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“Whose doll was that?”
“Annabel’s,” I say, keeping my eyes on my work.
“Your sister. Ouch!” I drop a small but sharp shard into the corner near the fireplace.
“Almost done.”
It’s quiet for a time. “Do you ever go there?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“When I was trying to go back to the house, I kept walking in circles, ending up back there. It was eerie.”
I look at her. “Stay away from the solarium. Just stay out of the woods altogether.”
“Did something happen in there?”
“Just stay away, okay?”
She nods and silence falls again, the only sound that of the rain on the roof and wood crackling in the fire.
“Is this your workplace? Do you make these things?”
“Used to be Lucas too, but now it’s just me.” I pick out more glass.
She surprises me when she turns her hand around to touch a rough spot in my palm. “I knew you did something with your hands.” She circles it, and I watch her delicate hand inside mine. It’s all I can do for a long minute until I drag my gaze to look at the top of her head, her attention on my hand.
“Lucas made that switchblade,” I say.
She meets my eyes.
“Made one for each of us. I didn’t realize my sister still had hers.”
“When?
“When we were kids. Maybe twelve.”
“You had those sharp blades at twelve? Why?”
I return my attention to picking out glass. “My father was never a gentle man. I guess Lucas thought he was doing his part to protect us.” Does she hear the sarcasm in my voice?
She’s quiet, and when I look at her, I find her eyes on me. “Did you make the doors at the house?”
“Yes,” I say, picking out the last of the glass and getting to my feet.
“That’s a lot of work.”
I grab one of the bottles of water I keep out here and go back to her. “I like doing it. Gets me out of the house and out of my head.”
“If you don’t want to be here, why don’t you just leave?”
I exhale and smile. “Things don’t work that way with us.” She studies me. “Hold out your hands.”
“The Gates of Hell doors. They’re appropriate, I guess.”
She’s got that right.
There’s no running water, so she stretches her arms out in front of her. I wash the cuts as best as I can with the water before grabbing a towel and resuming my seat to dry them. I hold onto them, her hands closed in prayer, mine over hers in the same position around the towel.
“Did Michela give you the knife on our wedding night?”
She searches my eyes and gives a quick shake of her head. “I took it.”
I cock my head to the side. “Really?” She’s lying. “From where?”
“It hurts,” she says, gesturing toward our hands.
I guess I’m squeezing a little too hard. I let up, set the towel aside, and get antibiotic solution from the kit.
“This’ll sting.”
She sucks in a breath but lets me apply it before I bandage both hands and close the kit.
“Thank you,” she says, hugging my coat closer as I arrange her wet things near the fire to dry. She keeps her eyes on the fire. “For finding me. And for taking care of me.”
“You’re welcome.”
A moment passes.
She shifts her gaze to the ground.
I grab another bottle of water and hand it to her while I drink straight from the bottle of whiskey.
“Are you warm enough?” I ask her.
“Warming up.”
“So you took Michela’s switchblade,” I circle back.
She glances up at me then away and nods.
“Where did you find it?”
“I don’t remember.”
“No? I’d think you’d remember something like that.”
“Can we drop it? You have it now.”
“I don’t like being lied to.”
She turns her gaze to mine but struggles to hold it. “I’m not lying.”
“I know you didn’t take it, Cristina. What did she do, come to your room the night of the wedding while I was still downstairs? Were you trying to hide it when I walked in later?”
“She was only looking out for me.”
I laugh outright at that. “Is that what she told you? If you believe her, then you’re more naïve than I thought.”
She plants her bare feet on the ground and stands, hands twisting around the bottle of water, my coat about to slip from her shoulders.
“I am not naïve. I’m trying to navigate this house of lies and liars.”
I snort, take a drink, then let my gaze graze over her.
She notices and tugs the coat closer.
“I’ve not lied to you once, Cristina.” Is that true though, I wonder?
“No? But you’ve kidnapped me. Taken my family from me. Forced me to marry you. And I don’t believe that you haven’t lied to me.”
“I’m your ally in this house. Your only ally. Remember that. If you betray me, you have no one.”
“Funny, I’ve heard that from all three of you now.”
