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“I don’t know how to get to the east wing,” I say without thinking.
“You didn’t show her?” Nataniele snaps at his son.
“She wandered off before I could get to that part.” Domenic shrugs.
We all take our seats around the table. Kirill is opposite me and am surprised to find I’d even rather my stepbrother be in that position. Something about the demeanor of the guy gives me a real sense of creeping unease.
My stomach is in knots, and I’m not sure I can even bring myself to eat, though I know I must. I feel as though everyone is judging me. Nataniele knows what I did. What does he think of me? Is there any chance he’ll tell his son?
As we eat our first course of scallop and black mushroom soup in uncomfortable silence, I feel something against my thigh. I glance down and almost spill my spoon of soup down myself. A shiny, pointed toe of a loafer is sneaking up my leg.
Chapter 5
Mackenzie
I freeze, the spoon held halfway to my mouth.
I lift my gaze and catch that of Kirill—across the table from me. The foot creeps higher, until it presses against the juncture of my thighs.
Shoving my chair back and dropping my spoon back into the bowl, I leap to my feet.
Mom glares at me. “Everything okay, Mackenzie?”
“I-I?—”
I catch three sets of eyes staring at me, too, including the icy pair from across the table. There isn’t confusion or anger in his gaze, though. No, amusement is dancing in those baby-blues, and the corners of his mouth tweak in a smirk.
“I thought I saw a spider,” I finish.
“A spider?” Mom widens her eyes at me. “Seriously, Mackenzie. Since when have you been frightened of spiders?”
“It was a really big one,” I mutter, my cheeks flaring with heat.
“Well, it’s not there now, so please sit back down.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.
Carefully, I sit my ass back down in the chair, but instead of pulling it right up to the table again, I create some distance. Though Kirill has long legs, he’d have to slouch right down to reach me now.
I want to say something, but I can see the worry in my mother’s eyes, and her words about not screwing this up ring in my ears. In any other circumstance, I’d be calling this asshole out, but now my lips need to be firmly shut.
I try to convince myself that maybe it was a mistake, and Kirill didn’t realize how far across the table he’d reached his foot, but I can tell by the way he’s still studying me that it was no mistake.
Despite my anxiety, I manage to finish my soup, and then it’s taken away and the main course is brought out.
“You kids won’t be eating like this every night,” the dean says, though I can tell his words are aimed at me. “Most of the time, you’ll be expected to eat down in the cafeteria with the rest of the students.”
“I understand,” I say.
The main course is a fillet of beef with a mushroom jus and dauphinoise potatoes.
I stare down at it, my mouth watering. I don’t deserve to be served food this good—I should be on prison rations—but I have to eat. Questions will be asked of me if I don’t, and I don’t want to let Mom down any more than I already have.
I take one bite and manage to stop myself groaning. The rare beef melts in my mouth, and the potatoes are creamy and garlicy.
Mom and I haven’t eaten like this in a very long time. Our diet lately has consisted mainly of ramen noodles and toast—not that I’d ever dream of complaining. The fact that we’ve had food in our bellies is enough to be grateful for, especially after our very public and dramatic fall from grace.
What happened with the professor was just the cherry on top of the sundae. We’d already been heading for ruin long before I completely fucked up both our lives. Money had been more than tight since my dad died.
I wish things could have been different.
