“I’m sorry. I should not have said anything. Forget—”
“I was never close with my mother,” Penelope said. “Sometimes it feels like I never really knew her at all. I suppose, in a way, I didn’t. My mother often took ill, so we were kept apart, and I was raised by her handmaids. It was not her fault, though as a child, I used to be so angry at her for it—for being too sick to love me.”
I watched Penelope’s gaze drift into memories, the ghost of that anger pressing between her brows, then disappearing behind a shadow of remorse.
“When she died, I did not cry. Not a single tear. I wish I had, for then maybe I might feel less guilty for not having loved her as I should have.”
I was quiet for a long moment, absorbing the rawness of her words.
“That is why you refuse any assistance. With Telemachus.”
Penelope said nothing.
“You know, it is all right to ask for help sometimes,” I said, tilting my head to try to catch her eye. “It won’t make you any less of a mother. You don’t have to do it alone.”
“I am not alone. I have you.” Her gaze slid to mine, and she smiled.
I was struck by a desperate desire to keep that smile alive, so I added with a slight smirk, “Well, maybeIcould do with more help.”
Penelope considered that. “Do you truly feel that way?”
“Can you blame me? That baby is the most demanding master I’ve ever served. Stubborn too. I think you’ve birthed a tyrant.”
Her smile curled wider, eyes sparking. “Did you really just call my infant son a tyrant?”
“You’ve seen the way he screams and waves his fists around when he wants something. Tell me that isn’t tyrant behavior.”
Penelope tipped her head back and laughed, the sound like a burstof light chasing away the shadows.Lemons—that was what her laugh had reminded me of when I’d first heard it. So beautifully bright and sharp.
I had always loved lemons.
“I cannot believeyouare calling my son stubborn,” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Penelope arched an eyebrow. “Melantho, you are the most stubborn person I have ever met.”
“I am not!”
Penelope chuckled, shaking her head. “It is a compliment.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Well, compliments are subjective, I suppose. But I meant it as one. I have always loved your stubbornness.”
Loved.The word stirred something inside me, making my pulse quicken and my stomach coil tight. Penelope must have sensed this, for her eyes slipped away from mine quickly, as if embarrassed by the reaction she saw there. Shame crawled up my spine, and I silently cursed myself for wearing my emotions so plainly.
Shooting to my feet, I tried to sound nonchalant as I said, “Speaking of the tyrant, I should get some sleep before his reign of terror continues tomorrow.”
Penelope only smiled faintly in response.
The door to the handmaids’ chamber was situated just beyond where Penelope was sitting. As I moved to walk past her, I mumbled a quiet, “Good night.”
Her hand shot out, fingers lacing around my wrist. I froze, every inch of my body becoming totally fixated on that small point of contact, on the feel of her skin against mine, as if her touch were a single flame in a starless night.
The heat in my cheeks intensified.
“Melantho.”
