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“You aren’t very good at proposals,” she says finally, and I hear Lilliana snort.
I regret inviting her to this dinner. I thought it would be a good way to ensure that Wryn wouldn’t try to stick a knife in my own throat. But now, it’s annoying.
“It’s my first one,” I say with a shrug, and the room descends into silence again.
The side door opens, and Brigette clears our plates, humming to herself, clearly unaware of the extremely tense air in the room. She leaves, and a minute later, she is back, setting our roast in front of us.
I immediately dig in, starving, even after my earlier meal.
“Why me?” Wryn asks, and without even looking at her, I continue to eat. “You owe me answers.”
I drop my fork, my hands opening and then flexing. She has the good sense to look scared at my sudden change in temperament. Even Lilliana pauses to watch.
“Do I?” I ask calmly. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s to look calm and unaffected by things, even when a storm is raging inside me. “Do I owe you anything, Wryn? I believe it isyouwho owesme.Let me be very clear. This is a business transaction. You will fulfill your part and pay your debt, and in the meantime, you won’t ask any more damn questions. Is that clear?” I scrutinize her, making sure my words sink in.
She curtly nods once.
“Good. Eat your food. It’s almost time for Cinderella to return home before she turns into a pumpkin.” I smile at her with all of my teeth, hoping I look as crazy as I feel. I can sense Lilliana’s confused gaze on me.
“At least Cinderella got a prince,” Wryn mutters, and I glance at her sharply. “I feel more like Little Red Riding Hood.”
Instantly, I’m transported back to Miss Lulah’s house. I can see the bookshelves, feel the cracked leather spines underneath my fingers, smell the tang of iron blood on the air.
“Scared of the Big Bad Wolf?” I ask, leaning in. When she doesn’t answer, I pick up another piece of roast. “You should be.” I bite into it and lick the juice from my lips. “No princes here, I’m afraid.” I shrug and tap the side of my watch, pressing a button that summons security.
Not two seconds later, the door opens, and the guards, Jimmy and Fernando, stride in. I nod toward Wryn, and they stand behind her chair, pulling it back and startling her.
“I’m not done eating,” she says, reaching for her plate.
“Too bad,” I say. “Clock struck twelve.”
I don’t watch as they haul her from the room, but I flinch slightly as the door shuts behind them. I can still feel my sister’s attention on me, and finally, I give her what she wants.
“What?” I bark at her, ashamed of doing it once she jumps.
But she leans forward, her fingers fiddling with the napkin in her lap.
“What’s going on?” she asks softly.
I shake my head. “Nothing to concern yourself over,” I say.
The look of fury that passes over her face has me pausing.
“No,” she says sternly. “You won’t treat me like that. I won’t be talked down to any longer.” She stands suddenly, the napkin falling from her hands.
After blowing out a long breath, as if trying to steady herself, she turns and leaves me alone, making me feel like a piece of shit. I did to her what our father always did to me—made her feel small, insignificant—and I’ll be damned if I turn out like him.
I push my plate away in disgust, sliding down in my chair and clasping my hands over my stomach. My eyes find the ship again. Dissecting it, I try to figure it out, but I can’t. I can only imagine the artist felt like me when he painted it.
I pick up my knife and hurl it straight for the ship, satisfaction coursing through me when it hits true, hilt sticking out the middle of the canvas. But I don’t feel any relief from my own tumultuous thoughts. I stand, stalking toward it, and grasp one corner, pulling up until it comes off the wall, crashing to the floor. I yank the knife, ripping a large tear down the center of it, and turn when a gasp sounds from behind me.
“Sorry, Brigette,” I say to the stunned woman, who is staring at the scene with wide eyes. “I’ll get the mess cleaned up.”
I stand, placing the knife back on the table beside the half-eaten dinners, and stride from the room.
8
WRYN
