But I smile, and she smiles back. Just for a moment.
The days pass by, and I find my routine. Silas sticks to his word, and I cheer up immensely at my new,vastlyimproved diet.
“God, I missed bacon.”
The bacon is hot and salty in my mouth. Groaning, I shove another piece in. Ellen purses her lips. “Don’t eat it all at once, Anastasia. You’ll give yourself a stomachache.”
But she tips another piece onto my plate.
And as the days pass, I don’t see the Tate brothers at all.
I’m not asked to serve at dinner, despite Clara’s very obvious – and completely fucking welcome - absence. I stick to the common areas, making sure every inch is spotless and thanking my lucky stars that I don’t have to change their bedding anymore.
I don’t think I could cope with another offer from Rafe.
I haven’t forgotten how he made me feel.
It sticks in my head. The longer I go without seeing him, without calling him out on it, the more irritated I get.
And the more determined I become. After all, revenge is a dish best servedcold.
I owe him a little payback. For his words, and for the floor trick. Especially now I have the energy to think about it.
But I can’t do anything until I see him.
And the more days that pass, the more it becomes clear that they’re avoiding me. All three of them.
I should welcome the space.
Ishould.
But I still can’t stop myself from looking for them in every room I walk into.
21 – Rafe
“Going somewhere?”
My hand clenches around the handle of the front door. “I have some business to attend to in the city.”
Back and forth. Leaving before dawn, not coming back until night has fallen over the house and I’m certain Anastasia is asleep.
Kit leans against the doorframe. “You can’t avoid her forever, Rafe.”
“Take your own advice, brother.”
A dull flush crawls over his face, but he counters my accusation. “I’m not avoiding her. I’ve been looking into things.”
Frowning, I let go of the door and give him my full attention. “What kind of things?”
In response, he tosses the newspaper in his hands at me. Unfolding it, I glance across the front page. “So, all is not well in the royal household.”
“The staff are quitting in droves,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t quite fit with the picture of the poor, mistreated sister. Does it?”
My eyes take in the large photograph. Anastasia’s stepsister is front and center. She’s pretty enough, I suppose. Big blue eyes, although they look a little bulbous to me.
Nothing like the sleek, deep brown of Stasi’s eyes.
She might not be the impossible standard of beauty that society holds up, but I’d take her quiet looks in a moment over her so-called sister.
