Page 139 of Haunt Me

“I left him for my sister, not for you, Your Highness,” Manuela retorts. “Although you are acting very similar to my son right now. He too can barely walk.”

“He isn’t even two yet!” Faith somehow finds this even more hilarious. We have finally stumbled our way to the kitchen, and I sprawl myself on the floor.This is so comfortable. Why do even people bother with chairs anyway?

“Because they are civilized?” Manuela says.

Oops. Might have said that out loud.

“Floor is good,” I slur, beginning to fall asleep. The girls giggling and talking around me is lulling me into a sense of peace I couldn’t find when I was alone in that cute guest room.

“Coffee,” Manuela says, “quick, before I murder him.”

Pretty soon, the room fills with the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee, and I manage to sit up. I breathe it in. It smells like a home should smell in the morning—not that I would know. I haven’t had a home in years. The girls drag my aching body onto a chair and force-feed me leftover pizza. To my surprise, I keep it down—not that they give me any other option. Then the coffee wakes me up completely.

“Well,” I say, gulping down another sip of the vilest espresso I have ever tasted. It’s out of a pink mug, too. “That’s the best coffee and pizza I’ve had in a long time.”

“Seems like you haven’t had anything decent in a long time.” Manuela is eyeing me up and down. She’s got her mom-voice on again. “And I’m not just talking about food.”

I don’t know how to reply to that, so I just drink my coffee and try not to gag.

“I mean it,” Manuela continues, relentless. “I am worried about you.”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve been doing anything other than worrying these days either, so we’re in the same boat,” I reply dryly.

“Worried about Eden?” Faith grabs a chair between Manuela and me and starts peeling an orange, as if she’s having breakfast. The kitchen clock says it’s three in the morning.

Manuela lets out a resigned sigh. “We are worried about her too,” she says. “More than usual.”

I’m immediately alert. “Did something happen?”

“Her therapist seems to think—”

“Don’t tell him, Faith.”

“Tell me, Faith.”

I fix Faith with my most intense stare, and she falters—my blue eyes supposedly sell billions of albums. Hopefully, it’s not just my eyes people are buying them for; it’s the music too. But right now, those eyes are finally going to prove useful. “Tell me.”

“Eden’s therapist seems to think that people who have been through experiences similar to Eden’s might be incapable of being happy,” Faith says, quietly, as if she’s afraid of her own words.

“Bullshit!” I hiss, and Manuela steps back as if the word physically shocks her. “She is lying,” I say more calmly. “That is not acceptable. Fire her now.”

“Oh, really?” Manuela sneers. “Should we fire her at your command, Your Highness? We hadn’t thought of that.”

I lift my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, “I’m used to giving…”

“Orders?” Faith supplies sweetly.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, “I am still in tour mode, where I have to be in charge and make quick decisions, but this is your turf.”

I hung my head, but suddenly Manuela’s hand is on my arm. I look up and she is staring at me with so much kindness in her eyes, my throat squeezes shut.

“Hey, it’sourturf,” she says, sharing a glance at her sister. “We want you in on this. Right, Fee?”

“Yeah,” Faith nods. “We’re in this together. That’s why I told you. Eden will murder me if she finds out, by the way.” I wince. “And then you.”

“I don’t mind,” I reply, “as long as her therapist has been fired first.”

“Fair point,” Manuela says, her eyebrows drawn.

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