Page 13 of Kill for a Kiss

Damon’s gaze softens at the sight of her. Any of that earlier sharpness in his expression has completely melted away.

He reaches for her, catching her around her waist effortlessly whileshe throws her arms around his neck. She presses onto her toes, kissing him as if no one else exists.

My heart flutters, because Iwantthat. That certainty. That belonging. That quiet, unshakable devotion.

Kaye has somewhere to turn to. Someone to catch her when she runs toward them. While I have…no one.

The realization settles deep, but before I can hold on to it too tightly, Clo’s hand presses lightly against the small of my back, her touch guiding.

“Come now, Elle,” she says. “Let’s get my curls perfectly done, then we can sit for breakfast together before my meeting.”

I follow, looking over my shoulder. My eyes linger on the newlyweds. They look so elated, with their eyes only on each other. Clutching at my heart through my shirt, I realize I terribly yearn for that.

***

The breakfast room is drenched in gentle morning light, spilling in through the wide windows overlooking the estate’s gardens. The polished table is set with delicate china, the faint aroma of fresh bread and fruit filling the air.

Clo sits across from me, stirring a spoon idly in her coffee. The faint clink of silver against porcelain is the only sound between us for a long moment. Then, she glances up, offering an easy smile.

“You should eat, darling.” She gestures gently to the spread between us, of perfectly sliced fruit and fresh pastries. “You barely ate last night.”

She’s right. I should be hungry. But when I glance down, my gaze lands on the teacup in front of me instead. The tea is still steaming, faint tendrils curling into the air, delicate and floral. The scent isfamiliar in a way I can’t explain. It’s something deeply embedded in me, something I should know.

“Drink before it gets cold,” Clo says, watching me. “You’ve always loved tea in the morning.”

I blink at her.I have?

The thought is small, but it roots itself in my mind, twisting around somewhere I can’t reach.Have I really always loved tea?

Despite my questioning thoughts, I pick up the cup, taking a slow sip. There’s so much bitterness to the tea that doesn’t sit right, but the honey makes it easier to swallow. The warmth spreads through me, but it does nothing to settle the strange feeling creeping up my spine.

I set the cup down carefully. Clo looks at her own coffee, dark and rich.

“You don’t drink tea?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Clo hums, shaking her head. “I’ve always preferred coffee.” She dips her head slightly, offering me a knowing smile. “But you—oh, you’ve always loved tea, Elle.”

Her words settle so easily, as if it’s a fact I should remember. I force a small smile and take another sip, though my fingers feel a little tighter around the cup this time. There’s somethingoffabout this. Something about the way her words curl into my mind, twisting around like vines, weaving so tightly that it’s hard to shake free.

The room is warm. The tea is warm. Clo’s presence is warm. And yet, I feel cold.

I should ignore it. I should simply let the harmless words settle, let them fade into the parts of my brain that don’t need answers. But I can’t. Not when the source of answers is possibly sitting right across from me. Clo knows everything about me. At least, that appears to be the case. What harm would it be to mention something simple?

So I take a slow breath, choosing my words with delicate precision. “It’s interesting,” I murmur, keeping my voice soft, polite. “I can’t seem to remember always loving tea.”

Silence follows. Clo doesn’t look surprised. She studies me with quiet, patient interest. “Well,” she muses, tapping her spoon against the rim of her untouched coffee cup. “Memory is a funny thing, isn’t it? But some habits are simply part of us, whether we remember them or not.”

She gestures toward my cup, her movements elegant. I glance at the tea. The delicate porcelain, the half-finished liquid inside.

“You didn’t hesitate before drinking, did you, dear thing?” Clo’s voice is indulgent, almost affectionate. “It’s like muscle memory. I’m sure if you think about it too hard, it’ll slip away even more. That’s how it works sometimes. When we chase it, it slips out of our grasp.”

Her voice feels like honey, slipping around me before I even realize I’m tangled in it.

I should push. I should ask why my memories feel thin, like pages missing from a book. But her smile is kind. Her voice is soothing. I want to bring it up again, to ask all of the questions about things that aren’t adding up. But it feels foolish. Why stir things up over something so small?

“Besides,” she adds lightly, “wouldn’t it be terribly sad to forget the things that bring us comfort?”

The words settle deep in my chest. She’s right. She must be. I lower my gaze. “Yes, that’s true.”