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“I don’t believe you. This makes no sense. She’s not a killer.”
“She probably wouldn’t be under normal circumstances.”
“No. It’s a mistake. It has to be.”
“Funny thing was, his middle finger was missing, and they never found it.”
At that, her eyes grow to twice their size.
“Helena, I’ll admit, the bastard probably deserved what he got, but your aunt wasn’t all there, and definitely not by the end.”
“Did you think about what I asked? If I can call her?”
I get off the bed, walk to the dresser to put on my watch. “You want to ask her about this? Verify I’m not lying? She wouldn’t tell you,” I say, my back to her.
“Maybe because it’s not true. Maybe it was one of his brothers. You’re all ruthless. I don’t see any brotherly love between any of you.”
“Believe what you want. It’s all written down. Recorded.”
“Just because it’s written down doesn’t make it a fact.”
I check my watch. “Go have a shower and come down to breakfast. I’ll be there. You won’t be alone.”
She looks up at me, cocks her head to the side, and gives me a smirk. “Even if you’re there, I’m still alone, Sebastian. More alone than I knew thanks to what I learned yesterday. And with today’s story”—she shakes her head—“if you’re trying to turn me against my family, it won’t work.”
“I’m just telling you the truth. Maybe think about the questions you ask me next time.”
“You’re unbelievable sometimes, you know that?” she says, sliding off the bed. She wraps the blanket around herself and turns to go into the bathroom.
I grab her arm, stop her. “And you wish you hated me for being a Scafoni, but you don’t.”
She tugs to free her arm, but I hold tight.
“Oh, I do hate you, Sebastian. I’ll always hate you.”
I stare at her, and she at me. The next time she tugs, I let her go.
She disappears into the bathroom and locks the door. That’s why she showers here. The lock. It’s probably why she sleeps in my bed.
Better the devil you know.12HelenaI don’t go downstairs to breakfast. I don’t go for lunch either. I only make my way down when I’m too hungry to stay in my room.
I know Sebastian won’t send food up. I also know he’s right, that I have to face them sometime, but I’ll put it off as long as possible.
The evening is cool and I wrap a sweater around myself. I’m the last to arrive. By the time I get out to the patio, the family is gathered around the table, Lucinda and Ethan drinking martinis, and Gregory and Sebastian, whiskey.
Two places are set for dinner, one in front of Sebastian and the other, Gregory, and Lucinda and Ethan are dressed in fancy evening wear. Maybe it’s my lucky night and they’re going out.
Sebastian is either bored or irritated. I can see it on his face, in his posture. He sits opposite Lucinda, who has her back to me. He’s leaning in his chair, head resting against the back, looking daggers at her until he sees me.
He shifts his gaze to me. I still can’t read him, but I can’t look away either. He does something to me. It’s like when he’s in a room, it’s just him and me and every hair on my body stands on end. I don’t know. It’s like he steals the air out of my lungs.
I know the others feel this strange charge between us. They have to. And I can see from my periphery Ethan turning his head from me to Sebastian and back.
I told Sebastian that I hated him, and on some level, I do because he is my enemy. But I also know he is the one thing standing between me and the rest of them. I know they won’t touch me as long as I have his protection.
It’s not just that, though. I’m drawn to him. I want him. I want his hands on me. I want him inside me.
But the scariest part is that I want his arms around me when I sleep.
Lucinda slowly cranes her neck, and I clear my throat. The silence has become awkward.
“A drink?” I say.
Sebastian points to the long buffet table at the side where various drinks are laid out. I see a pitcher of martinis. I go to pour myself one, but a girl steps forward to do it for me. I watch her put three olives in a martini glass and pour the clear liquid. She hands it to me, and I sip. I feel it instantly, like the vodka is physically creeping down my shoulders.
I remember how Amy, the youngest of us, and I would sneak vodka when we could. Drink a little of it.
We started doing it the night my mother caught me with the boy when my father whipped me with his belt until I couldn’t move anymore.
