Page 93 of SINS & Riley
The first is pain.
Pure, self-indulgent wrath.
I learned a long time ago that physical pain is the fastest way to silence all the commotion in my head. Emotional turmoil doesn’t stand a chance against a sweet, little slice.
The second, innocently enough, is cannolis. An indulgence first gifted to me by my Da.
The snap of the shell, the bitter-sweet of chocolate, the sharp bite of ricotta—it’s gluttony wrapped in a deep-fried pastry, and it’s a sin I’ll happily go to hell for.
The third and worst habit is eavesdropping.
Kennedy considered it envy. That desperate need to know what others had, just so I’d want it too.
But eavesdropping doesn't feed my envy. It feeds pride. Like somehow, if I know what’s coming, I’ll be clever enough to stay one step ahead. Be prepared for the worst.
Only this time, I can’t.
Zver’s an iceberg. Like the one that took out the Titanic.
“The arrangements are set. I’ve worked with Sabine. Riley has one hour to leave.”
I stare through the crack in the door as the floor drops out from under me.
An hour?
And to think I was so damn grateful he stayed with me last night. I was about to open up like champagne under pressure—spill every goddamn thing.
The doctor.
The baby.
My heart throbs with a dull, merciless ache.
This man—this liar—had the nerve to harp on me about trust?
Well, fuck him and his sermon.
I choke back the tears clawing for escape. Do not cry. Do not lose it over this man.
The nice thing about this vintage door? It’s real wood.
Real, splintery wood.
My fingertip hooks a jagged edge, and I dig in deep enough to kill the tears before they fall. I drag in a breath, slice, and listen closer.
Dominic’s voice cuts sharp. “An hour?” Pause. “You spend one night with a girl and now you can’t get rid of her fast enough? What’s the rush?”
Right?
My pulse stutters, because I know exactly what the rush is.
I didn’t let him fuck me.
Well… he’s fucking me now.
Zver’s voice cuts through, flat and emotionless. “It couldn’t be helped.”
Couldn’t be helped.
