Page 11 of Kill for a Kiss

Clo’s arm loops through mine, her touch light and guiding. It’s a gentle motion halting my thoughts. I blink once more as I look at her, the details dwindling with the wind.What was I even thinking about just now?

My mind must not be doing well…after what I’ve been through. Whatever it may have been. But the feeling in my gut is all I have to remind me that it wasn’t good.

It doesn’t matter. I’m safe now. Clo’s by my side. She’s been so nurturing to me, not just today, but everyday since she’s hired me as her live-in stylist. That, I clearly remember, as though it’s been told to me so many times that it’s as factual as time passing.

So I don’t worry over the details I don’t remember. Whenever I do, I get a splitting headache anyway. Just like now. So I forget it, let it go with the passing wind. Instead, I pay attention to my surroundings.Mundane details, they ground me.

The warmth of the wedding reception fades behind us, the music distant, blurred by the quiet hum of the evening air. The night stretches ahead, the gentle glow of light lining the stone pathway toward the mansion.

I don’t remember how many times I’ve walked this path. I know I’ve been here before. Of course, I have. I work for Clo. I’ve always worked for her…haven’t I?

A small frown tugs at my lips, but it smooths away when Clo squeezes my arm ever so slightly, drawing me back.

“Darling girl,” she says, the words brushing over me like silk. “You must be exhausted.”

I exhale, and only then do I realize how heavy my limbs feel, how my body sways slightly in her grip. “I guess so,” I say softly. “I’m…exhausted.”

Clo hums in agreement. “But you’ve done wonderfully as always.”

Her praise settles over me like a warm blanket, and I don’t question it. But then,suddenly, my body remembers. The lingering press of his gloves against my lips. The iron grip around my waist. The feeling of being trapped and held. Consumed and comforted.Comforted…?

I shake my head as another shiver runs down my spine. Clo’s fingers tighten around my arm, gentle but firm, and the memories fade at the blink of an eye. All gone in an instant.

Her presence is steady, smoothing over the jagged edges of my mind. There’s nothing to fear now. Not when she’s here. She’s always protected me, I’m sure. She’s taken me in when I had no one, nowhere, no memories. Nothing. The only things I know are from her. And I’m so thankful that I remember some of my past and prospects. All thanks to Clo.

I hold on to her tightly, showing her my silent thanks. She pats myhand, smiling as she leads us closer to home.

Home. I hesitate for half a second. Is that what this is? My home as well? Not just Clo’s or the Song-Smiths’, but mine too…? Before the thought can fully form, Clo guides me inside, and the scent of roses and a faint, familiar sweetness fills my lungs.

The air is warm and inviting. The walls gleam under the glow of a chandelier, the polished marble floors reflecting our steps. Everything about this place should be intimidating, with its endless corridors, but it isn’t. Because I belong here. I always have.Haven’t I…?

Clo’s voice is soothing as she leads me through the halls. “I had the maids prepare your room exactly the way you like it, with fresh flowers and that warm lighting you prefer.”

I nod, even though I don’t quite remember making such requests. But Clo knows what’s best for me. She always seems to.

We reach a familiar door, and as Clo pushes it open, a wave of warmth washes over me. I step in and take in the space. A large, velvety red bed. A small bedside table. A vase of small flowers on top. A dresser. Not much else, aside from the sheer, white curtains fluttering from the open window. This space is my room. Everything is just as it should be. Like Clo said.

I step inside, breathing in the faint traces of a floral perfume lingering in the air. The plush bed looks welcoming for my worn-out bones.

Clo brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, her smile approving. “Get some rest, Elle. And don’t forget, the day’s ended, so whatever can wait, let it wait. Slow down, you dear thing.”

I meet her gaze, gratitude swelling in my chest. “Thank you, Clo.”

She lingers for a moment, watching me. One of the staff goes to her, handing her something. Then Clo steps further inside, setting a delicate porcelain cup on the nightstand. Steam curls from its surface, carrying the fragrance of honeyed flowery tea.

I wrap my fingers around the warm cup, the heat sinking into my palms.

The first sip is smooth and sweet, the golden liquid coating my throat, soothing me in a way I can’t explain.

Slow down. Those were Clo’s calming words. They sink into my mind deeper, making me breathe more evenly. The fading memory of the vineyard flickers at the edges of my mind—the feel of a suffocating grip, the breathless fear, the way my heart fluttered. But as I take another sip, the thought drifts further away, unraveling like a half-remembered dream, like the rest of my life has been.

I am safe. Here, under Clo’s watch, I have nothing to fear. She places a pillow under my ankle. My shoulders ease, my mind softening. This is where I belong. This is home.

I set the empty cup down, stretching as I settle onto the bed. The sheets are silken, the pillows soft. My body sinks into the comfort, but my mind lingers, drifting through shadows of memories that never quite take shape. They should worry me. They don’t.

I close my eyes, breathing in the faint scent of roses, of tea, of warmth. My thoughts slow. My body relaxes.

A featherlight trail of fingers on my skin, I feel it, but I don’t know who they belong to. Fabric shifts around me. My skin feels cooler, as though they’re bare now, but then I’m warmer, feeling cotton softness, too loose for my liking. Yet I feel safe, held in some unseen way.