I give Rafe my bland, empty-faced smile. A smile I’ve perfected over the last few years. A smile to cover up how dead I feel on the inside.
“Your soup,sir.”
Rafe’s eyes widen a fraction before I shove the heavy container so hard that it tips over. Curses ring out as the soup spills out,the crisp white tablecloth turning deep green as it spreads and pours off the edge.
Directly into Rafe’s lap.
I take a step back as he shouts, jumping to his feet. His face flushes. Sticky green pea soup covers him, splashed across his clean white shirt, soaking into his trousers.
My fingers tremble, but I lift my chin up as they all turn to face me. All silent, eyes wide.
My curtsey is awkward, hampered by the chains. I catch Silas’s eye as I rise back up. His jaw ticks as he stares at me.
“Enjoy your soup,” I say pleasantly. “Sirs.”
My back is ramrod straight as I turn away from them. Waiting to be called back for whatever punishment they dream up for my little show of rebellion.
But nobody calls my name as I slowly shuffle away, yanking the door open and retracing my footsteps back to the kitchen.
Nobody says anything at all.
Ellen turns to me as I walk into the kitchen, her eyes lifting in surprise. “They finished the soup already?”
Swallowing, I shake my head, debating how to explain. “I… um. I tipped it, actually. Over Rafe. Sorry.”
Silence. Ellen gapes at me.
Then her mouth snaps closed. She points to a stool. “Sit.”
I sit. She lifts yet another lid on her cooker, ladling something into a bowl before she slides it in front of me. “Eat.”
The broth is clear and tasty, but it tastes like ash in my mouth as I choke it down. Ellen disappears, and I look up miserably when she walks back in. “How much trouble am I in?”
Silas and Rafe will not let this go unpunished. Kit… I don’t know.
The edges of her mouth tip up slightly. “I think you’re safe for this evening. I’ll serve the rest. Clean up in here, and you can settle down for the night.”
Knowing that I don’t have to face them again lightens the weight in my chest. “Thank you, Ellen.”
She watches me closely. A littletooclosely.
“I don’t know your history with them,” she says quietly. “But these are not the men I know, Anastasia.”
Sighing, I stand up.
“Believe me. They’re not the men I know, either.”
9 – Kit
Rafe sputters as the door closes behind Stasi. “I’m going to—,”
“No,” I say quietly. Rafe pauses, and Silas turns to me. “No, you’re not.”
Matching red spots flare up on my twin’s cheekbones.
“Kit,” Rafe hisses. “Did you see what she did?”
I saw. Saw the way her eyes watered, the way her fingers shook. The humiliation in her face as Rafe poked at her. Like he was ripping open her insecurities and dangling them over her.
