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We’re both silent as the staff sets up the meal. It smells like basil, thyme, and oregano. Italian, most likely. My favorite. I thank them as always before closing the door and carrying the trays over to the table.
“Well? Do you need an engraved invitation?” I’m already sitting, napkin in lap, by the time she grumbles her way off the sofa and into her chair. I know I’m an asshole. No need to be told, so why not continue to pick at the scab? Now that she’s stirred up, she might be more willing to talk. “Did I shock you with what I said? About you being safer here than at home?”
I notice she’s very slow and deliberate about unwrapping her silverware, then lifting the lid from her plate. Up until this point, I didn’t allow her silverware. The opportunity for her to hurt herself or me was too likely. “How many ways do I have to tell you I have nothing to do with that family before you actually believe me?”
“Even if I believed that—and I’m still not certain I do—there are plenty of people who haven’t sat down and discussed it with you. As far as they’re concerned, you could have been your father’s golden child. And you just happened to get lucky enough to avoid the bloodshed that went on.”
“Listen.” She looks me straight in the eye with no bullshit or playful smirks. “We both know what happened. Let’s not pretend it was all done by some shadowy figure without a name or a face—or a wife who goes to school here with him.”
“I would think you’d rather be here, protected, than out there in the wild of the world. Unless you forgot how easy it was for him to pluck you off the street. It could easily happen again, maybe by someone worse than him.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she grits out, sawing into a piece of chicken like she has a personal grudge against it. “As for my family, I hated them. I still do. I don’t care who believes me. I’m tired of trying to convince people who aren’t willing to listen.”
“You can’t pretend it doesn’t sound unusual. Why did your father send you away?”
“You would have to ask him,” she mutters before taking a mouthful of chicken.
“I can’t ask him.”
“Oh well.” She lifts a shoulder, now twirling spaghetti around her fork. “I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.”
Fucking infuriating little smart-ass. Though that isn’t enough reason to keep a close eye on her. This school is teeming with smart-ass kids—spoiled little shits who’ve never had to face the consequences of their actions. More than a few of them. Fuck, I used to be one of them.
It’s still not a good enough reason to keep her with me.
“Did you know Aspen before she came to Corium? Like, did you ever meet her before that night?”
She shakes her head without hesitating. “No. I never set eyes on her before.”
“You’d heard of her, though, right? That her father was rather infamous. Word spreads fast, especially in the underground.”
“I don’t know. People talk. I can’t pay attention to everything.” Now that seems evasive. Especially when she won’t look me in the eye.
Still, I can’t see the point in demanding she tells me more. Either she truly knows nothing, or she’s skilled enough in the art of lying that even I can’t crack her. It’s sickening how much I want to. Not only for Aspen’s sake. I need to know what makes this girl tick. How does she fit into any of this? She was involved, if only tangentially. Why?
The problem is, everyone else who would know why is dead, leaving her dangling like a loose thread. I hate loose threads. Especially when my daughter’s life might still be hanging in the balance. In that case, how am I supposed to let her go?
“Tomorrow, you’ll be starting classes.”
That shakes her out of it, to the point I’m surprised the food she’s chewing doesn’t fall out of her mouth as she gapes at me. “Tomorrow?”
“What did you think that examination was all about? I told you, all students go through it.”
“I didn’t think it meant I’d be enrolled immediately and shoved into classes.” I notice then that she’s not so interested in eating and instead chooses to push the food around on her plate. It shouldn’t give me a jolt of satisfaction to watch her tumble off her high horse, but then not much about the way my mind works makes sense.
“Don’t look so glum. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” I lift my fork to my lips, trying to hide a smile.
“Yeah,” she grunts, ending it with a snort. “I’m sure I will.”
We both know that isn’t true—and I’m hoping once she gets a sense of how dark and disturbing this jungle is, she’ll be more willing to look at me as a protector. By then, she’ll be more than willing to tell me everything I want to know… and if not, then we’ll have to go to plan B.
