Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
My room is at the far end, just past Odin’s. I hurry to it, open the door, and slip inside. As soon as I’ve closed it, the sound of voices dies down to a murmur, and I take a moment to exhale.
Except that even before I’ve released that single breath, I hear the sound of water running and turn to find the bathroom door opening. I realize then the room isn’t pitch black. The light on the nightstand is on. And I watch in disbelief as Camilla Avery steps out of my bathroom, not startled to see me, or hiding it well if she is. She smiles, carelessly tosses the towel she was wiping her hands on to the floor, and steps into my bedroom.
“I hope you don’t mind. I had to use the little girl’s room.” She winks at me like we’re old friends, her gaze remaining on me a beat too long before it scans my bedroom.
“What are you doing in here?”
She cocks her head and crosses the room to meet me. “I just told you. The line for the bathroom was so long downstairs. Don’t you hate that?” She picks up my braid, studies it, then drops it again. She walks toward the window and looks out over our back garden. “It’s not a bad room. But didn’t you take anything with you when you moved in with Santos?” she asks, planting herself on the edge of my bed and picking up a tube of lip balm. She opens it, sniffs at it, and for a minute I wonder if she’s going to use it.
Recovering myself, I walk to her and snatch the lip balm out of her hand. “Get out of my room!”
She giggles, stands. “Touchy. I was just seeing what scent it was.”
“What do you want, Camilla? What are you even doing here in my house? At my mother’s memorial service? Why would you come to something like that?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Mom. She thinks we need to show our faces, especially with my brother missing. Integrate. You know.” She rolls her eyes. “Oh, my condolences.” Not remotely bothered, she runs her fingers over the spines of the books on my bookshelves. “Where is Santos?” she asks, facing me again.
I hesitate too long because I don’t get to make up an answer before she speaks again.
“Did he disappear? He used to do that a lot when he lived with us. Had all these jobs to do.” She puts jobs in air quotes. “Can I borrow this one?” she asks, holding up a book she slips out of my bookshelf.
I cross the room and take it from her. “No. Get out.”
“That’s rude.”
“No, what’s rude is you coming into my room clearly to have a look around. Maybe take something.”
“I don’t need to steal from you.” She gives me a flat smile.
“I’m glad to hear it. Now get out.”
“I’m trying to be friendly here, Madelena. I mean, you’re married to a man with whom I’m very close.”
I laugh outright at that. “Close? He can’t stand you.”
She sulks. “That’s not very nice. And besides, I think it’s more that he’s probably a little afraid of me.”
“Why would he be afraid of you?”
“I know things.” She shrugs again.
“What things could you know that would scare a man like Santos Augustine?”
She studies me curiously, and I wonder what I just gave away. “Things about what he did.”
I force a grin, pull out my desk chair, and sit facing her. I prop my elbow on the desk, rest my chin in my hand and yawn to show her I’m bored. “You clearly want to deliver some message, so just go ahead and deliver it so you can go. I realize you may not understand this, but today is a hard day for me, and I’d really like to not be with you.”
“There you go hurting my feelings again.” She pushes her lip out, sulking. What is wrong with her? Santos called her a psychopath. I assumed he was exaggerating but I’m wondering now. “But I forgive you because I get it. I mean, you were five when your mom killed herself.” It takes all I have to keep my face neutral as her words hit their mark. “Now if it were my mom, I can tell you one thing, I wouldn’t be as sad as you if she jumped out of a lighthouse,” she says, her words so ugly I almost can’t believe I heard correctly.
“Jesus.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling exhausted and wanting badly to lie down.
“Anyhow, listen, you seem sweet and innocent, Madelena. You really do. Santos doesn’t deserve you.”
“Good to hear. Is that it?”
She comes to sit on the edge of the bed again. She’s just a few feet from me. Facing me as she is, I study her face as she studies mine and for a moment the bitch mask slips, and I see a line form between her eyebrows. See how dark her eyes grow. She reaches out a hand to touch my knee.