Page 57 of Among the Sins of my Father

“You don’t think there would be much of a demand?”

“I don’t think you should sell people.”

Michael rolls his eyes. The action reminds me so much of Dominic it hurts. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen a similarity. “And we’re back here again.” He flops himself onto the bean bag. “You’ve got to stop thinking like that, Everly. You’ve got to stop thinking of them as the same as us, as though you could be one of them.”

“But I could be.”

“Your father wasn’t serious when he said he would have left you in that cell, you know that right?” He places his hands behind his head, looking up at me without a care in the world. As though we are discussing something as simple as ice cream flavors. There’s no point in arguing with him. He believes he’s right, no matter how twisted his logic.

I smile weakly. “I know.”

“Good.” He slaps his hands onto his thighs. “You are a part of this family, now. The Gormans and the Attertons are on the same team.”

Only I don’t want to be an Atterton or a Gorman. I want to be just Berkley.

“Let’s go down for dinner. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

The last time he said that my mother was at dinner. But there’s no way they’d invite her now. Not with my father, the man who kept her captive for years sitting at the same table.

Michael walks out the door, expecting me to follow, but before I do, I dash into the bathroom and twist my hair back into a ponytail as a silent protest. It’s all I can do.

I’m filled with apprehension as I approach the dinner table. I look up, bracing myself for the worst, but instead I find bright blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Berkley!” Ette shouts.

She launches herself from the table, tipping her chair over in the process, and races toward me. I fall to my knees, wrapping my arms around her as she catapults into my embrace.

I start to cry, unable to say anything and just hold her tightly. She’s crying too, her sobs loud in my ear.

“I thought I’d never see you again!” Ette cries.

“Sit back up at the table, dear. There’s no need to make a spectacle at dinner.” Mary pats the seat beside her.

Ette pulls herself out of my arms, wiping her tears away and does what Mary asks. But she drags me with her, our joined hands hanging in the space between our chairs. And that’s the way she stays. She does not let go of my hand when the food is served. She does not let go even as she tries to slice her meat. She clutches on tightly, her eyes darting to mine every so often.

I want to ask her if she’s okay, if they’re treating her well, but with everyone’s eyes on us it would bring too much attention. So instead, we just cling to each other, fingers threaded through each other’s to the point of pain.

“We’ve received an invitation,” Mr Gorman says once he’s finished eating and pushed his plate to the side. “Michael and I have been personally invited to one of Mr Priest’s famed poker games.”

Michael’s eyes snap to mine at the mention of Jericho. I look down, toying with the food left on my plate. I may look calm on the outside, but my heart is beating wildly. He knows something. Or at least he suspects something. There is no way he’d invite them otherwise.

“I hope you’re not consid—”

“I think we should go,” Mr Gorman says, talking over his son.

Michael’s knife clatters onto his plate. “You can’t be serious,” he splutters.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Mr Gorman lifts a glass of wine to his lips and takes a sip.

“It’s got to be a trap of some sort. He wouldn’t just invite us for no reason.”

Mr Gorman just raises his brows. “I’ve accepted his invitation.”

Michael gets to his feet. “But why?” He sounds so much like a whiny child I have to hold back my laughter. Ette squeezes my hand tightly.

I take the opportunity of the table’s distraction to lean close and whisper, “Are you okay?”

Mary clears her throat. “Dominque, please inform Everly that it is rude to whisper in front of other people.”

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