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“You’ll pay for that, Willow Girl. I’m patient, but I will have my turn.”
It takes all I have to keep my expression neutral because I do believe she means it. She will have her turn at me.
She walks away a moment later. Sebastian leans back in his chair, his eyes burning a hole through me.
“You’re owed a notch,” he says, finishing the last of his coffee. “Are you packed?”
“I didn’t have a bag, so I put the things I want to take on my bed.”
He nods and calls a girl over, tells her to pack my things into his bag. It’s quiet while I force the rest of my breakfast down.
“A word of advice,” says Gregory, and I am forced to look up at him. All I can think of is how he looked at me last night. How he touched me. How he watched us. Watched me come. “Don’t taunt my mother. She has nothing better to do than hate you.”
“Am I just expected to sit here and be humiliated? Morning and night?”
“You are the Willow Girl,” he says.
“I don’t care what you do to me. What she does to me. I can’t—I won’t—just take it. I’m not that kind of Willow Girl.”
“You’re all that kind of Willow Girl by the end,” he says.
I touch the bone ring on my finger and will myself to be strong. To have just a little bit of my Aunt Helena’s strength.
But they are wearing me down. Slowly and surely, whittling me down to bare bone. I wonder if they’ll make a notch out of me.
A prize.
“Finished?” Sebastian asks.
I guess I’m staring at Gregory, processing his words. Remember Sebastian’s: “Be careful with my brother, Helena. He’s not what you think. In fact, he’s just as wicked as the rest of us.”
A chill makes me shudder.
I set my fork and knife at a diagonal across my plate and turn to Sebastian. He’s watching me with his slate eyes, and I swear he knows every thought in my mind. Knows my every weakness.
“Yes.”
He rises and pulls my chair out. I’m surprised by the politeness.
“We’ll leave in fifteen minutes,” he says and disappears into the house.
I reach under the table to pick up my abandoned sandals from last night and dart to the pool in the rain to scoop up my clothes before heading back into the house, drenched. But before I get past him, Gregory grabs my wrist and stops me. He looks up at me from his seat, lets his gaze run over me before looking me in the eye.
“I mean it. Be careful with my mother.”
I swallow. “I’m not scared of her.”
I try to pull free, but he rises to his feet, keeping me close, bruising my wrist. We’re so close, I have to crane my neck to look up at him.
“What about me? Are you scared of me?”
I guess I’m not expecting that, and I guess I’ve given him the reaction he wants. That deer in the headlights look.
He gives me a grin, then releases me and goes inside. When I’m alone, I sink down into the closest chair because my knees give out.
Did I think for a second last night that Gregory would come to my rescue? I did. I did for a split second. But I have to remember that no one’s coming to my rescue.
No one but me.14SebastianI don’t mind the rain. I like it. It’s a nice change of pace.
The drive to Verona takes twenty minutes longer than the hour and fifteen minutes it should because idiots don’t know how to drive in rain, but our hotel is dry and our suite has a great view of the city.
I’m unpacking some things from our overnight case when Helena comes out of the bathroom drying her face. She looks around, and I wonder if she notices the lack of telephones. I made sure they were removed before we got here.
She’s been quieter than usual this morning. I expect it’s because of last night, and I guess that was my point. Bring her down a notch.
She sits down on the edge of the bed like she’s exhausted. “What are we doing here?”
“I have a meeting this afternoon, and I thought you might like to get off the island at least for a night.”
She looks around, scoots back a little on the bed. She’s taken off her sweater. When she reaches to brush the hair out of her eyes, I notice the bruises forming on her wrist. She follows my gaze. She must have noticed them herself because she closes her hand over them and rubs.
“Can’t tell who leaves the marks anymore, can you?”
I can see she’s on edge.
“I can’t,” she continues. “You. Your brother. Your stepmother. All I know is it’s like playing a game. I’m the punching bag, and you all just keep taking turns, one after the other after the other, just beating on me while you have a grand old time.”
