15
WILLOW
You’d think rage and hurt and sadness would crowd out the hunger, but apparently not. Even after storming into the bathroom and locking the door behind me, I keep waiting for it to burst open as if I’d never locked it. For a maid to walk in with a tray of food and Leo’s orders that I eat something.
But no one comes.
The message is clear: if I want food, I’ll have to come downstairs and get it.
At some point, I hear the clunk of someone unlocking the outer door of the bedroom. I can get up, go down—if I choose to. But I sit for a while longer, unsure of how and what I’m feeling and unwilling to go downstairs and face him.
But hunger is winning this war. I’d rather face Leo than sit in here and starve.
I slip on a pair of tight blue jeans and a black cropped sweater, then comb my hair out and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My stomach still has a good amount of definition, even though I haven’t been keeping up with my training or my exercises.
I was surprised to find that I actually enjoyed training in the mornings. It was a small relief from the stuffiness of Anya’s house. Sometimes, it felt colder inside the castle than it did outside in the snow.
Satisfied with my appearance, I head downstairs. Before I even reach the ground floor, I hear voices. Leo’s and a woman’s. A flash of her blonde hair confirms who it is.
“Well, look who decided to join us for dinner,” Brit remarks with a snake-like smile.
One look at her and my confidence dries up like an old husk. The woman looks like she’s ten feet tall, especially in her black stiletto heels. The dress she’s wearing is off-white, strapless, molded to her figure. It makes the gold in her hair pop. Gold hoops in her ears and a simple gold chain hanging around her slender neck finish the look.
“Aw,” she says, making no effort to hide the condescension in her tone. “You dressed up for us. How sweet.”
The table is set beautifully. But there are only two seats. Given the fact that my door was unlocked, I know I’m supposed to be down here. Which means this is just another game Leo is playing with me.
I look at him in the corner of my eye. He says nothing.
“Why don’t you sit down, Willow?” she suggests, rubbing salt into the wound.
I force my face to stay neutral. “There doesn’t seem to be a seat for me,” I say. “So I’ll just make a plate and take it up to my—”
“Nonsense,” Brit says, cutting me off. “You must join us. Right, Leo?”
He still doesn’t answer.
He’s wearing jeans and a shirt that’s rolled up at the sleeves. He’s left the first three buttons open, revealing the sculpted perfection of his pecs. His hair looks like it’s been freshly washed, drops of water still clinging to the curls.
But his eyes don’t land on me.
“Where do you propose I sit?” I snap. “On the floor?”
Brit smiles. I loathe how beautiful she is.
“Take my chair.” She gets up and gestures towards her empty seat. “All yours.”
I know there’s a catch. The moment I sit down, I realize what it is. Brit walks around the table and puts her hand on Leo’s shoulder.
“Make room for me, handsome,” she coos.
He doesn’t move, but she doesn’t seem to care; she just settles herself down on his lap. The two of them seem to look at me at the same time, waiting for me to react.
My jaw twitches, but I choose to focus on the breadbasket sitting in the center of the table.
“This is much better, isn’t it?” Brit asks.
“This cabin is massive. There have got to be more chairs around somewhere.”
Or a mountain she could throw herself off. Whichever.
“But I so prefer being on Leo’s lap.” She runs a slender finger across his jawline. “Such a handsome man.”
My eyes flicker to the butter knives on the table. If I aim properly, I can blind her in one eye. Or maybe leave a scar on her flawless face. That might make this dinner a lot more interesting.
When I raise my eyes, I find that she’s staring straight at me.
“Thinking of all the ways you can hurt me right now?” she asks pleasantly, wrapping an arm around Leo’s neck.
“Among other things.”
She laughs and rests her back against the front of his chest. He’s stiff, mute. He doesn’t look like he’s particularly enjoying her presence on his lap. More like he’s tolerating it.
So I have to believe that he’s just trying to piss me off. The unfortunate part is… it’s working.