Page 23 of Butterfly

“Seriously?” I grit my teeth. Her candour both baffles and frustrates me. “Are you taking the piss out of me?”

“No.” She winces at my accusation. “I didn’t memorise your number on my phone, but I still have the piece of paper you gave me. It’s in the drawer of my nightstand.” The last words are said in a rush.

She really had no intention of calling me. That hurts. I can’t bloody deny it. It’s a punch in the stomach, even though it’s nothing new. I give her my phone number. Again. Teeth trapping her bottom lip, she focuses on the screen, her thumbs dancing on it.

“What are you doing?” I wish my tone was gentler, but dammit, she has no idea how worried I’ve been.

“Just a moment.” Her delicate eyebrows draw together as she frowns in concentration.

Her fingers swipe the screen while I watch her. She’s stunning in that dress and make-up. Her beauty is in her big eyes and full lips, the curves of her cheeks and her voice. It’s a soothing type of beauty, the one that doesn’t make me think of raw, wild sex. Not immediately.

My phone beeps with a text message once she finishes typing. My eyebrows still arching in scepticism, I press the text icon. Unknown sender. No shit.

I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I understand now you meant it when you said you wanted to help me. But at that moment, I thought you only wanted to be kind. I couldn’t believe someone like you could be interested in taking care of someone like me. I’m not used to strangers being kind. I’m not used to a lot of kindness, and I don’t trust people. It’s nothing personal. I hope you understand. After what happened in the forest, I wanted to call you. I swear. But the more time passed, the harder it became. I’m sorry. Be patient with me.

The heated sensation pressing against my chest dies down, leaving a whisper of ‘what a bastard I am’ echoing.

“Now you have my number too,” she says, nervous fingers fiddling with her phone. “Not that I’m planning to have another panic attack in the middle of nowhere, but you never know.” She chuckles, her shoulders lifting to cover her neck.

I exhale, releasing the tension in my body. “Why wouldn’t you believe someone like me would be kind to you? I have to say that your words don’t make much sense to me.”

The fiddling increases, and her gaze darts around. The silver fairy lights in the garden are reflected in her hair. “I’m just Sienna.”

“And I’m just Alex. A human being. I’m not my fame.” How many times have I said something like that? Except now I believe those words one hundred per cent.

She tucks a tendril of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, we have two different lives. We don’t have many things in common.”

“Right. Maybe you believe that because we don’t know each other well. Let’s start over.” I stretch out a hand. “Alex. Nice to meet you.”

A smile pulls up a corner of her lips and lights up her cheeks. She takes my hand. “Sienna.”

“I’m sorry about what Emily said.”

She waves a hand. “Don’t be. I do stink of horse. I’ve been with Martin’s horse all day, although I thought I’d done a good job scrubbing myself.”

“I don’t mind the smell.” I love the sensation of her hand in mine. “Now we’re—”

The noise of glass shattering rends the quiet of the conservatory. I turn towards the sound, Sienna’s hand still in mine.

“What was that?” She inches closer to me. “Where did it come from?”

“The other side? It’s a huge conservatory that wraps around the house. The noise might come from behind the corner.”

Martin’s dog, Catcher, barks and runs towards me, his dark fur on end. He stops in front of me and runs in tight, nervous circles, lifting his paws.

“What is it?” I crouch to stroke his head, but he keeps barking, a loud, open bark that rings with desperation. “Where’s Dart?” I whip my head up. “Dart?”

“Dart?” Sienna asks.

“My dog.”

Catcher shoots away and pauses to turn around and bark at me.

“Let’s go. He wants to be followed.” Sienna hurries behind him.

I run after her, a cold ring of dread around my chest. We rush past the glowing lights from the hall where people are sipping drinks and eating hors d’oeuvres. Catcher gallops along the hallway, heading towards the dark end of the conservatory.

I can’t stop the gasp tearing off my throat. At the end of the conservatory, Dart lies on his side, too still for my liking. The glass wall behind him is shattered, and a large triangle of glass pierces his neck in a stab that disappears into the layers of his thick coat.

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