Page 27 of Red Dreams

Cassie clicks her tongue, gesturing to the ostentatious dining setup. “Sit. Both of you.”

She’s traded her skintight bodycon dress for a long black gown. She’s beautiful either way, but seeing Cassie appear so elegant yet remain so ugly inside renders my heart still.

To avoid any further confrontation, I guide Layla to her chair, keeping my body between her and my daughter.

“Isn't this cozy?” Cassie circles behind us once we’re seated, trailing her fingers across our shoulders. “The three of us together. One big happy family.”

She stops behind Layla's chair, hands coming to rest on her shoulders. I tense, but Cassie just leans down to whisper in Layla’s ear, “Did Daddy tell you about our Sunday dinners? How he'd cook my favorite meals?” Her fingers flex against Layla's pulse points. “Now I get to play hostess.”

You two must be starving after all that ... reconnecting.” Her grin stretches wider. “I heard every delicious moment. The way you begged for each other.” She gestures to our wineglasses. “Drink up. The night's still young.”

Layla's eyes meet mine across the table, wide and fearful. The sight of it fills me with a helpless rage that threatens to boil over,but I force it down, knowing that any outburst will only play into Cassie's hands.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” I ask Cassie, my voice low and controlled.

Cassie laughs, a thready, silvery sound. “What do I want? You should know better than to ask such a silly question.”

Layla flinches away from Cassie's touch, her hand unsteady as she reaches for her wine.

Cassie’s fingers glide away from Layla’s shoulders. “Good girl.”

She moves to the domed dishes on the neighboring cart, and I feel a sense of trepidation settle in the pit of my stomach. Knowing Cassie, this is no ordinary meal. Every bite, every sip, is likely to be laced with some new form of torment.

As if on cue, one of Cassie’s men steps into the suite and removes the silver domes. The aroma of roasted meat and fragrant spices fills the air, but the sight of the food turns my stomach. Each dish is artfully arranged, but there's something grotesque about the presentation. It’s as if the chef has taken perverse pleasure in creating a gluttonous feast for two when Layla’s been starved for days.

Cassie licks gravy from her finger, studying Layla.

“Drink,” she commands, all playfulness evaporating. “I went through a lot of trouble to pick the perfect vintage.”

The threat sharpens between us. I want to reach across the table and snatch the glass from Layla's fingers, but Cassie's watching me like a feline tracking another trespassing predator.

“Don't worry,” she croons to Layla. “If I wanted either of you dead, I wouldn't waste good wine doing it. Harris, darling, won’t you serve our guests?”

Cassie’s honey-sweet voice drips with false affection.

Harris lifts a plate, then approaches Layla. Her eyes stay on mine, a silent plea in their depths. My cheek muscles ache asI slam my teeth together and watch this man spoon out small amounts of each dish onto her plate.

“More,” Cassie commands. “She's far too thin. We can't have her wasting away, can we?”

I grind my teeth as Harris doubles the portions. Layla's plate is heaped with food she has no appetite for.

Cassie bends forward, her elbows on the table and her chin resting on her interlaced fingers, watching Layla intensely.

I offer a distraction while curling my hands into fists under the table. “Why don't you tell us about your plans, sweetheart? This can't just be about playing house.”

Cassie’s eyesclinkagainst mine as we connect, and they narrow as she assesses me.

“Tell me, Daddy,” Cassie says, her tone deceptively light. “How does it feel to be back in the bosom of your family? To have both your girls here with you, right where they belong?”

I’m coming to understand what Cassie wants, though she circles it like a circus ringleader cracking whips at her wild animals. That is, if that circus were half decayed and her animals recently clawed themselves out of fresh graves.

I don’t look at Layla when I say, “Layla’s not my girl, Cassie. She never was. You are.”

Cassie’s grin falters, a flicker of something dangerous crossing her lips before she smooths it away.

I hold Cassie's gaze, watching the gears turn behind those calculating eyes, so much like my own. She's searching for a crack, a weakness to exploit, but I won’t give her one.

“Is that so?” Cassie muses, tapping a red fingernail against her lower lip. “Then I suppose you won’t mind standing by as I peel away every last shred of her sanity, piece by agonizing piece. She got my face pretty good with that headbutt earlier. I had to double the amount of my concealer.”

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