But before Lyndall can finish her sentence, the maid turns and leaves.
"Greta..." She huffs out a breath and reaches down for the thick-cut bread with lettuce, cheese, and tomato in it.
And takes a bite.
Her eyes go round. "It's good."
I'm not hungry, and I'm about to tell her to slow down as I don't know when we'll be fed next, but I stop myself. I know I have to eat, too, and I honestly don't think Dom's intention is to starve me.
After all, I'm going to be his bride.
The thought is enough to send me to the big bathroom and grip the vanity, fighting off the urge to throw up.
I don't want to be his bride.
But I have to keep it together for Lyndall.
I splash water on my face, taking a moment.
Her voice is soft as she knocks on the door. "Hey, Lola? Are you okay? Is it the baby?"
Oh, God. Dom can't know I'm pregnant. He's a brute, after all. He kidnapped Lyndall when he couldn't take me, and then he hit our car, possibly killing Jack, hurting Lyndall, and now we're locked up here with a maid who just might have a screw loose. One who's been tortured by him and his men.
"I feel sick," I whisper.
But then I look at myself in the mirror.
Being weak and teary isn't a luxury I can afford. So, I straighten up, open the door. "No, I'm fine. Just...needed a moment."
"We all need moments," she sounds way beyond her years.
I put my forehead to hers. "Listen, as far as we're concerned, I'm not pregnant, okay? Squish doesn't exist?—"
"Squish?"
My heart hurts. "Enzo has fallen for the little thing growing inside me. Named him Squish."
"Lord, you guys have it bad. Squish is cute. But Squish is a she, not a he." Then she stares at me. "And she doesn't exist."
She mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key.
"Thanks."
"What are sisters for?" She still favors her arm, but with her other hand, she sweeps the room. "Well, what do you think of our accommodation?"
I smile, playing along. "They'll do. We can slum it for a while."
She giggles. And if it's a little watery, I pretend I don't notice. "It'll be an adventure. We can?—"
The door opens.
A man in a white coat, carrying a doctor's bag, comes in. I'm not entirely sure why he's dressed like a cliché TV doctor, but this place is weird. And maybe he's a prisoner, too.
He turns to Gretchen. "I have an actual job in an actual hospital. Tell my cousin next time to make an appointment."
Cousin.
Hospital.
