"I'm fine, Pres."
She wasn't. Her knee bounced under the table. Her fingers tapped against her wine glass. And she kept looking over her shoulder like she expected someone to walk in.
When the bill came, I reached for the black card, but stopped.
I pulled out my phone instead, checking my bank balance as I wondered if they were paying me in advance.
The number made my throat tight.
Four thousand nine hundred and eighty-five pounds.
My first week's payment had come through, which was a good thing because I was already overdrawn.
I paid with my own card.
Maeve didn't notice. She was too busy staring at the door.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"You've checked your watch five times and looked over your shoulder at least ten. That's not nothing."
She bit her lip. Her hand went to her throat, fingers pressing against the collar of her shirt.
"Maeve."
"I need to leave."
"What? Why?"
"London makes me uneasy."
I set down my napkin, leaning forward. "Tell me what's going on."
Her hand shook as she reached for her wine glass. She drained it in one go.
"Maeve."
"I'm bonded," she said finally, the words barely a whisper.
I stared at her. "What?"
She pulled down the collar of her shirt, and there it was. A claiming mark. The skin was scarred, raised, the bite mark still visible even though it had clearly healed.
"You're bonded," I repeated. "But—"
"He wasn't a good man, Presley." Her voice cracked. "I need to have it severed, but until I can afford it, I have to stay hidden. And being in London is making me feel like he's going to walk through that door any second."
“Severed?”
“Yeah. It’s risky but my life–”
My stomach dropped. "How much?"
She shook her head. "More than I'll ever be able to afford."
"How much, Maeve?"
