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“Don’t mention it.”
She looked down, her lips pressed together. The tear in her upper lip had scabbed over. “Okay. I’m heading back to my room in a moment. Thank you again.”
He watched her go to the breakfast table and slather jam and cream cheese on a croissant before carrying it out, wondering how much courage it had taken for her to approach him. She reminded him of a puppy who’d been kicked one too many times. In the case of a dog, it took a lot of patience, positive reinforcement and love before they stopped being skittish and trusted a person again. He had no doubt Kat would appoint herself the chairperson of the Let’s Fix Hope Club and begin a campaign to erase the shadows from her chestnut eyes.
He still thought they ought to call in the professionals. She needed real help. The kind Kat couldn’t give her. The woman was clearly in trouble, and they weren’t equipped to deal with it. Across the dining hall, the mother of the family rose and came over to him.
“Who is that poor young lady?” she asked quietly.
“Her name is Hope,” he told her. “She arrived Friday night.”
“What happened to her? Is there anything we can do to help?”
“No idea what happened, she won’t talk about it. At least, not to me. As for helping, you’d be better off asking Kat.”
She nodded. “I will. Thanks, Tione.”
As she returned to her children and husband, he stared at the exit Hope had passed through and, for the first time in years, his fingers itched to scramble over a keyboard. To enter the strokes that would bring up her whole life story for his viewing pleasure. He didn’t like not knowing. Clenching his fists, he shook his head. Even if a bunch of gangsters turned up looking for her—not that he thought they would—he wouldn’t return to his old ways.
He couldn’t.
* * *
Everyone at Sanctuarywas sonice. Katarina was everything Megan had hoped and more. She’d taken it upon herself to be Megan’s personal savior, keeping her warm, comfortable, and fed. She even had her friend Brooke visit so she had company. Brooke was an ethereal blonde with a penchant for quirky t-shirts and an unending amount of good cheer. When she’d turned up on Sunday morning and walked in with a bright “good morning, gorgeous,” then beamed at Megan with no hint of shock or caution as she took stock of the assorted bruises and injuries, Brooke had earned her eternal affection.
The only person who seemed less than thrilled by her presence was the gruff guy who worked in the kitchen. Tione. Since he clearly didn’t want her there, she hadn’t talked to him after that first breakfast. She’d collected her meals and refilled her mug as quickly as possible, and tried to make herself small and inconspicuous so she didn’t attract his ire.
She could understand his concern. In his shoes, she’d be suspicious, too.
But he didn’t worry her. Not too much, anyway. Behind his inscrutable expression and rough exterior, she got the impression he was a good person. After all, what did external appearances matter? Charles gave every impression of being an upstanding gentleman when nothing could be further from the truth. Unfortunately, by the time she’d realized that, it had been too late.
No, appearances didn’t mean a thing. People should only be judged by their actions.
Shifting her weight, she brushed up against Brooke, who was sitting beside her while they watched a cupcake-baking reality TV contest.
“That one looks good,” Brooke said as the camera zoomed into a cherry cola cupcake frosted with vanilla and topped with a glace cherry.
Megan shook her head. “It’s undercooked, and the frosting is too soft; it’ll slip right off.” Sure enough, a moment later it oozed over the sides, losing its shape.
Brooke turned to her, mouth agape. “How could you tell that?”
“Experience.”
“You like to bake?”
“You could say that.” Up until she’d moved in with Charles, she’d worked in a high-end bakery, and before that, she’d apprenticed under a world-renowned pastry chef in Paris. But Charles had convinced her to quit her job, because why would she need to work when he could afford to take care of her?
Fool.
“You should use the kitchen while you’re here. I’d love to eat something Tione didn’t make.”
Megan frowned. “His food is perfectly tasty.”
Brooke grinned. “Yeah, but he doesn’t have the widest repertoire.”
She considered this. She missed being in the kitchen. Except for the pulse-pounding days when she’d taken on private commissions while Charles was at work so she could raise money to leave—which she’d spent constantly in fear he’d turn up and demand to know what she was doing—she hadn’t had an outlet for her creativity. The menus for his parties had been elegant but simple. Nothing to excite her. Besides which, it was hard to enjoy herself when she was afraid he’d decide her efforts were subpar and make his disapproval known as soon as they were alone.
She shivered, an icy sensation sliding down her spine.
