Page 29 of Sinful

“Rose it is.”

She stepped out of the tavern and led me to the enormous town square, where a multitude of long tables had been arranged in neat rows, each one laden with an abundance of food and drink. The cool night air was filled with the lively melodies of musicians, and small lanterns strung along ropes lit up the darkness.

Rose walked beside me, her steps tentative, her silence palpable. Her eyes flickered everywhere except toward me, as if she were afraid something terrible would happen if she laid her gaze upon me for even a second.

“We can sit over there,” she finally murmured, pointing to a half-empty table on the edge of the square. “Those seats will fill up in no time once everyone realizes you’re here.”

“They’re excited to have an outsider in their midst, huh?”

“I would presume so,” she said. “It’s a very rare occurrence. Our last outside guest was the census taker, and that was four years ago.”

“Well, it’s nice to feel popular, but I don’t mind if you’re the only one I speak with tonight,” I said, leaning closer to her. “I’m still pretty tired from the hike up here, so I might not be a great conversationalist.”

She smiled faintly at that, but I noticed she still had trouble meeting my eyes.

Part of me loved that she was so afraid of me, but I knew I had to do my best to stave off that fear. For now, anyway. In order to take her out of this place, I needed her to believe she was my willing companion. That meant I needed to trick her into thinking I was safe and trustworthy.

After we sat down, I served myself some bread and stew upon her instruction, and she poured us two cups of sweet wine to accompany the meal. We ate and drank in silence. I didn’t wantto push her too much, lest I scare her away for good, and she seemed happy to stay quiet for now.

That was okay with me. I didn’t expect to get her on my side right away. It could take days, even weeks, to make her trust me. For now, just a little smile here and there would be enough.

She wound up being wrong about the other villagers at the feast—they stared at me a lot, but they didn’t approach, and the seats surrounding us remained empty. Clearly, my presence made them nervous.

That didn’t surprise me one bit. After all, I wasn’t just a government census taker or a wayward hiker. I was the son of the woman whose brutal murder they’d conspired to cover up. That was enough to make anyone anxious.

I flashed Rose an amiable smile as I tipped my bowl to the side to show her that I’d eaten every last bit of stew. “That was delicious,” I said. “What sort of herbs are in it?”

“Thyme, parsley, and rosemary, I believe,” she said softly. “But I didn’t contribute to this one, so I cannot be certain.”

“Would it be greedy of me to ask for some more?”

“Not at all. It’s a compliment to the cooks,” she said, waving a hand to the huge communal pot in the middle of the table. “Feel free to help yourself to as much as you want.”

“Thanks. Some more wine might be nice too,” I said, giving her a mischievous grin.

This earned me another faint smile. “I agree. I’ll fetch it.”

As the evening progressed and the wine continued to flow, I observed a subtle change in Rose’s demeanor. She was starting to smile a little more, and I even managed to get a brief laugh out of her at one point when I told her a funny story about my early childhood. She still wouldn’t meet my eyes, though, and the conversation was quite stilted. It felt like there was an invisible barrier between us that kept her from fully opening up to me. The right words would break it down. I just had to find them.

“Your father tells me you’re an artist,” I said after my second bowl of stew was finished. “He showed me one of your paintings. It was excellent.”

Those seemed to be the magic words. Rose’s eyes snapped right to mine. “You think so?”

“Yes. You’re very talented.”

Pride flickered in her gaze. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I’ve always loved painting.”

“That love shows through in your work. Truly.”

Her cheeks flushed under the lantern light, and she gnawed at her bottom lip, brows dipping in a slight frown. “Could I… no, never mind,” she muttered, eyes dropping to her lap.

I leaned closer. “Tell me,” I said in the gentlest tone I could possibly muster up. “What were you going to ask?”

“I…” She faltered again. For a second, I thought I’d lost her, but then she drew in a deep breath, lifted her chin, and looked right at me. “I’d like to show you something, if that’s all right. Some more of my art.”

“I’d love to see it.”

“Really?”

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