“Please, sit down. We should talk.”
I do as she says, taking a seat in the sunken living area. She walks to the open kitchen, the kettle clicks.
“Sencha?”
Fuck, I thought I couldn’t be profiled.
“You have Darjeeling?” I ask. That only makes her laugh more.
“Sencha is my favorite too.”
From that point on, I decide not to fight this—whatever this is—and just listen to what she has to say. Maybe small talk will buy me time while I figure out how to handle this crazy situation where she’s reading me. I read people. That’s my thing. Not the other way around.
“Tom said he and I are staying here in the West House. Is this your place?”
“No,” she says, pouring the teapot. “This is Tom’s house, but since he’s never here, I use it as my atelier and office. It gives me inspiration. I mean, look at the view. I live in the North House with Dad and Janice. Auntie Mary and Sergei live there too.”
The king, the queen, the princess, their servants.
“Eli and Cheryl live in the East House, they’re here on weekends. The South House is reserved for Joan, Finn, Luca, and Alex, since they only come by for special occasions. Everyone has their own apartment in the city, just like Tom. I’m the only one who lives here permanently. Sometimes I crash at Joan’s in Amsterdam, or Alex and I travel to Munich to support Luca.”
She comes back with a silver tray, carrying a neat little tea-for-two set. A small teapot, low cups on wide saucers, hand-painted with pink roses. Beautifully antique. Almond cookies on the side. Very British.Very Tom.
She pours the tea and settles back, arms crossed. She gives me a warm smile. Politeness, or a test to see how I’ll respond?
“I’m glad you found your way to Heatherfell. I’ve been expecting you.”
I can’t hide my freaked-out laugh this time. “Expecting me?” I manage.
“I think I was twelve when I figured it would take someone special to drag Tom back home. Patience is a virtue.”
My cheeks flare crimson before I can stop them, which is the last thing I need right now. Effy pretends not to notice, sipping her tea.
I only meant to listen, but the question keeps pushing at the back of my teeth.
“Can I ask you something?”
She sets her cup back on the saucer. “Sure.”
“You explained how Tom acts, how he looks at people. How does he look at you?”
A few seconds pass before her fingers start to tremble. The untouchable confidence Jay’s academy drilled into her fades, and suddenly she looks like nothing more than a hurt nineteen-year-old.
“I wouldn’t know. He… he never looks at me.”
Hearing that and knowing Tom’s side, is a pain I don’t have words for.
I want to hold this girl in my arms, tell her everything Tom told me. That he loves her more than anything in this world. God. All this pain, all this fear poisoning their lives for so many years. They deserve understanding. They deserve closure. They deserve peace.
But it’s not my place to interfere.
“He watches you,” I say quietly. “All the time. Only when he’s sure you won’t notice.”
A tear slides down her cheek. “He does?”
“Yes, sweetie. He does.”
And with that, I’ve already said more than I meant to.
