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I check the clock someone put in here a few days ago, and it’s half past eight. I get up, walk to the window. The sky is dark with clouds as far as I can see. I hate rain. I hate the darkness that comes with it. I always have. But today, it fits my mood. Fits this place.
I go into the bathroom to have a shower and choose yet another dress, this one a light-pink cotton almost knee-length dress with short sleeves, buttons all the way down the front and cinched at the waist. I grab a sweater to go with it and choose a pair of white, flat sandals. The color is pretty with my hair, which I gather into a messy bun at the top of my head so it doesn’t soak the back of the dress while it dries.
I set some things on the bed to take with me, but I don’t have a bag to pack, so I just leave it and head down to breakfast at a few minutes before nine.
Sebastian makes a point of checking his watch when I arrive. The family is already gathered, everyone but Ethan, eating their breakfast.
“Good morning,” Sebastian says.
I clear my throat and am relieved when my voice doesn’t break when I reply. “Morning.” It’s not necessarily a good one.
“Sleep well?” he continues. I can feel everyone’s focus on me, and I want to make a point of looking at each of them, of showing them I’m not a coward, but I can’t.
“Fine,” I say tightly.
His eyes are studying me. He’s keeping me rooted to the spot, not dismissing me to get my breakfast, because he can. Because he wants me to know he can.
I already know this, though.
I know he holds power over every aspect of my life, and I feel a wave of sadness at the thought.
What did I think? That it would be different? How many days have I been here? Already, look at me.
What a fool I am to think I could beat him. Beat them.
“Get your breakfast,” he says, finally dismissing me.
It’s just in time, because when I turn away, I can pretend I’m scratching my cheek and wipe away a misguided tear.
I’m not hungry. I don’t think I could get anything past the lump in my throat if I tried, but I fill a plate and pour myself a cup of coffee. I even forego the cream because I just can’t think this morning.
Their eyes are on me, and I wonder if they talk when I’m not there or if they truly do hate each other.
I take my seat, the same one as last night. My shoes are still there. And I don’t need to glance at the pool to know that the soaked pile of a dress and panties are mine.
Did he do that on purpose? More humiliation? Last night wasn’t enough?
I pretend to busy myself with breakfast and manage a forkful of scrambled eggs, but it’s like I’m swallowing rocks.
“I came downstairs for my morning swim before this wretched rain. I didn’t appreciate seeing your dirty underwear by the pool, Willow Girl,” Lucinda taunts, biting loudly into a piece of overtoasted toast.
I fist my fork, wondering if I’d make it to stab her in the eye before anyone stops me. It’d be worth a round at the whipping post.
I eat another bite.
“I hope you weren’t swimming naked. That’s disgusting.”
I suck a slow breath in and swivel my head in her direction. “Actually, I wasn’t swimming at all. I was getting fucked. Something you might consider doing. If you can find someone willing to touch you, of course. It might make you less of a bitch.”
Her face goes red, and a genuine smile stretches my lips. I turn back to my plate and cut into the stack of two pancakes. I see Sebastian straighten and cover his mouth with a napkin and hear his chuckle.
Lucinda slams her fist on the table. “Are you going to allow this?”
I look up at the wrong moment because Gregory’s eyes are the ones I meet, and I feel my face heat up, going red.
“You asked, Lucinda. She was just clarifying. And in Helena’s defense, it’s my fault the clothes are still there. She couldn’t walk after the fucking, could you?” He touches my hand with the tips of two fingers.
I look at his fingers on me, drag my gaze to his face to take in the satisfied grin.
“No. You’re that good,” I say.
It’s Gregory who snorts a short laugh this time.
Lucinda shoves her chair back and comes toward me. For a moment, I wonder if she’s going to slap me.
“Lucinda,” Sebastian’s voice is a quick command, and she, remarkably, obeys, stopping just a few steps from me.
I meet her gaze, unable to help the small gleam of victory I feel.
