17 – Kit
“What the fuck did you do?”
Clara startles as I roar the words across the table. She shouldn’t even fuckingbehere, but for Rafe and his relentless campaign to wind Anastasia up in any way he can.
My ire is firmly focused on my twin. He can barely meet my eyes, and Iknow.
Whatever this is, whatever has put thatlookon Stasi’s face, empty and numb as though the personality has been sucked out of her – it’s his fucking fault. I’m certain of it in the way that only a twin can be. He’s guilty as fuck. And for Rafe to feel guilty, whatever happened has to have been fucking bad.
I turn to Clara. “Leave. Now.”
She sucks in a shocked breath, glancing to Rafe beside her. But he doesn’t even meet her eye, staring into his glass. “Apologies, Clara.”
She tries to smile, then, although the disappointment on her face is plain to see. “Perhaps another night.”
Rafe sighs, tipping up his glass and swallowing the last of his wine with a gulp. “I don’t think so. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
She jerks, and I hold my tongue as she gets to her feet. She snatches her bag up, stalking to the door and slamming it behind her.
Silas glances after her as she leaves. “We’ll need to hire someone else.”
“Why bother?” I say shortly. “When you’ve got a fucking slave working herself to death downstairs?”
Silas grunts. “Don’t be so damn dramatic, Kit.”
But he doesn’t sound as confident in his grand plan as he did a few weeks ago. His eyes slide towards the closed door.
“You saw it too,” I push. Something’s not right with Anastasia.
Silas hesitates. And then he gets up. “I’m going to check on her.”
Before he leaves, he looks across the table to Rafe. My twin looks fucking miserable. “Out with it, Rafael. What happened?”
He groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “She walked into my room without knocking. I’d just finished in the shower.”
My whole body locks up. Silas freezes. “And?”
Even his voice is ice cold. Rafe winces.
“I might have…” He swallows. “I made a joke. About her sharing my bed. And she took it… badly.”
I stare at him. Even Silas seems struck silent.
“Because she doesn’t have a fucking bed of her own,” I say finally. My voice feels hoarse. “Because she’s sleeping on a rock-solid floor every night, and you insinuated that she could – what? Earn more byfuckingyou?”
He snarls at me. “I didn’t mean it like that!”
“How did you mean it, then?” Even Silas sounds on the edge of violence as we watch him in disbelief.
“It was a fucking joke,” Rafe snaps. “And I feel shitty about it.”
“What did she say?” Silas asks abruptly. “When you said it?”
We both wait. Rafe doesn’t meet our eyes as he takes a breath.
“She said…” his voice wavers. “She asked if she could have a better meal if she got on her knees for it. Not that – she didn’tmeanit.”
Fucking hell. Fuckinghell.
