Page 139 of Because I Killed Him
His gaze catches on the daffodil charm hanging from the cap before he unscrews it and drinks deeply. When he hands the canteen back, he looks directly into my eyes, and his finger slowly brushes my hand, from my thumb to my pinky.
My heart races, heat flaring across my skin. Before I can stop myself, I slide my nail lightly along his knuckles. His breath stutters. He flexes that hand as he pulls away.
The moment is brief, probably invisible to Jack and Dickie. Yet I feel locked inside it, pinned by the intensity of Edmund’s attention, his gaze holding me so steadily that I wonder if he’s imagining my lips on his as vividly as I’m imagining his on mine.
“Thank you,” he says, wiping water from his chin.
“You’re welcome.” I clench the canteen to ground myself, because all I can think about is sipping from it, my mouth touching the same part of the rim where his did.
Edmund steps away, flexing his hand again as he moves to the corner. He pulls his suit jacket from the bench and slips out his Altimor watch. He checks the time once, then again, as if counting seconds.
I get the sense he’s waiting for someone. If it were Irene, he would’ve warned us. He always does.
Jack stands, pushes back his sweaty hair, and tosses me a grin. “You up for a spar, darling?”
I keep my tone casual as I sink onto the sofa. “Trust me, it would be quick and boring. I don’t fence.”
“Ha,” Dickie pipes up from the corner, where he’s elbow-deep in a cabinet of gear. “The devil, you don’t.”
I glance over, still calm, but my pulse kicks up a notch. “How would you know?”
“The same way I know Lady Charlotte couldn’t duel a fly in a web, and I’ve never seen her handle a saber. It’s in the way you move, just like Ed and Jack.” Dickie stops rummaging and faces me, a slow, smug grin creeping across his face. “Not wanting to be seen doesn’t make you hard to read, broad.”
My fingers tighten on the armrest, only slightly, but Dickie notices. I drop my hand, realizing those beady eyes—usually preoccupied with food and video games—see everything, especially what I’d rather keep hidden.
“I used to fence,” I admit. “But not anymore.”
Edmund and Jack turn in sync, with the same slight tilt of their heads. Until now, they believed I’d never touched a saber, and I can feel them rewinding the tape, searching for the frame Dickie caught at first glance.
Edmund slips the Altimor into his pocket with a frown. “Why’d you tell me you don’t fence?”
Shit.I’d completely forgotten I’d lied to his face, saying I never learned because I didn’t like fencing. It’s one of the many lies I’ve stacked so high I can’t always remember which are buried in the pile.
I sit up a little straighter, though every muscle wants to curl in. I had a script prepared in case I ever needed to explain that I used to fence and why I no longer do. Charlotte helped me write it. But the script isanotherlie, and not a small one. It’s a complete rewrite of the truth. And now that I’m sitting in front of Edmund, Jack, and Dickie, all eyes on me, I don’t know if I have the guts to tell another lie.
None of them is looking at me like they want a story, a Tattletale-worthy scrap of gossip to pass around later. They’re watching me the way you watch someone cross a frozen lake, quiet and tense, bracing for the sound of a break.
“Well…” Dickie drawls, dragging the word out. “We’rewaiting.”
The truth presses against my teeth. I want to let itout and finally stop hiding behind the helpless face I’ve learned to wear. I’m tired of the stagecraft, of constantly measuring my words before I speak. More importantly, Edmund, Jack, and Dickie have become more than just blood colors I’m forced to share my days with. I care about them. All of them.
I don’t want to lie to them anymore.
But I can’t tell him the truth, either.
So I reach for both.
“I’m sorry for lying, Edmund,” I say. “I didn’t know you back then, and I was embarrassed.”
His frown softens, though he doesn’t speak.
“I used to be good at fencing,” I continue. “But I had a temper, especially when I lost. It got so bad that I flamed out in a quarterfinal. I walked off the piste mid-match and made a whole scene. After that, I was too ashamed to go back, so I quit.”
Jack clears his throat and shoots a look at Edmund, who’s staring at the scar on my chin as if realizing he was right about it being my honor scar. For once, Dickie doesn’t laugh.
I sit there, calm on the surface.
But inside, everything goes numb.
