Page 98 of Reign

“You aren’t?”

She looks down at her plate.

Her silence answers for her.

“Elena.”

Her eyes lift.

“Eat first,” I say. “Argue after.”

The room goes still.

Her face changes, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for me. A flare of heat. Annoyance. Recognition. Something in her responding before she gives it permission.

Then she looks away, cuts into her food, and takes one angry bite.

Then she watches my face to see what it earned her.

That interests me more than the obedience itself. She followed the instruction, but now she wants the response.

Praise.

I let the memory of her questionnaire guide me.

“Good,” I say.

Her breath catches.

Barely. Enough.

She swallows. “There. Happy?”

“Very.”

The answer unsettles her more than denial would have. She takes another bite, pretending obedience didn’t brush against something in her she wasn’t prepared to name.

It did.

I saw it.

“We should talk about some things,” I say.

She freezes.

Not fully. Elena has too much pride for that. But her fork pauses halfway to her plate, and her eyes lift to mine with one sharp flash of panic she buries almost immediately.

I’m sure she thinks I’m referring to the questionnaire.

I let her wonder.

She reaches for her napkin and dabs at her mouth with more care than necessary. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There are several things to go over about the wedding.”

The tension leaves her, but her eyes flash.

“No, there aren’t.” She sets the napkin beside her plate. “It happened. It’s done. It’s not happening again.”