Plausible Deniability

At dinner, Niall’s hand stays firmly on her thigh, thumb stroking her skin. Aila nearly crawls out of her skin with the electricity in her veins. He knows what he’s doing, if his smug smirk is any indication. They don’t speak as they eat—there’s no need to, not when the entire meal precedes teasing leading up to a night of giving into their deepest wants.

His grip tightens on her leg, and she looks away from her soup to see his frown. “Stay quiet,” he murmurs.

“What?”

All he does is give her a look of warning. The ice in his eyes is back. There is no warmth anymore, completely unlike what she’s known for so long. She hisses in pain when his fingernails bite into her skin. His expression doesn’t change, so she nods and averts her gaze back to the table.

“You’re on the wrong side of the border, Hinch,” he says lightly a moment later. His voice is as frozen as his eyes despite its nonchalance. His hand lifts his wine glass, grip still too tight on Aila’s thigh. “Run along home now.”

Aila continues eating as the man snorts. His tone is clipped, an unfamiliar accent, when he says, “Mister Strickland wishes to extend his apologies for not wishing you congratulations sooner. He was thrilled to hear of your settling. Down, of course.”

She barely represses a shudder at Hinch’s voice, the cruelty in his words. Everyone knows she doesn’t belong, and they make sure to tell her. Bruises will form on the inside of her thigh by morning, bruises caused by something other than Niall’s warm hands burning into her skin.

“Yes, well,” Niall starts; the words float, silken and cool, in the air, “tell your boss that while I appreciate his well wishes, I don’t appreciate him sending his lackeys to my side of town. If another of you comes across the border again, I can’t say I’ll be as understanding.”

“Threatening me, Horan?” Hinch growls.

“Oh, I would never threaten violence. I damn sure promise it.”

After a minute, Niall murmurs that Hinch is gone. Aila looks away from her soup, no longer hungry. Everyone is staring. The man’s words ring in her ears—Niall is settling. For her. Someone who has no business being in this lifestyle.

She can’t do this.

She thought she could, but she can’t.

She brushes Niall’s hand from her leg. “I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.”

“Aila, I—”

Shaking her head, she pushes away her bowl and reaches for her clutch where it sits on the bench between them. “I just want to go home.”

“Alright,” murmurs Niall, leaning over to kiss her cheek. It takes all of her willpower not to yank away. “Let’s go, then.”

“I mean, my home,” she whispers after a long pause.

Aila risks a glance at his face. His eyes grow dark as he realises what she means. He drains his wineglass, slams it onto the tabletop, and presses his torso to her arm. She shivers at the scrape of his voice in her ear.

“No. Don’t you get it? If I leave you alone, there’s too much risk.”

“I know. I’ll take my chances anyway.”

Anything so you don’t waste more time on me. His head snaps back, face hardening. She can see the moment his walls slide back into place. He knows she isn’t worth the trouble, and he is doing what he needs to. He’s shutting her out. Going back to who he was before they met.

Aila follows him on shaking knees out of the restaurant. They don’t say a word to each other as Vincent drives through the streets. She almost wants to apologise, take back what she said, but Niall won’t even look at her. He stays on his side of the backseat and stares out the window. Aila swallows thickly and does the same.

Thankfully, he still cares enough to wait until she walks into the house before he lets Vincent drive away. Aila watches the car disappear from view through the living room window. Her chest aches, heart sinking, as she realises she’s now alone. Again.

She’s curled up in her old bed, wearing Cheyenne’s pyjamas, by the time her friends come home from the club. Though they ask, Aila doesn’t reply. She doesn’t give them details. She only pulls the covers over her head and silently cries herself to sleep.

No one bothers her over the next two days. Life goes on around her—Willow and Cheyenne go to work at the salon, Angel at the hotel. Paisley at the vet clinic. Traffic passes outside. Citizens move about the city without a care beyond their own lives. And still, Aila remains in bed with nothing to show for her existence beyond another broken heart.

What’s worse is she brought it on herself this time.

The blanket disappears with a whoosh, a soft crack of fabric flung to its limits. Aila slowly blinks out of her half-doze and turns her head to tell Paze to fuck off. Instead of Paisley’s familiar brown eyes and box braids, Tania stands at the bedside.

Any sign of friendship is gone from her expression. This Tania is the Tania from before, the one who had icy fire in her veins and no love in her heart. Cold, calculating. Sharp blue eyes spark with ill-concealed rage.

“Are you stupid, or do you have a death wish?” she snaps, throwing the blanket onto the other bed when Aila reaches for it. “Answer me, Greene.”

Aila’s voice crackles from disuse when she croaks out, “Neither.”

“Then why the fuck did Niall come home and start lashing out at everyone? Why are you here where no one can protect you?”

