Page 23 of Pure Vengeance

“He’ll send for you if you don’t join him,” the messenger tells me in a low voice.

I frown.

“You mean he’ll have you come drag me to him.”

The right corner of his mouth lifts.

“Yes, ma’am.” He nods.

“Fine.” I’m not in the mood for any more drama than I’ve already endured thanks to my own actions.

Seriously, trying to kill a man? What the hell had I been thinking?

If I’d been able to get it done, how would I feel this morning? Would I be proud of my actions, would I really have felt justice had been served, or would I have felt a crushing darkness descend over me?

I’m not a killer.

The obviousness of that truth sits at the head of a long table when I enter the dining room. He’s sipping a cup of coffee when the doors shut behind me, leaving us alone in this massive room.

“So, this is how a king enjoys his breakfast.” I fold my hands in front of me.

He puts his cup down and leans back in his chair.

“You got the clothes. Good.” His eyes wander over my white blouse and black capri slacks.

“They’re mine.” I lay a hand over my stomach. After I’d gotten out of the shower this morning I found three suitcases on the bed. The cases weren’t mine, but inside were the contents of everything from my closet. “You had men go through my things.”

He raises his chin.

“I had members of my staff pack up your things. Anything in your closet or dresser was put in the cases.”

“If you’d let me go, that wouldn’t be needed.”

“I’m not discussing that again. Sit.” He gestures to the chair beside him. “There’s coffee.”

The moment I sit in the seat to his right, the swinging door opens, and a woman walks in with a tray. She places a plate filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and potatoes.

“This smells so good, thank you.” I smile up at her.

“There is plenty more, so don’t hesitate to ask.” She grins, then takes her leave.

The potatoes are delicious. I haven’t had breakfast potatoes in a long time. A breakfast sandwich from the coffee shop in the library is as fancy as I get in the mornings.

“You’ve tied your hair back.” He tilts his head to the side, inspecting the tightly wound bun at the base of my neck.

“I did.” I take a bite of the eggs.

“Hmm. I think I like it better down.”

“I don’t give a damn what you like.” I focus on my breakfast. I can’t win with him while I have an empty stomach.

“I don’t think that’s true.” His eyes narrow slightly. “But we can play with that theory later.”

“I’m too tired for your games, Anton.” I sigh, placing my fork over my plate. There are no knives on the table except for the butter knife next to his plate. My toast has already been buttered, but there is a crystal bowl with jelly in it right in front of him.

“No games, Claire.” He grips the arms of his chair.

“Did you think I’d kill you with a butter knife?” I mutter while I use my fork to spread the jelly over the piece of toast. “This fork would be a better weapon.”

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