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Her eyes softened at my comment, because I would never say something I didn’t mean. “Thanks.”
I took a piece of bread and slathered it in butter before I took a bite, eating with polite manners since she did as well. If I were alone, I wouldn’t bother. Too much work when my energy was reserved for more important things. “How did you spend your time in America?” I knew nothing about her as a person. I knew her body like my own, knew her subtle reactions, her presence, but nothing substantial. That information was irrelevant because it wouldn’t change the way I felt, so it had never been important to me.
“I was a bartender…going to cosmetology school,” she said with a slight twinge of embarrassment. “Raven is the smart one. After college, she moved to Paris for her graduate studies—”
“I don’t care about her.” Her only relevance was their relation. Outside that context, I didn’t give a damn about her life and accomplishments. “Being educated and being smart are two different things. The only reason you live in her shadow is because you choose to stand there. Move.”
She rested her fingertips on her teacup as she absorbed my words.
“If she were smart, she wouldn’t have been picked for the Red Snow. She wouldn’t have run into a blizzard. She would have kept her head down instead of pissing off every single guard in that camp. She doesn’t belong on the pedestal where you’ve placed her.”
Her eyes shone a little brighter as she stared at me, words sitting on her tongue that she struggled to say. “You think she’s stupid for trying to be free. Your definition of smart is submission.” Melanie caved to me in every way imaginable, but this was the one thing she wouldn’t bend for. Instead of keeping her mouth shut, she defended her sister.
“I believe in working smart, not hard. Every choice she makes harshens her conditions, makes her existence more unbearable. Her outcome won’t change, so instead of trying to improve her quality of life like the other girls, she chooses to attempt the impossible. Idiotic. Her time could be better spent.” I took a drink of my water and stared at Melanie, wondering if she would make the wrong decision and push this conversation.
She dropped her gaze.
Good.
After lunch, I returned to my office.
I approached my desk where my laptop remained. A cup of hot black coffee was waiting for me along with my mail. I grabbed it and sifted through it, opening each piece and glancing through it before tossing it into a pile on my desk.
Footsteps sounded behind me.
With an open letter in my hand, I turned around to see her.
Melanie took a seat on the couch and got comfortable with a book in her hands.
I stared.
When she felt my look, she turned to meet my gaze. “I’ll be quiet.”
My eyebrows furrowed, and I lowered the letter to my side.
Her body became more rigid under my gaze because she knew I was pissed.
I approached the couch and stared down at her. “Get. Out.”
She got to her feet. “I said I’ll be quiet. I just don’t want to be alone—”
“Too fucking bad. Take the car and go into the city.”
“How do you know I won’t run away—”
“Try, and see what happens.”
She gripped the book to her chest, her breathing elevated.
“The only way you leave me is if I let you leave.” My hand shook at my side the longer she didn’t cooperate, when my men would have fled. “Go.”
She stayed. “Why do you want me here if you don’t—”
“That’s my business.”
She turned away, her eyes starting to water.
Tears didn’t affect me. Empathy was something I’d never learned. The pain and suffering of others was white noise, because no one cared about my suffering. But watching her struggle to combat tears made me feel inadequate, like I’d allowed my trophy to rust over instead of taking care of it. “Chérie.”
She wouldn’t look at me, her lips tightly pressed together in restraint.
I set the letter on one of the tables and came closer to her, my hand moving to her waist, my thumb over her belly button while my fingers stretched across her back. My thumb squeezed her stomach slightly as I moved farther into her vision. “I need my space. I need to work.”
“I’ll be quiet…”
“My men stop by throughout the day. It’s not a place for you.”
She still didn’t look at me, but she eventually gave a nod in agreement.
I could read her pretty well, but in this instance, I struggled. “Why is it hard for you to be alone?”
“I…I don’t know,” she whispered. “When I’m with you…it drowns out the thoughts I don’t want to have. You see me so infrequently that I’m just left to my own voice, my regrets, my pain. I live in a palace with beautiful clothes, while my sister is—” She couldn’t bring herself to finish. “It’s just hard.”
