Page 22 of Butterfly

Bloody. Sodding. Hell.

It’s happening again.

Sienna is standing in a dark corner, hidden behind one of the Grecian columns that surround the veranda. Her blonde hair falls in soft curls over her slender frame. The little black dress she’s wearing hugs her curves and pushes up her full breasts. It’s the first time I see her in normal clothes while she isn’t bleeding, sweating, or running away from me.

“Sienna.” It’s more a whisper than a proper word, a déjà vu of the Peak District. Weeks ago.

Her eyes flare wide, and her lips part.

I don’t have time to step closer before the door slides open, and Emily barges in.

“Sienna?” she calls in a high-pitched tone.

I shift my gaze to Sienna. She withdraws further into the shadows and presses a finger against her lips before joining her palms in prayer.

“Have you seen a girl?” Emily asks, her back to Sienna. “Blonde, dirty, dressed like a character out of a Dickens novel.” She laughs. “She’s such a misfit. Completely entertaining.”

Hag. I shrug. “I didn’t see anyone.” Now leave. I have a girl to scold.

But nope. She props an elbow on the bannister and smacks her lips, raking a gaze over me. “Sure? She’s hard to miss. I think she’s the girl who so savagely captured your attention at the airport in Tua. The girl stinks of horse though, and speaks as if she’s a retard. Still, everyone loves to go slumming now and then—”

I exhale a sharp breath. “Emily, why don’t you stop disparaging Sienna?”

Emily’s face reddens, and her teeth flash. She takes a step back. “Is it true you don’t want to accept the role in Rebecca’s next film? Why?”

“That’s none of your business.” God, controlling the frustration flaring up within me is making me breathe harder.

She fiddles with her pearls. “Someone is in trouble, uh? I heard Rebecca is furious with you. Guess being the teacher’s pet didn’t do you much good.”

I straighten, gaining a few menacing inches. She doesn’t shrink back. “Stop talking about things you don’t know.” I lower my voice, letting my no-nonsense tone slip in.

She grins, but a nervous twitch starts in her hand. “Struck a nerve. I wonder what you did to Rebecca to make her so angry with you.” She curls her lips up when she says ‘angry.’

I avert my gaze, staring at the garden and London’s lights blinking over the fence. “Keep wondering, Emily.”

“Keep hiding your secrets, Alex.” She pats my shoulder. “Gotta go. I have to search for the slum girl.” She swaggers out of the conservatory.

The swish of the glass door shutting behind her is the most welcome sodding noise I’ve heard this evening.

The moment Sienna and I are alone, heat rushes to my head, and not of the good kind.

She inches closer; her head tilted to the side. “Thank you for covering for me.”

“What the hell happened to you?” Once again, the words rush out of my mouth.

“Emily was—”

“I’m not talking about Emily. I’m talking about you running away from me, bleeding, in the middle of a forest, and not bothering to let me know if you were okay.” My voice rises. I can’t help it. “I spent the bloody night searching for you, worried that you’d passed out somewhere, that you were freezing, injured. I was accused of stalking you and hitting you. All the while you could’ve extended me the bloody courtesy to make a damn phone call or send me a bloody text.”

She has the decency to look sorry. “I received a call from the organisation the day after, and I talked with one of the secretaries.”

I give her a mocking nod. “Thank you, well done. I had to beg one of the organisers to tell me if you were all right or not. Getting nothing.”

She fiddles with her hands, shifting her weight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d care.”

“You didn’t think—” I grab the bannister and take a deep breath. “Wasn’t I clear enough? Or do you enjoy being cruel?”

A gasp leaves her. She takes out her phone from a pocket in her skirt. “What’s your number?”

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