Page 8 of The Sinner’s Desire (The Sinner’s Touch #1)

“Would you like something to drink, miss?” the flight attendant asks.

“Honestly, with how nervous I am, I kinda wish I could, but I’ve never had alcohol—besides a few sips of champagne at my mom’s house—and I think it’s illegal now that we’re in U.S. airspace, right? I’m only twenty.”

I blurt it all out in exactly two and a half seconds—or something close to that—because when I get nervous, I talk fast. And a lot.

“Juice then?” she offers kindly. “We’ll begin our descent shortly and won’t be able to serve anything else.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” I lie.

I am not fine. I’m a nervous wreck.

Dear God, this has to go well!

I’ve even made a mental plan to stay out of Ethan’s friend’s way as much as possible. I’ll be invisible. He won’t even notice I’m in the apartment.

It’s that or spend the next month at my mother’s house, with her fifth husband.

Just thinking about living with them gives me chills.

Ramon makes me uncomfortable, to say the least. Maybe it’s the way he looks at me, or those awkward, forced attempts to be “friendly.” I’m not sure what it is—but moving in with my brother is the only real option right now. Even if that, too, makes me uneasy.

Lately, Ethan and I haven’t had much contact, outside of the few days we usually spend together during summer breaks. He’s not exactly Ramon’s biggest fan either and avoids their house like the plague.

Despite our ten-year age gap—and the fact that we have different fathers (he’s from Mom’s first marriage; I’m from the third)—we used to get along well when I was younger.

He’s always been the overprotective type, but I don’t mind. It’s nice to have someone looking out for me who’s not a stranger being paid to do it.

I basically grew up in an all-girls boarding school, and once I graduated high school, I was sent to live with one of my mom’s cousins in Paris for the first two years of fashion school.

My classmates back then thought I was going to live some sort of dream life. Paris and fashion? What girl wouldn’t want that?

They had no idea who Michelle was.

I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but honestly, I just went from one prison to another.

My faux-aunt was stricter than the strictest nun at the convent.

So now, at twenty, I know next to nothing about real life. I’ve never been on a date. I don’t even know how to interact with people my age. Martina puts up with me, God knows why.

Heading to Boston now, I plan to be more social with my new classmates.

I don’t even know whether I’m shy or I’ve just forgotten how to talk to people. Because if someone starts a conversation, I tend to go into overdrive and say too much.

Oh, and I have another flaw: I’m brutally honest. I can’t lie to save my life.

It’s the kind of honesty that makes people say, “Don’t ask her anything unless you really want the truth.” There’s no filter between my brain and my mouth. I say what I think, and apparently, people don’t love that.

So yeah. That’s why I’ve decided to do a complete 180 with my life. I have to learn how to deal with people, and what better way than throwing myself into the world alone?

Well . . . not completely alone, at first. I’ll be under the care—ugh, the humiliation—of my brother’s best friend.

And that’s where most of my anxiety is coming from. The idea of being a burden already makes me cringe—but being one to Amos? That’s mortifying.

I really hope he doesn’t remember me—or the way I practically devoured him with my eyes that Christmas Eve.

The pilot announces the descent, and my heart skips a beat.

Once we land, I’ll have to text Ethan’s friend, since my brother said he’d be the one picking me up.

Please don’t trip, I beg myself. I’m already a mess just sitting here.

Twenty-five minutes later, we’re on the ground. The voice over the speakers welcomes us to Boston.

With trembling fingers, I grab my phone and type:

Me: Good evening. This is Lilly. My plane just landed.

I don’t expect an instant reply, so when the screen lights up, I nearly drop the phone.

Amos: I know. I’m waiting. Come on.

Wow. Not even a hi or good evening?

So much for a warm welcome. If there was any doubt that I’m not wanted, message received.

Deep breath, Lilly. You just need to survive a month.

In a way, it might be easier if he’s cold. That’ll kill any leftover crush I’ve been stupid enough to carry.

Amos: Get a cart to carry your luggage.

Seriously? Does he think I’ve never flown before? What the hell did my brother tell him? Probably about the boarding school, sure—but I lived in Paris for two years! I may not have had full freedom, but I’m not an idiot.

Me: It’s just one bag.

A few seconds later:

Amos: Okay.

Feeling even less confident, I grab my carry-on from the overhead bin and exit the plane.

Immigration is surprisingly fast, and by the time I get to the carousel, my checked bag is already waiting, neatly lined up with the other first-class luggage.

I wheel it toward the exit, trying to keep my legs steady, wondering what will happen when I walk through those doors.

Why now, Ethan? Why did your work trip have to be now? I’m not great at handling strangers.

Don’t be a baby, Lilly.

Well . . . technically, Amos isn’t a stranger. I mean, he did give me a chin-nod and grunt-question combo that one Christmas.

God, he’s so intimidating. And he never smiles. He’s like a two-meter-tall wall of muscle and perpetual grumpiness.

I don’t even have the advantage of height. At five foot two, I look like a keychain next to him.

My stomach twists. I’m not ready to interact with new people.

I got too excited about “freedom” and forgot that freedom comes with dealing with people.

Before I can dwell any longer on my spiraling anxiety, the double doors slide open—and there he is: the man who’ll be sharing an apartment with me for the next thirty days, standing tall and silent, waiting.