“Torture? I wanted to make sure you didn’t faint in the bath. It would be a pity if you drowned while in the tub.”
“You could have stood guard outside the door, you pig,” she told him, brushing a wet strand of her hair away from her face.
“Yes. But that wouldn’t be half as much fun,” he replied. His grin would have been charming if she’d met him at a party, if she didn’t know him. He had fooled Catalina with that smile, but it was a predator’s grin. It made her want to hit him again, to beat him in the name of her cousin.
The faucet was dripping.Plop, plop, plop. It was the only noise in the bathroom. She raised a hand, pointed behind him.
“You can pass me the robe now.”
He didn’t reply.
“I said, you can—”
His hand dipped into the water, settling on her leg, and Noemí pushed herself back, slamming against the tub, making water splash onto the floor. Her instinct was to stand up, jump out of the tub, and run out of the room. But the position he occupied meant her path would be blocked if she did. He knew it too. The tub, the water, seemed to the young woman her shield, and she drew her knees against her chest.
“Get out,” she said, trying to sound firm rather than afraid.
“What? Are you suddenly bashful?” he asked. “Last time we were here it wasn’t the case.”
“That was a dream,” she stammered.
“It doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.”
She blinked incredulously at him, and she opened her mouth to protest. Virgil leaned forward, his hand settling on the back of her neck, and she shrieked, pushing him away, but he’d gotten hold of her hair and was tipping her head back, pulling it hard.
He’d done that in the dream, or a similar motion. Pulled her head up and kissed her, and afterward she’d wanted him.
She tried to turn her head away.
“Virgil,” Francis said loudly. He was standing by the doorway, his hands curled into tight fists at his side.
Virgil turned his head toward his cousin. “Yes?” he said, his voice hard.
“Dr. Cummins is here. He’s ready to see her.”
Virgil let out a sigh and gave Noemí a shrug, releasing her. “Well, it seems we’ll continue our chat some other time,” he declared and walked out of the bathroom.
She had not expected him to release her, and her relief was so profound she pressed both hands against her mouth and bent forward, gasping.
“Dr. Cummins wants to check up on you. Do you need help getting out of the tub?” Francis asked. He spoke softly.
She shook her head. Her face was burning, flushed with mortification.
Francis had grabbed a folded towel from a pile upon a shelf, and he wordlessly handed it to her. She looked up at him and clutched the towel.
“I’ll be in the room,” Francis said.
He walked out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Noemí dried herself and put on her robe.
When she stepped out of the bathroom Dr. Cummins was standing by the bed and gestured for her to sit down on it. He took Noemí’s pulse, checked her heartbeat, then opened a bottle with rubbing alcohol and dampened a ball of cotton with it. He pressed the piece of cotton against her temple. Noemí had forgotten about the scratch she’d incurred, and she winced.
“How is she?” Francis asked. He was standing behind the doctor, looking anxious.
“She’ll be fine. There’s nothing but a couple of scrapes. It won’t even necessitate a bandage. But it shouldn’t have happened. I thought you had explained to her the situation already,” the doctor said. “If she’d damaged her face Howard would have been very sore about it.”
“You shouldn’t be mad at him. Francis did explain that I’m in a house full of incestuous monsters and their toadies,” Noemí replied.
Dr. Cummins stilled his fingers and frowned. “Well. You haven’t lost that charming way of addressing your elders. Fill a glass with water, Francis,” the doctor said as he continued dabbing at her hairline. “The girl is dehydrated.”
