Page 38 of Because I Killed Him
“Well,” Edmund mutters, his voice dropping low, “it’s a gamble now.”
He walks off. The lavatory door swings open, and he’s at the sink, wiping blood from his face as he kicks the door shut behind him.
The second the door closes, I grab Charlotte by the wrist and drag her toward the exit. “Time to go.”
“No, Lore.” She yanks back, her eyes half-lowered and still burning with shame. “It’s been a long time coming, okay? I can’t keep running.”
“Fromthat?” I jab a thumb at the lavatory door. “Yes, you fucking can, Char. He’s an animal.”
“I told you it ended badly,” she says. “There’s no clean way out of this. So stay behind me—and please don’t make it any worse.”
Charlotte pulls away from me and turns to Jack with a daggerlike glare. He’s hunched over the table, squinting at a toy carbon-fiber airplane as he adjusts its circuit with a multimeter.
“I get it now,” she says. “This is your way of getting revenge for—”
“If I wanted revenge, darling, I’d have taken it a year ago.” Jack calmly tests the toy airplane’s voltage. “Stop blaming me for the wreck you drove yourself into.”
“ThatIdrove into?”
“You knew back at the Royce Club that Ed was done with you. I warned you when you asked for my help, but you still chose to come.”
“Because I thought heknewI was coming.”
Dickie, still chewing chocolate cake, mumbles, “Wait—why doesn’t Ed like you anymore?”
Charlotte doesn’t answer him. All her focus, all her fury, is locked on Jack. “You should’ve told me Edmund wasn’t the one who invited us.”
“That’s not the problem, darling.Youare.”
Edmund strides out of the lavatory, barely changed. He’s still a mess of blood, sweat, and tousled hair, vibrating with an energy that feels wired to detonate. The only differences are the smear of lipstick wiped from his jaw and the water streaks on his white dress shirt, a failed attempt to wash away the bloodstains.
He crosses to the table, drinks half a pitcher of water, then snaps his fingers at Charlotte.
She nods and exhales deeply through her nose. “Miss Waldsten,” she begins, working calm into her voice, “it is my pleasure to present Mr. Edmund Prew, a Blue first-year majoring in—”
“My major is undecided,” Edmund says.
Charlotte nods quickly and continues. “Mr. Edmund Prew is the son of Phillipa Prew and the late Lionel Prew. At twenty-one, he excels in various athletic pursuits, including crew, polo, shooting, and horse racing. Having won the Junior Blue Fencing Championship four years ago, he is also a skilled fencer who—”
“Enough,”Edmund says. “Move on.”
Charlotte swallows and pivots to me, rattling off my details like a script she’s trying not to mess up. We barely finish logging the introduction through our Blood Rings when Edmund steps past her and takes my hand. His grip is so firm that the edge of his Blood Ring digs into my skin. I flinch, but before I can pull away, he bows and presses a kiss to the back of my hand.
“Pleasure, Miss Waldsten,” he says. “Now, sit.”
We do. Charlotte braces herself, her fingers knotted in her lap as we take the chairs closest to the window. I rub my hand on my dress, as if I can wipe away the feeling of Edmund’s mouth.
Across the table, Edmund, Jack, and Dickie fall into rhythm. The cards are pushed aside, and a vase of bright hydrangeas is moved to the edge. Edmund slides the half-eaten cake back to Dickie, who hands him a guillotine cutter. Edmund clips the end of his cigar, lights it, and exhales smoke that billows across the table. Then he tosses the lighter to Jack, who relights the cigarette hanging from his mouth.
The three of them settle in, shoulder to shoulder, and stare us down from the far side of the table.
“Miss Deering,” Edmund says, smoke curling off the edge of his sentence, “perhaps you can assist me in solving our dilemma.”
“Fine.” Charlotte straightens. “But first—what the hell’s with all the frills? You never used formal language with me before. Why are you now?”
Edmund looks at her, silent and cold, until she finally lifts her chin.
“What dilemma?” she asks.
