Page 22 of Twisting Beauty

7

LIATH

Abruise had bloomed overnight, dark fingerprints circling my wrist where Mervyn had grabbed me.

Great. Now I had to hide the cut on my neck and this bruise.

I shoved Rua’s simple black top back into the wardrobe and pulled out the first long-sleeved, high-necked blouse I could find, a Victorian-esque lace bodice with long flowy sleeves.

This house, these monsters, were marking me already. How many scars would I have once they were done with me?

I tugged the top over my head and stared at myself in the mirror, feeling too much like I’d stepped out from the wrong century. Feeling too exposed at how tightly this bodice hugged my body.

Fuck. It would have to do.

I tugged the sleeve lower anyway and brushed up the ruffle collar as I walked into Lasair Manor’s huge, lavish dining room.

Lorcan was already seated there. An empty plate sat in front of him, pushed aside, while he nursed a black coffee.

The room felt far too large around us, all polished silver, heavy curtains, gold and cream wallpaper, and morning light pouring across the long table, but none of it softened the threat of him sitting there waiting.

His gaze dragged over me with slow, deliberate ownership, from the black pants clinging too closely to my thighs to the way I strained against the lace top in all the wrong places. Heat rushed through me at once, sharp and humiliating.

Rua’s clothes sat differently on my body. The fabric pressed over curves she’d never had, and that difference sat between us like a live wire.

I chose a seat as far from him as possible and tried to reassure myself the distance would keep me safe.

I felt his eyes on me as I placed a single piece of toast on my plate. I wanted a second one, but Rua apparently hadn’t liked food nearly as much as I did.

He picked up his coffee cup and walked to my side, dragging out the chair beside me with a loud scrape, before he sat right next to me. Uncomfortably close.

My whole body tightened at his nearness. His scent-song of violins and smoke reached me before I could brace for it, sending a shiver through my spine. My chest pulled tight making me suck in a breath. I prayed he didn’t notice.

He held his coffee cup in one hand and said nothing.

I tried to pretend I didn’t care, my hand pausing over the breakfast spread because every choice now felt like a test.

I wanted the fried eggs. But would Rua pick them?

No, she’d choose the poached egg, the no oil option.

I kept my portion small on purpose. One poached egg. One piece of toast. Another performance choice. Another thing I hoped he’d read as right.

The tiny success of picking the correct breakfast steadied me for all of half a second. Then I glanced over at him and caught his eye, and my relief vanished.

I cleared my throat and looked toward the door. “Where’s Alistair?”

He lifted a brow. “Don’t you mean… daddy?”

Christ. That’s right. Rua called him daddy. My skin crawled.

“Right. Where’s…” I forced myself to say it. “Daddy?”

“Business trip. Late-night flight.”

Relief moved through me. I killed it before it could touch my face. He would pounce on any visible reaction.

Before I realized what I was doing, I had splashed Tabasco all over my yolk. I froze with my hand midair.