Page 18 of Fractured Loyalties
I want to throw up. Or scream. But…
It’s gotta be nothing,I tell myself.Maybe it’s just sweat. Perhaps someone else did something in this room before the sheets were changed, and I slept in it…
Okay, that’s equally fucking gross.
I jump up from the bed and strip down, hurling the shirt into the corner of the room, refusing to look at it again. I rip the bedding off the bed and pile it on top of the shirt, a messy attempt to make myself feel better.
But I’m sweating, my heart is pounding, and I feel as if I might pass out.
“Ivy?” a voice comes from the other side of the door. “You in there? I have your new uniform that Mrs. Woods had delivered.”
Edward.
“Um, just… just hang it on the doorknob, please,” I croak out, shaking my head as I stare down at my body. I am naked except for my white thong. Something feels heavy in my core, but I push the thought away and rush for the bathroom.
I jump into the shower and scrub my body until it’s pink, until I’m sure the weird sensation is gone. My arms feel foreign, my chest is too tight, and I start to wonder if I’m about to follow in my father’s footsteps and die of a heart attack.
My stomach aches as I wrap myself in a towel and go through the motions of getting ready, pulling on the uniform, and making myself look as presentable as possible.
Because I knowthatis the key to invisibility at this place.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder and head for the kitchen, determined not to think about the stains, or the dream I guess I can’t remember, or the way my body feels as if it belongs to someone else…
My shoes make no sound on the polished floors, but Roman sees me the second I clear the archway into the breakfast area, and his eyes penetrate my skull. He’s perched at the counter, amug of something black and ominous in his hand, his elbows spread wide, as if he owns every inch of the granite.
I ignore him as best I can and head toward the fridge. I just want to eat and get the fuck out of this place—from one source of hell to another.
“Good morning,” Irena cuts into my thoughts. She looks up momentarily from the other side of the room, where she’s sitting at the breakfast table. “Eat whatever you would like.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I rifle through the fridge, more to put distance between myself and Roman than out of genuine hunger. The shelves are packed with food I have no idea how to pronounce, but there’s nothing that looks like breakfast to me. I settle for bread and jam from the pantry, then realize there’s no toaster. It’s a built-in, some touch-screen thing that’s impossible to operate without the patience of a saint.
I press random buttons until a slice of sourdough slides down, and that’s when Roman makes his presence felt. He slides off his stool and crosses the kitchen with a predatory smoothness that makes my scalp prickle. He leans against the counter next to me, his mug raised to his mouth, a smirk hovering just above the rim.
“Nice skirt,” he says. His voice is lazy, but the way he says them turns every word into a slow striptease. “But I have to admit I liked the tighter one.”
I glare at him. “Yeah? Well…” My comeback dies unwontedly on my lips as I hold his gaze, my body responds in a way that shocks me.
He leans closer, and the heat from his body is a furnace against my side. “You look…different.” He lets the word hang, waiting for me to ask how. “You must’ve gotten plenty of beauty sleep.”
I swallow hard. “Aren’t you supposed to be at college or something?” I ask.
His smirk broadens. “Online classes this semester.”
I ignore him after that, but Roman watches every move I make, from buttering my toast to smearing the jam on it. My face burns…
And so does something between my legs.
I cram a bite into my mouth, barely chewing as I turn to my mother. “Is there a car I can take, or is Edward driving me again?” I put the question to Irena while keeping my tone as flat as I could.
She doesn’t miss a beat. “You’ll take the SUV. Roman has the keys and will drive you.” She glances up, and for the briefest second, her eyes soften. “Try to have a good day, Ivy. Your second impression needs to be better than the first.”
“Great,” I say, swallowing the last of my toast and wiping my hands on a napkin. I risk a glance at Roman, and instantly regret it. He’s staring at my mouth, at the way I chew, at every micro-movement I make.
It’s as if he’s trying to memorize me.
I hate it. Just more to torture me with.
“Let’s go,Ivy,” Roman chuckles, his eyes dropping to the hem of my new uniform skirt. I shiver and then brush it off before rushing out of the kitchen.
