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“Thanks,” Sophie murmurs shyly.
She’s softer now that she’s been fucked. I didn’t plan to fuck her before dinner, but it’s probably good that I did.
I pull out Sophie’s chair for her. She thanks me, but I can tell she’s nervous about sitting across from my father again after last time.
I’m not thrilled about it, either.
I don’t know if he’ll grill her, and I don’t know what she’ll say if he does.
Ilona brings in salads for us. Sophie’s cheeks burn like she’ll know why we’re late and judge her for it, but of course, the maid doesn’t give a single fuck. The cook made cauliflower soup with a bread crumb topping, so we each get a cup of that as well.
We’ve thrown off the rhythm of dinner by being so late. Sophie tries to eat quickly to catch up because she’s considerate like that. I eat a little quicker, too, but for a different reason.
I can feel Dad watching Sophie. Tension gathers in my shoulders.
I’m just waiting for him to say something and hoping we can get through dinner quickly before anything can go wrong.
For several minutes, the only sound is silverware clinking against China as we eat. The maids bring in the main course for Mom and Dad, then come over to clear our plates so they can bring ours in next.
“So,” Dad finally says, reaching for his wineglass and regarding Sophie across the table. “Have you had a nice weekend?”
I barely resist the temptation to reach beneath the table and grab her thigh to subtly pressure her to give the right answers. The only reason I don’t is my dad would notice, so it would defeat the purpose.
After a pause that feels to me like three fucking years, Sophie finally says, “Yes.” She pauses again, then adds, “Thank you for having me.”
My soul lightens with relief.
Maybe she’s going to play ball.
I didn’t say as much as I could have about how important it is that my dad come out of this weekend reassured that she won’t cause trouble, but I didn’t want to make her more nervous than I knew she would be.
“Haven’t spent much time in the escape room, have you?” he continues.
I feel her wanting to look over at me, but she keeps her gaze on the table and forces a faint smile. “No. I’ve been a good little hostage.”
I flinch a bit at her using that word, afraid he’ll latch onto it, but before anything else can be said, Ilona brings in our main course.
A frown flickers across Sophie’s face as she thanks her, then she asks softly, “What is it?”
“Veal with a balsamic-tomato sauce,” the maid answers.
“Thank you.”
Ilona nods and returns to the kitchen.
Sophie reaches over her plate and grabs the wineglass that’s been filled for her. Dad watches her drink, then she hesitates, probably wondering if she was supposed to do that. I know Sophie’s only nineteen and I’m sure he does by now, too, but he won’t care about a glass of wine with dinner.
She doesn’t know that, though, so she flushes, probably thinking she’s done something wrong. I grab my glass and take a sip, hoping she’ll see she hasn’t, but she’s too flustered to notice.
“How would you feel about staying a few more days?” Dad asks.
Sophie’s eyes widen. “Oh… I couldn’t. I stay in a dorm, I have roommates. They’re probably already miffed I skipped out on my share of the chores this weekend. They’ll kill me if I skip grocery shopping, too,” she says lightly.
His lips tug up faintly. “We have a staff. We can send someone to meet your obligations for you so you can stay.”
“That’s a generous offer,” she says uneasily, looking down at her plate. Pushing it away from her, she goes on. “I sort of have a routine at home that I’m pretty fond of, though, so I should really be getting back.”
“It seems to me your routine is quite fluid,” he says smoothly, cutting into his veal. “Sometimes you’re at your dorm, sometimes you’re at your mother’s. Seems it would be easy for you to disappear for a while without anyone noticing.” He takes a bite and meets her gaze across the table.