“Did no one think about the fact I’ve made it this long without them?” And there’s the anger Aila has grown accustomed to feeling. To showing.

Tania rolls her eyes and shoves her thin hand through her hair. “So… what? You’re just gonna leave us and never come back? Break Niall’s heart after he fucking trusted you? Risk your life all because of some stupid reason you concocted in your pretty little head?”

Aila bolts upright, scrambling back to lean against the wall. Her throat tightens at the thought—she’s hurt Niall more than he’s ever hurt her, according to Tania. Aila betrayed him in a way she swore never to do. But she has to make Tania understand.

“Niall is settling, Tania. Settling for me! I’m not what he needs. I can’t ever be heartless and cruel like he is.” She sniffles but doesn’t wipe away the tears. “He needs someone who won’t doubt herself, who will do whatever has to be done without second thought.”

Tania stares at Aila for a long minute; her expression gives away nothing of what she thinks. Finally, she sighs and sits on the bed next to Aila’s legs. The rage is muted, simmering just under the surface, no longer threatening to explode.

“And who do you think fits that bill, Aila? Because I can tell you now, not a damn person in this city would want that job. You love him. You’ve given Nialler so much shit over his behaviour. But Aila?”

“What?” she mumbles, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You’ve given him a reason to live again. He’s spent so long rebuilding this city or doling out punishment. Controlling what happens in his—his domain. He never cared about anyone but us before. Sure, he slept around. A man has needs. But the second he was done fucking her, he was gone again and off to the next one. Until you came along.”

Aila meets Tania’s gaze then looks away quickly. The yellow curtains glow brighter with the sunlight, and white creeps along the walls. “He’s only marrying me because his dad is forcing him to.”

Silence reigns in the bedroom. Aila refuses to look at Tania, though Tania regards her with no emotions.

“If you truly believe that,” Tania murmurs a moment later, “you are literally the dumbest person I know.” She shoves herself to her feet and stares down at Aila. “I’m done with you. If you can’t trust us, trust him, don’t bother coming back. Just stop being a coward and tell him the truth yourself.”

Tania storms out, and the front door slams shut. The sound echoes in the quiet left behind—never silence. Primden lives too much to ever be fully silent. Aila knocks her head against the plaster behind her, groaning as her mind travels over the last few months.

He treated her like she was nothing in the beginning. There was so much struggle to get to the point where he gave her the attention she deserved. She was abducted because of him. He killed for her. Three times, at the very least.

She climbs out of bed long enough to grab her comforter. Bundling up inside the thick fabric, Aila curls up on the mattress and wonders what the Hell to do.

The manor looms large even through the distance. The lane has never been more daunting, nor have the barb-wrapped pickets of the fence. The guards stationed along the property line barely give her a second look. Aila knows they think she’s come to say goodbye. Heart in her throat, she steps up to the closest guard—Angus, a man with five kids and a lovely husband at home—and requests he let her through the gate.

He does, winking subtly. Evidently, he believes more in her than the others. A car pulls up at the end as she steps through, and the gate clatters as it locks into place once more. She slips into the backseat, forcing a smile at Vincent, before settling in. How can she fix this? Niall most likely doesn’t even want to see her again.

It’s been almost a week since he left at her at her old house, and he hasn’t reached out to her. Aila has started dozens of texts only to delete them again without sending. Whatever she broke can’t be repaired through text messages. She has to face the consequences of what she did and hope he can forgive her.

“Here you are, Miss.”

She jolts. When had the car stopped? She glances up at Vincent where he stands holding her door open. “Hm? Oh. Thanks.”

“It is lovely to have you back, Miss.”

Yeah, don’t count on it. Aila only nods before sliding out of the car. Never before has she been so terrified to open a door. If Niall tells her to leave—or worse, he has Robert tell her to leave—she doesn’t know what she would do.

The door swings on its hinges before she can knock. The valet himself appraises her with a raised brow. His face is stoic as ever, but Aila hopes she reads the glimmer in his eye correctly.

“Think he wants to talk to me anymore?”

“I’ve no idea, Miss Aila,” he responds after a beat, and she slumps at the familiar form of address. Surely he wouldn’t call her ‘Miss Aila’ if he’s meant to turn her away? “Mister Niall is in the parlour if you wish to speak with him.”

Aila draws in a steadying breath then crosses the threshold. Maids flit from room to room, chattering quietly amongst themselves as they pass each other. Neda barely manages to hide her glare when she sees Aila, but a pointed throat-clearing from Robert has the other woman bowing and scurrying away.

“Don’t want company right now, Harry,” snaps Niall as the parlour door squeaks open. He doesn’t look up from the blade he drags along a whetstone, and Aila steels her spine.

Now or never.

“Good thing I’m not Harry, then, isn’t it?”

