Page 188 of Hate to Love You
“Okay…” Ana says, furrowing her brow. “Not that I have much experience with hookers, but that seems standard?”
“Perhaps, but the fact that when Abigail happened to see the flowers the girls brought with them tonight, she recognized them as Juliet Roses, and stated that they are an incredibly rare breed of roses,” I cross my arms tightly across my chest, glancing back through the glass door to ensure that Abby is still in the bathroom. “Who do we know that keeps Juliet Roses, Ana?”
“Polina,” she breathes, her eyes going wide. “But…I…I don’t understand. What purpose could that serve Pol?”
All I can do is stare back at my sister, because I have no idea how any of this ties together.
…I just know it does.
Ana was gone before Abby emerged from the bathroom.
However, when she finds me sipping a drink in the living room, she’s wearing my bathrobe.
“Did the outfits not fit?” I ask, raising a brow and looking at her over the rim of my glass.
“No,” she shrugs, biting her lip. “This just looked comfier.”
I snort, taking another drink.
My robe is loose on her curves, and my eyes settle on how the lapel lays tauntingly down her breasts as she sits down on the couch next to me.
The room is quiet, the static in the shared air between the two of us feeling as if it too is alive.
Cal showing me that Abby was conveniently spotted with four of my men, who are now dead, weighs heavily on my mind as I stare at my little fox, with one thought superseding them all:
Can I trust her?
On one hand, she saved my life tonight.
On the other, she’s potentially killing my men.
At the very least, she knows more than she’s letting on.
Most of the time, I can smell a rat a mile away. One of the only valuable skills bestowed on me by my prick of a father.
And yet Abby doesn’t feel like a rat to me.
I didn’t tell Ana about how far things have gone with Abby, although I suspect I don’t have to. And even though Ana herself procured Abby’s file, and I chose not to tell her about Cal’s discovery this afternoon, I know there’s a part of Ana that has to at least be concerned that Abby might be another plant by the Irish.
Abigail clears her throat, pulling my attention back to her, and out of my spiraling thoughts.
“Look, Roman,” she says quietly, crossing her arms tightly across her body. “I don’t want to fuck tonight.”
I nod, unable to think of anything to say in response.
“But,” she continues. “I also don’t really want to be alone.”
What?
“Would you mind if I just crashed on the couch? Or I don’t know, maybe in one of the many guest bedrooms you have here?”
I stare at her, trying to put my thoughts together. However, despite all of the crazy things I witnessed today, the only thing I can’t quite put my finger on is Abby herself.
Miss Wayne has a secret. Of that I have no doubt.
But the look on her face when I accused her of being a liar wasn’t what I expected it to be. Well, I should say it wasn’t only what I expected it to be. Because there, mingling with the surprise in her eyes, and the way her breath hitched in her throat, there was another emotion I never anticipated: relief.
Obviously, I couldn’t be sure, but Abigail looked as if she’d been waiting for me to discover her secret, as if I’d been stumbling around in the darkness and had finally found some hidden treasure buried deep within her soul…or perhaps her closet full of skeletons.