Page 213 of Marrying the Savage

She hears it. So do I.

“You do know,” I say.

She pours tea anyway. The cup fills too high. A little spills into the saucer.

“Careful,” I say softly.

Her hand stills. For one second, her face cracks. Then it’s gone.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“For the tea?”

She presses her lips together.

I look at the tray. Soup. Bread. Fruit. Tea. A meal for someone who is expected to stay where she is put.

My throat tightens. I turn toward the door and walk to it. I put my hand on the handle and try it. It moves now.

I look back at her. “Will it open after you leave?”

She says nothing.

I laugh once, quietly. “Right.”

Her eyes lift to mine. They are wet. I hate that, because I need her to be cruel. Cruel would be easier. Cruel would let me hate her properly. Instead, she stands beside the table with both hands clenched in her apron, looking like someone has placed a knife in her hand and told her to call it service.

“What happened?” I ask.

She looks toward the door. That one look is enough.

Someone is outside. Or someone could be.

I lower my voice. “Did Damir order this?”

Marina’s eyes close for half a second. My stomach drops.

“Why is he punishing me?” I say. “Because I’m carrying his child?” I don’t mean to say the words, it just slips out.

Her eyes widen. “You’re pregnant?”

“Forget I said anything,” I say.

“I’m sorry it has to be like this,” she says.

This is absolutely maddening. “What? What do they think I did?”

She grips the apron tighter. “Please eat,” she says.

I look at her. She looks at the bowl. I don’t move.

Finally, she whispers, “Please.” It’s not an order but a plea.

“For me?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer. Her eyes flick to my stomach.

I go still. “You know.”