Begrudgingly, I muttered, “Thanks.”

He arched an eyebrow, as if to ask—for what?

“For being a gentleman,” I clarified.

Our eyes clashed in the mirror.

“I’m no gentleman, Flower Girl.”

He finished with a final pull, then stepped away and picked up his blazer from the mattress. I had to think on my feet, fast. My gaze drifted to the window. The lone cloud was still there.

Watching me.

Taunting me.

Waiting to be used.

You only get one miracle.

This one was worth it.

I took a deep breath and said the words aloud, not wanting to half-ass it in case there was a fine print and I needed to do the whole Hocus Pocus thing.

“I wish you’d fall in love with me.”

The words surged out of my mouth like a blizzard, making him freeze midstride on his way to the door. He turned around, his face a perfect mask of harsh brutality.

Drawing a breath, I continued.

“I wish you’d fall in love with me so hard you won’t be able to think about anything else. To eat. To breathe. When my Aunt Tilda died, she granted me one miracle. This is the wish I choose. Your love. There’s a world beyond your ice walls, Cillian Fitzpatrick, and it is full of laughter and joy and warmth.” I took a step in his direction, my knees wobbling. “I’m going to pay back your favor. I’m going to save your life in my own way.”

A curse.

A spell.

A hope.

A dream.

For the first time since he entered the room, I saw something resembling curiosity on his face. Even my naked body splayed on his lap didn’t make him as much as blink twice. But this? This pierced his exterior, even if it only made the tiniest of cracks. His brows pinched, and he advanced toward me, erasing the space between us in three confident strides. Outside, Belle and Aisling banged their fists on the door, yelling that we were late.

My entire life spun out of focus at that moment. My carefully crafted fantasy unraveling into a nightmare.

Cillian tipped my chin up with his finger, his eyes hard on mine.

“Listen to me carefully, Persephone, because I will only say it once. You are going to walk out of this room and forget you know me, just as I’ve failed to notice your existence thus far. You will meet a nice, sane, boring guy. A perfect fit for your nice, sane, boring self. You’ll get married to him, have his babies, and thank your lucky stars I wasn’t horny enough to take you up on your less than subtle offer. I’m giving you the gift of turning you down. Take it and run for the hills.”

He smiled for the first time, and it was so unpleasant, so twisted that it knocked the breath out of my chest. His smile told me he wasn’t happy. Hadn’t been for years. Decades, even.

“Why do you hate me?” I whispered.

Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall.

“Hate you?” He wiped the tears with the back of his hand. “I have no feelings, Persephone. Not for you. Not at all. I am incapable of hating you. But I will also never, ever love you.”

Present.

The cobblestone sidewalk dug into my feet through my cheap shoes as I secured my bicycle to the bike rack.

Darkness washed the street in North End. Pub workers hurled fat, soggy trash bags into the jaws of industrial containers, chatting and laughing, ignoring the sheets of rain falling from the sky.

I said a silent prayer they’d stay on the street until I made it safely to my building. I hated coming home late but couldn’t say no to the babysitting gig I’d been offered after school hours. Collecting the hem of my wet dress, I hurried to my door. I pushed it open, pressing my back to it with a relieved sigh.

A hand shot to me in the dark, yanking my wrist and flinging me across the room. My back slammed against the stairway, and pain exploded from my tailbone to my neck.

“Mrs. Veitch. Fancy seeing you here.”

Even in the pitch black, I recognized Colin Byrne’s voice. It was smooth and low, a hint of mockery lilting his Southie accent.

“It’s Miss Penrose.” I rushed up to my feet, swatting strands of wet hair off my face and dusting my knees. I flipped the switch on. Yellow light pooled inside the hallway. Tom Kaminski—simply Kaminski to anyone who knew him—Byrne’s errand boy and muscle man, stood behind the lean, wrinkled loan shark with his burly arms crossed at his chest.

Byrne covered the distance between us, the strong scent of his cologne prickling my gag reflex.

“Penrose? Nah, that’s not the name on your driver’s license, Persy baby.”

“I asked for a divorce.” I took a step back from him, schooling my face.

“Well, I asked for a threesome with Demi Lovato and Taylor Swift. Looks like we both ain’t getting our wish, doll. The fact of the matter is, you’re married to Paxton Veitch, and Paxton Veitch owes me money. A shit-ton of it.”

“Exactly. Paxton owes you,” I said hotly, knowing I was entering a lost war. Byrne wouldn’t listen. He never did. “He was the one placing those bets. He was the one losing money at your joints. It’s his mess to fix, not mine.”

Colin lifted my left hand, rubbing at my naked wedding finger. The imprinted tan line where the ring used to be glared back at both of us, reminding me that my relationship with Pax wasn’t ancient history.

Not only was I still married to him but I also still honored my vows. I hadn’t dated anyone since Pax ran away. Hell, I still visited his grandma in the nursing home every week, bearing shortbread cookies and her favorite culinary magazines.

She was lonely, and it wasn’t her fault her grandson turned out to be a dick.

“Pax’s long gone now, and his pretty wife refuses to let me know where I can find him.” Byrne’s velvet voice pierced my thoughts while he played with my fingers.

“His wife doesn’t know where he is.” I tried to yank my hand away to no avail. “But she does know how to use pepper spray. Personal space here.”

I didn’t want Belle, who was upstairs, to hear the commotion in the hallway and come out of the apartment to investigate. She knew nothing about my situation, and I was pretty sure my savage sister would not hesitate to take out the Glock she owned and put a hole in each of these bastard’s heads if she walked into this scene.

I didn’t want to burden Belle with my problems. Not this particular problem, anyway. Not after everything she’d already done for me.

“Use your fine investigative skills to find out,” Byrne beamed. “After all, you managed to catch the lousiest husband in New England. You found him before, and you can do it again. Have a little faith.”

“We both know I haven’t the greenest clue where to start looking. His phone is dead, my emails are bouncing back, and his friends won’t talk to me. It’s not like I haven’t tried.” I used the hand Colin held to push his face away roughly.

He didn’t budge. Just wrapped his fingers tighter around mine.

“Then I’m afraid his debt is now yours. Whatever happened to in sickness and in health? For richer or poorer? How does the oath go?” Byrne snapped his fingers at Kaminski behind him.

Kaminski snorted, flashing a row of rotten teeth.

“Beats me, Boss. Never got hitched. Ain’t planning to, either.”