He freezes, the scraping of metal on stone ceasing abruptly, then his cold gaze lands on her. “Come back, have you?”

Aila can’t blame him for the lack of warmth. For the rage eating at his being. For the tension in his body as he stares at her. She can only try to apologise. So she closes the door, stands with her back to the wood, and clasps her hands together in front of her.

“Tania said I was the dumbest person she knows. I... I agree with her.” Niall’s brow twitches, and she takes comfort in that. He’s refusing to show amusement. “I got scared. I doubted myself. I doubted you, all because my brain decided to believe the prick at the restaurant.”

“And what exactly do you want me to do about that?”

Aila swallows thickly, crossing the room to sit on the sofa across from him. He resumes sharpening his dagger. “Nothing. This is on me. You’ve shown yourself to be loyal to me. You’ve proved you care about me. I shouldn’t have believed it was all a lie. I... I thought you were only marrying me because of your father, and I kept thinking that even after you said it wasn’t true. I almost gave up on someone who’s loved me enough to kill for me.”

“I did.”

“Do you still?”

Niall glances at her through his lashes but doesn’t speak. She waits as patiently as possible for a response. He may never forgive her, and she would be able to do nothing about it. Her chest aches with the rabbiting of her heart, the rush of her blood in her ears. A prickling starts up, dances along her skin, and she waits.

After a long minute, he sets the blade and stone down. He reaches out a hand, and Aila’s eyes burn as she moves to his side. Curls up in his lap as she’s done so many times before. He sighs, kissing her forehead.

“Tania is right. You’re the dumbest person she knows. Darling, I told you before. I will always love you. I’ll... I’ll also respect your decision to walk away. That’s why I didn’t drag you back here.”

“I did walk away. Tania yelled at me. I reassessed.”

Niall chuckles and pulls her tighter, leaning back on the couch so she can rest her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad.”

“What did I tell you about threatening your friends?” she asks, pulling back to see his face—the face she’s missed so fiercely despite her initial desire to leave.

“Tania has a loose tongue.”

“She meant well,” murmurs Aila, and her finger presses against the divot between his brows.

“As long as it brought you home to me where you belong.” He hesitates, nudging her chin to meet her eye. “You believe me now that my father only moved up the timetable?”

“I do.”

“Good. I was always gonna want to spend my life with you,” he vows, “always. Even if my da had a problem with it, I would’ve chosen you dozens of times over.”

“Take me to bed?” she whispers before crushing her lips to his. His kiss tastes the same—hard, giving and taking, sweet fire to fill her veins.

He groans, arms snaking around her waist, even as he growls, “I thought you’d never ask.”

The staircase is a mountain, the corridors an endless labyrinth, but eventually, Aila and Niall tumble into his bedroom. He’s barely gotten the door closed behind them when she tugs at the hem of his button-down, deftly undoing the buttons with one hand while the other slips along his ass. He huffs out a laugh and slides his fingers through her hair.

“We have all the time in the world, darling.”

Aila doesn’t answer. She only kisses him to shut him up and curls a hand around the back of his neck. He stumbles where she leads, and she counts it as a victory that he can only gape as she shoves his slacks to the floor. Rising to her tiptoes, she leans against him, nips at his earlobe.

“You’re going to fuck me right now, and then we can take it slow.”

She steps back, leaving him gasping, and slips the straps of her sundress off her shoulders. Thanking her past self for being so hopeful, she lets the cotton puddle on the floor at her feet and moves to sit on her knees on the bed. One hand comes up to curl around the headboard, the other disappearing between her thighs. Niall stares with wide eyes so damn blue, she wants to drown in them forever.

The moan she lets out is very obviously affected, put on, but it spurs him to action anyway. He fumbles with the drawer without looking, and she bites her lower lip as he watches her fingers moving against her core. Soon enough, he’s beneath her, fucking into her with his tongue. Aila arches her back as his fingernails dig into her skin.

Colton hated this—making her feel this amazing without thought to his own pleasure. Having her hovering over his face with her knees bracketing his head, licking and sucking and nipping gently until she shattered apart. He only ever ran thick, clumsy fingers over her folds until she pretended she was ready. How could he have never noticed how fake her moaning was?

But Niall... Niall has no reservations about this. He dives headfirst into doing everything he can to make Aila cry out like this. His hips jerk abortively as she chases the sensations only he can bring her. As she clings with one hand to his hair and the other planted against the ornate carvings in the wood. As she twitches and mewls and whimpers.

In one seamless motion, he has her on her back, and she stares up at his lips glistening in the afternoon sunlight. Her eyes flutter closed when he pushes into her. When he settles inside of her, slides into a home he will always have within her.

It’s right where he belongs. As much as he owns her, she owns him. Aila will kill anyone who says otherwise.