“Dandelion,” Bastian says, standing. “Nice to see you up and about.”
I enter and close the door behind me. “When do we leave for New York?” The sooner we go, the sooner I’m back for Emma, and the sooner this is over. I want nothing more than to be free of all of this. To leave everything behind and go forward.
Forward to what?
My throat tightens, and it takes me a minute to collect myself. Amadeo is studying me. He’s the more serious of the two. “How do you feel?”
“Can you never ask me that again?” I see the tumbler of whiskey on the desk and pick it up, drinking it all down. I don’t actually like whiskey, but I need something tonight. I feel off. Strange.
“You should maybe eat something before you drink, Dandelion,” Amadeo says, taking the tumbler from me. My lipstick stains the crystal. He eyes me. “Makeup?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Just lipstick. I always wear it. It makes me feel like myself.”
“Does it?” he asks.
Bastian is on his feet now too, and I look between them, remembering the time in the library. My stomach flutters, and I feel my neck and face heat because I want it again. I want to feel them both. I need them both.
“When do we leave?” I ask again, looking slightly over Amadeo’s shoulder rather than at him.
“Tonight. Let’s go eat dinner.” He places a hand on my lower back to guide me out. Bastian follows. We go into the dining room, where Amadeo pulls out a chair, and I sit. They take the seats on either side of me, and the same woman from before comes to serve us.
Tonight’s meal is roasted chicken with potatoes, vegetables, and the salad I saw her carrying in. Once we have our dishes, Amadeo pours us each a glass of wine, and I don’t wait for them to get started. I pick up my knife and fork and eat, ravenous.
“How is Emma?” I ask as I chew.
“She’s fine. She ate dinner about an hour ago, and they’re going to make popcorn and watch a movie,” Bastian says.
“Good.” I shove a huge bite of chicken into my mouth. It’s so big that I have to swallow wine to get it down.
“Take it easy.” Amadeo lays his hand on mine, and I study his bruised knuckles. It’s the hand I’m holding my knife with. Does he know how easily I can stab his? Pin it to the table?
“Dandelion?” he asks. I shift my gaze up and look at him through my lashes. “Everything all right?”
I study his steely eyes. I think about how he watched Bastian fuck me. How he tossed him the lubricant. I think about how he came in my mouth. And I think about how I want it again. It’s that sickness in me. All people see is the pretty outside, but inside, I’m rotten. Rotting. Maybe that’s why they’re looking at me so strangely now. Perhaps they’re seeing the real me. They’d be the first.
Tears blur my vision. I shake my head and pick up my wineglass to swallow it all down. “I’m just hungry,” I say and continue to devour every bite on my plate. When I’m done, I set down my knife and fork and sit back in my chair to find both brothers watching me closely. I wipe my mouth and wonder what the hell they find so fucking interesting. I remember Bastian’s question again. Remember how when I’d said I was tired he’d made the comment that killing will do that to you. I’m a killer. I should feel guilt or remorse or something. Anything.
The kitchen door swings open, and two women emerge to clear our dishes.
“Give us a minute,” Amadeo tells them, and they retreat.
“We need to go,” I say.
“We have time,” Amadeo says as they both stand. “There’s something we need to talk about. Let’s go into the study.”
I look from him to Bastian and back. “What’s happened?”
“Come,” he says, Bastian moving to the exit as Amadeo pulls my chair out.
“What is it? Tell me.”
“Vittoria—”
“Just say it!”
He sighs and shakes his head. “Lucien is filing for guardianship of Emma.”
It takes me a minute. “What?”
“Lucien wants to be appointed your sister’s legal guardian.”
I push my hands into my hair, my head feeling heavy, the food I just scarfed down sitting like a brick in my stomach. I shake my head and look up at them.
“We have her. He can’t get to her.”
“We kidnapped her.”
“But I’m… how can he do that? Why? He doesn’t care about her. Certainly doesn’t love her.”
“It’s about leverage,” Amadeo says.
“It’s not about love. Love doesn’t matter,” Bastian adds.
I get to my feet, irritated, and go to him. I shove him. “Of course it matters. Love may not matter to someone like you, but it does matter!”
With a snort, he takes my wrists, and I breathe him in. “Someone like me?”
“Yes. Someone like you.”
“You’re fucked up, Dandelion, you know that?”
“Yeah, I do, Bastian. And guess what? You’re just as fucked up. Do you know that?”
He grins and nods casually. Too casually.
“Is this all a game to both of you?” I ask, turning to face Amadeo when Bastian releases my wrists.
“No game. We have an idea.”
I shake my head and step toward the exit of the room. “I want to see my brother.”
Amadeo takes my arm and turns me around. He draws me close and searches my face, eyes landing on my mouth and making me remember our last kiss. Making me remember how he gets when we kiss.
But this isn’t the time. “Let me go.”
He doesn’t. Instead, he holds me close as he and his brother share some silent communication.
“Let’s go into the study,” Bastian says.
“No. There’s no time,” I say, but Amadeo marches me to the study as Bastian leads the way. Once inside. I’m deposited on the couch. I wince when the blade cuts my thigh and look from one to the other. From the desk, Amadeo retrieves a file.
Dread settles in my stomach when he carries it to me but doesn’t quite hand it over.
“Do you remember our conversation from a few nights ago, Dandelion?” Bastian asks, coming to sit beside me. Amadeo takes the seat opposite us.
“Which one?” I rub my temples. I’m getting a headache.
“When I asked you if your mother or father had brown eyes.”
“Why does that matter? Lucien will try to take Emma from me.” I try to stand, but Bastian puts his hand on my thigh to keep me down. He pauses, then cocks his head to the side and studies me. I watch as he shifts his gaze down to look at his hand. There’s a smear of blood across his thumb. He draws the dress up my thigh to reveal the crudely made strap holding the dagger to my thigh. The cuts it’s made. The blood.
“What’s this, Dandelion?”
The dagger looks like a pretty little toy beside his big hand. I glance up at him, then at Amadeo. Neither look surprised, and I don’t feel like apologizing.
“It’s mine. I found it in your nightstand after you took it from me,” I tell Amadeo. Bastian moves to slip it from my thigh, but I catch his hand with both of mine. “You can’t take it away. I won’t let you.”