I stand my ground and answer bluntly. “I’m going to find my husband.”
“At this hour?”
“Yes.”
“By yourself? With no transportation or earthly idea where you’re going?”
“Yes!” I snap, taking a frustrated step toward her. “None of you have been helpful! You refuse to tell me what’s going on, and Caelian’s been gone for hours.”
“Do you really think, honey, that you’re in the position to act up? Think very hard, very carefully. What do you imagine will be Mr. C’s reaction if he finds out you’ve been causing more trouble? After all the mess you’ve already created?”
Ms. Poitier renders me speechless with her withering accusation. My attitude fades for the warmth that embarrassment brings. She’s made a valid point I’m not sure I can refute.
“Come,” she says after a few tense seconds pass. “I’ll make you some tea.”
Suddenly she’s maternal. She slips an arm around my shoulders and steers me in the direction of the kitchen. I let her ease me onto a stool as she slips straight into fussing with the kettle.
“I understand why you’re feeling antsy,” she says, rising on tiptoe to rummage through the cupboard. “You know you’ve messed up big time. You want to try to fix it with Mr. C.”
I sigh. “He won’t even look at me.”
“He’s very, very,veryangry with you.”
“Believe me, I can tell. In the cell he was… a little terrifying.”
“I’m sure you and he got up to some, ahem, things in there,” she says.
“You were the woman who first came in? The one who stripped me down?”
Ms. Poitier’s gray brows knit as she sets down the teabag and mug on the counter next to the stove where the kettle heats up. Her every nuanced reaction clues me in on how she feels about the matter, from the natural frown she takes on to the way she avoids glances in my direction.
“It wasn’t my first choice of how to handle things,” she admits. “But it’s what Mr. C ordered.”
“I’m not mad.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I gave him a tongue-lashing too. Big ol’ brute is so dang moody all the time. He drives me crazy with his little temper tantrums. You should’ve seen him when you were gone. He wassoupset.”
“Upset?” I ask, leaning forward in interest. “Cael?”
“Honey, you don’t know the half of it. That man was beside himself. I suppose I should cut him some slack—it was his first heartbreak.”
“I broke his heart?”
Ms. Poitier’s laugh is sharp and unfiltered. She shakes her head carrying the steaming kettle over to the mug. The hot water pours into the cup and turns into a pale brown tea. She adds a dollop of honey still with an amused air about her, then sets the mug out for me to taste.
I’m much more interested in receiving a straight answer out of her.
“So… that’s a yes?”
“Honey, let me break it down for you this way,” she says, folding her arms onto the counter. “He’s got a dead heart. It started to beat again for you… but then you killed it. Give him time to come back to life.”
“But it’s terrible knowing it’s changed. Things are so… different between us.”
“You’ve had a lot of ups and downs. Enough to last you both a lifetime. That’s for sure.”
I stare absentmindedly into the mug of honey ginger tea. “My mom insisted we had to save my father. She told me our survival depended on it.”
“You’re naive.” Before I can take offense, Ms. Poitier holds out a hand to signal she’ll explain. “Don’t give me those sad eyes, honey. You know you are—and you can’t even be blamed for it either. You’ve spent your entire life holed up and protected by that contract. It’s left you very blind to things you should see clearly.”
