain conversations with him while I planned out what I would say. It wasn’t every day you told someone you cared about that someone wanted them dead. The opposite of an easy conversation.

Maybe even slightly awkward, some might say, especially since that same person was waiting for me to tell him that he was more than a step-uncle to me, too.

I just… things were changing so fast. My whole life had been thrown out of whack.

In the end, I gave myself a deadline. I needed to tell Kieran the truth about everything—the shooting and my feelings for him—before the party. Before he stepped foot in the public eye again.

Who knew? Someone might try to kill him again at this party. We all needed to keep a lookout, just in case. Just because my dad hired an actual chef, a catering crew, and guards didn’t mean anything. Nowhere was completely safe. When someone was after you, you couldn’t be too careful.

Mike was coming to the party, too. He had to go out and get himself a suit because he didn’t have anything that was nice enough for the dinner. I planned on wearing a simple black dress—with my trusty blond wig and no colored contacts. I’d be a normal girl who’d been through some shit. Tessa informed me the day prior to the party that I was not allowed to wear the metal prosthetic on my left hand.

I didn’t see why it mattered, but my mind was somewhere else, so just to save the argument, I agreed to play nice.

Maybe if I was a more normal person with a more typical upbringing—you know, with a family who modeled good communication styles—I wouldn’t have such an issue talking with Kieran and telling him the truth. But I was me, and if there was one thing I’d learned lately, it’s that I was a little messed up. Not every decision I made was good or smart.

You know, it really was unfair that I was held to such a high standard. Other people my age were allowed to mess up and make stupid decisions, but when I did it, it was life or death. Or kidnapping. How annoying.

Turned out, I was pretty damn good at procrastinating. The deadline I’d given myself to talk with Kieran loomed—as in, I was dressed and ready to go in my blond wig—came around. I sat on the edge of my bed, the heels I was going to wear on the ground in front of me, feeling like I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders.

A knock on my open door alerted me to someone else’s presence, and I stupidly thought it might be Kieran, coming to talk to me before we leave—but it wasn’t him. It was Mike, and even though it wasn’t who I hoped it would be, I still sat a little straighter when I saw who was standing there.

Mike wore an all-black suit, tie and all. His brown hair was slicked back, his rugged features freshly-shaven. He looked like a mob boss, not the man I’d come to know—and yet, even so, he looked good. The clothes made him intimidating in a different sort of way, and I didn’t doubt he had a gun tucked somewhere beneath that black suit jacket.

“Hey,” he said, “you ready to go? Everyone else is downstairs.”

If I was the queen of procrastinating, he was the king. I wasn’t the only one dancing around the subject of my feelings; Mike was doing a pretty damn good job of it, too. After the whole torture day, Mike hadn’t said a word to me, and I’d been too busy overthinking the whole Kieran thing to let it bother me too much.

I didn’t get up, but I did give him a soft smile. “You look good.”

“You look… good, too.” The way his hazel eyes bore into me from where he stood, I could tell he was holding himself back. The man was truly a master at it. When I made no moves to get up, he added, “Come on, everyone’s waiting.”

“Can you tell them to wait for me in the car? I’ll be right down.” I slowly got to my feet, slipping them into the shiny blackheels. “Could you, uh, tell Kieran to hang back? I need to talk to him before we go.”

Mike nodded, and then I heard his heavy footsteps as he left my room.

I started to pace the length of my bedroom, fiddling with my hands. After a moment, I inhaled deeply and forced myself to walk out of my room and follow in Mike’s steps as I walked down the hall, my heels clicking with every step.

Kieran was waiting for me at the base of the staircase, his hands shoved into his suit’s pockets. His head turned when he heard me walk down the stairs, and an easy, dimpled grin formed as we met eyes. His gaze dropped to my heels, sluggishly lifting as he visibly checked me out.

“Wow, it’s been so long, I almost forgot what you looked like with blond hair,” he said. “I know you like the pink and blue, but I like this, too. You look beautiful.”

Mike wasn’t the only one who could clean up and look drop-dead gorgeous in a suit. Kieran always kept his jaw free of stubble, but there was something about his dark gray suit that made my thoughts go hazy. The sleek look was accented by a maroon tie, and his brown hair was short enough that not a hair was out of place.

“You clean up well yourself,” I joked, even though it wasn’t really a joke.

“Are you saying I’m normally dirty?” He grinned harder. “I think I take offense.”

My stare fell to his mouth, though it was only for a quick second. “Maybe you should let your face know that. You don’t look like you take offense.” We stood about a foot and a half away from one another; the closest we’d been in a while.

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