AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I was ten.”
I can smell the liquor that glistens slightly on his lip. I don’t think this is his first glass.
“Oh, that’s young.”
“Not in our world.” His tone makes me pause, and I find myself leaning forward now, deeper into his bubble, like he’s pulling me to him. There’s a sadness leaking from his words, but he must realize it because he suddenly steps back, taking his warmth from me, and I find myself off-kilter.
7
CONNOR
Her proximity is too much for me to handle, especially in my slightly inebriated state. It was a stupid decision to drink this afternoon, especially when I knew what I was about to do this evening, but I couldn’t help it. I was drawn to the decanter by my father’s desk, partaking in one too many glasses and then finally ordering food from Brigette to soak up some of it.
I’m not quite drunk now, but I’m definitely buzzing, and the way she looks right now in the simple black dress and those same fucking heels, pressed against the table, her eyes wide and unblinking as she stares up at me, is dangerous. She’s merely a means to an end for me at this point, a way for me to get what I want, and I can’t do anything to fuck it up, so I find myself stepping back, leaving her side, and taking another sip of my drink. I don’t truly know her, and that’s for the best.
I walk to my spot at the table and jerk the chair out a touch too hard. Then, I sit, not daring to see if she’s moved. The door opens, and I glance up to see Lilliana enter. I smile and stand to pull her in for a hug. Then, I gesture to the seat on my right, and we both sit. I raise my eyebrows toward Wryn, waiting while my fingers tap on the armrest of my heavy wooden chair. She takes the seat on my left, and then we all sit there in silence until Lilliana clears her throat.
“Brigette made roast tonight. It’s my favorite,” she says, smiling at Wryn as she flaps out her cloth napkin and places it in her lap.
I can always count on my sister to be the cheerful one in the room, making people feel at ease, chattering and charming. We are complete opposites, but I love her all the same.
“Oh,” is all Wryn says, copying her motions and putting her own napkin in her lap.
I notice she’s a little jumpy. I would be, too, if I was being held in a guarded room and then invited to dinner. She must be wondering why.
“Will anyone else be joining us?”
“No, my mother is unavailable tonight,” Lilliana says.
I continue to lean to the side, propped on my elbow and still holding my glass. I frown when I realize that it’s almost empty.
“I see.” Wryn opens her mouth to say something else, but she’s cut off by Brigette entering from the side door, salads in hand and a happy look on her face as she bustles around, laying them in front of us.
“Enjoy,” she chirps before disappearing as fast as she appeared.
“Why am I here?” Wryn asks, staring down at the lettuce like it personally offended her.
“Do you not like salad?” I ask, pointing at her plate with my fork, ignoring her question.
“I like it fine. I want to know why I was invited to family dinner. I’m neither a guest nor family.” She pierces me with a look the entire time she’s talking, and I can’t pull my eyes away from her.
She doesn’t have any makeup on, and her hair hasn’t seen a brush since she got here. But there’s something about her that calls to me like a siren calls to sailors, and I know if I listen, I’ll crash my boat to my death. I regard the painting behind her, imagining myself being tossed about on those same waves.
“Who said you weren’t a guest?” I ask.
She widens her eyes and then presses her lips into a thin line. She picks up her fork, spearing a piece of lettuce and bringing it to her mouth. I watch her chew, trying to figure out how she’s going to take the bomb I’m about to drop on her.
“You did—by locking me in my room for two days with not even the bare necessities, except for one book.” Her jumpiness is gone, replaced by a bold and confident aura, like the night at Blue Light when we met.
“A book?”
“A book of fairy tales.”
“Ah. Have you read it?”
“I have now,” she says, taking another bite.
I can feel Lilliana’s eyes ping-ponging between us as she tries to keep up with the conversation, but she doesn’t ask any questions. She was, after all, raised by our father, who wouldn’t approve of her butting in. I hope he didn’t break her spirit like he tried to break mine. Maybe he succeeded. I’m not really sure at this point.
