Page 76 of Twisting Beauty

Not here. Not now. So far I had nothing that could truly implicate Alistair or the asylum, nothing I could put in someone else’s hands and make them see. I had to keep looking.

Cry later. Break down later. Dervla and Maeve are counting on you.

I forced air into my lungs. Forced myself to keep moving, sinking to the floor to gather the file together with hands that would not stop shaking.

I’d only just stood up, using the edge of the desk to pull myself up because my knees were like jelly, when footsteps sounded in the corridor.

I froze.

Oh my God. Someone was coming!

I shoved the file back into the drawer and ran out of the study, catching the panel and pulling it shut, the click swallowed by the sound of my own breathing.

But the door handle was already moving.

Panic hit so hard my vision narrowed on the opening door.

No, no, no. I was so fucked.

24

LIATH

My heart slammed once, twice, so violently it hurt.

I dropped into one of the leather chairs by the cold fireplace, arranged my legs, my hands, and my face into something soft and waiting.

The door opened and Alistair stepped into the doorway. His eyes moved over the room, catching on me.

“What are you doing here?” he said, suspicion lacing his tone. “You know this is out of bounds.”

“You weren’t at dinner,” I said, my voice jagged as I struggled to contain my breathing. I forced my mouth to soften. “I just missed you, Daddy.”

Something in his face settled. The measuring quality dissolved into satisfaction. “You always liked curling up near the fire with me, didn’t you, Rua?”

The door clicked shut behind him, closing me in here with him. Alone.

The air felt thinner, the hairs along my arms lifting like static. The smile on my face felt stapled in place and my lungs were tight, panic swirling in my guts with every second I sat still.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to run.

But Rua wouldn’t scream. Rua would lower her lashes, smile sweetly, and pretend she didn’t know what the word trapped meant.

Stay, Rua. Stay, Rua. Just for ten more minutes. Then you can make your excuse and leave.

He crossed the room and poured two fingers of absinthe from the decanter on the side table. He handed one to me and sat down next to me.

“Just a finger. The good doctor says I shouldn’t excite your nervous system too much.” Mock concern lined his voice. “I’m being so good, aren’t I?”

The sharp, medicinal smell hit the back of my throat, not quite sweet and not quite bitter.

He watched me, eyes narrowed. Testing me.

I sat, spine straight, hands folded neatly on my lap, trying to angle my legs away without being obvious. Still, my knee hovered inches from his. Too close.

The smell of the alcohol, the heat of the fire, the stifling weight of his stare made my stomach pitch.

I raised the glass, trying not to let my fingers tremble. The absinthe clawed down my throat in a single, searing line.