Page 35 of A Vicious Love

The word reached my tongue and died there. He hated when I apologized. He had mocked me for it. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I swallowed the word until it hurt.

Then I nodded.

Jamison stared at me. His face tightened, and for one strange second, he looked almost sick. His hand twitched on the table. I looked at it before I could stop myself.

Clean now, huge, tattooed, and very capable of making me unconscious with one swing.

My body went cold again.

He saw me looking.

Slowly, he moved his hand off the table and into his own lap.

As if hiding it from me.

The waiter poured wine. I lifted my glass and pretended to drink, though hardly any touched my lips.

Conversation rose and fell. Emmie tried to include me gently. She asked about the winter choreography. I answered but my voice sounded small and far away.

Harrison looked at me more than once, his expression hard in a way I had never seen directed anywhere near me. Marcel barely spoke to Jamison. Emmie kept watching my plate.

The second course came.

I barely touched it.

Chicken or maybe pheasant. Something with a dark sauce and vegetables. It smelled rich and probably tasted lovely.

I could not make myself eat.

Every time Jamison moved, my body prepared for something. He hadn’t hit me, just said one horrible thing. But fear did not care about technicalities.

Fear had heard the threat and believed him.

Jamison reached for his water.

I flinched.

His fingers stopped around the glass. The tendons in his forearm tightened. He set the glass down without drinking.

I looked away, toward the dance floor.

A couple spun beneath the lanterns. The woman laughed as her partner guided her through a turn, and the crystals on her dress scattered light over the floor.

This was my favourite event.

I kept thinking that, as if repetition could save it.

Jamison leaned back in his chair, but he did not relax. His thigh shifted once beneath the table, and I felt the movement near mine. My hands tightened in my lap.

“Sienna,” he said again, quieter.

I looked at my plate.

“Eat.” He added softly.

I picked up my fork.

A small bite. That was all I needed. One bite, and Jamison might stop sounding like that. The food touched my tongue and nearly came back up. I swallowed with effort.