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I’m surprised by the care and ease with which he undoes each button, and it’s not long before the shirt is hanging open over my body.
Grabbing both halves of the open button-down, Dante pulls it back from my shoulders and down my arms before carefully draping it over his arm and heading back to the closet.
I’m left standing in the middle of the room in nothing more than an ill-fitting pair of his underwear and my towel-wrapped hair. Heat flames my cheeks as I wrap my arms around my chest, in an effort to both cover and comfort myself.
I wait quietly, wondering what I should do. Obviously, wearingthatshirt was a mistake, but why?
A thought suddenly pops into my mind, but I have to close my eyes as I try to shake the feeling of dread that comes with it.
I open my eyes just as I hear Dante’s footsteps returning. He’s carrying a black shirt, his face still hard as he avoids looking my way.
“It washers, wasn’t it?” I ask, trying and failing to keep my voice from wavering.
He stops dead in his tracks, his expression unreadable as his eyes slowly lift to meet mine. For a second, I think he’s imagining all the ways he could rip my throat out … but then I see it in his eyes.
Eyes that are no longer murderous red, but crystal blue oceans of pain.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Dante says, his voice unnervingly soft.
“I think you do,” I whisper, steeling myself for courage. “That was Anna’s, wasn’t it?”
I swallow hard, as he continues to stare at me, his gaze growing colder by the second.
“How do you know her name?”
Crap.
I hadn’t thought this far ahead. If I tell him I found her diary, he’ll probably take it before I have a chance to read it.
Think, Evelyn. Think.
A memory from a few days ago suddenly rushes to the forefront of my mind, and I thank my lucky stars that my brain has decided to work with me for once.
“I heard her name in my head,” I say, realizing as soon as the words leave my mouth just how unbelievable they sound. “After the blood transfusion. I-I called myself Anna. I don’t know why …”
I trail off, my eyes dropping to the floor to avoid having to watch the unbelief form on his face. There’s no way in the world he’s going to believe that, however true it may be.
“Is this true?”
I glance up at him, wide-eyed and nod.
“Yes.”
“It’s impossible,” he mutters to himself, his eyes distant before shaking his head and refocusing on me.
As if suddenly realizing I’m standing half naked in front of him, Dante moves closer to drape the new shirt over my shoulders. He doesn’t step back though, as his hands grip my upper arms.
“Tell me, Evi,” he says, “is there anything else you’ve heard or thought that you can’t quite explain?”
“I don’t think so,” I answer, once again avoiding his gaze as I drop my eyes.
I’m not about to let him trick me into telling him how much I’ve found out about them. I need them to think of me as nothing more than their naïve hostage.
“Look at me, Evi,” Dante demands, his voice dropping into a low growl.
I fight the urge to obey, but it’s impossible as I’m forced to lift my eyes to meet his once again. His piercing eyes bore holes straight through me, as if willing my soul and all my secrets to pour out of me.
“I haven’t heard anything else,” I answer as coolly as possible before my brow furrows. “Wait … there is one other thing I remember.”
