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I whip my head around. “Excuse me?”
“It’s his and it being on you is a symbol that you’re his. Taking it off would be akin to taking you away from him.”
I stare at her for a minute, feeling my heart sink. I swallow and reach around to fiddle with the clasp again. The chain falls the moment the clasp is free, and it drops to a puddle in my hand. I leave it on the dresser and make my way to the clothes. It takes me a moment to realize she hasn’t followed. When I turn around, Zinnea is staring at the table I’ve left the collar on with wide eyes and her mouth open in shock.
With a heavy exhale, I decide to keep this night dress on. I don’t want to wear anything else he picked out for me or any of these expensive clothes. I’d rather wear the linen dress Zinnea is wearing.
“Can we go now?” I’m ready to get the hell out of this room and get this fog in my head cleared. I’m hopeful that the farther I can get away from Drago, the clearer I’ll be able to think.
Zinnea swallows and nods, although she seems a shade paler than before. She leads the way down the long hall. With the daylight it’s so much easier to see than it was the night before. The windows are floor to ceiling and line the hall on the right. The left side has large paintings that I wasn’t quite able to make out last night. I shudder remembering what happened after. Thankfully, Zinnea distracts me with a question.
“Are you cold?”
I shake my head no. “I would like to wear something else though.”
“Are we going shopping?” Zinnea’s blue eyes light with happiness, and a large smile forms on her face. I take it she enjoys shopping.
“I don’t have any money at the moment.” She looks me up and down with a frown and opens her mouth but closes it.
“Let’s go to the kitchen and get some sweets.” She leads me down a narrower hall with no windows that’s lit with torches.
“What’s with all the torches?” I have to ask. There’s electric and running water yet these torches are everywhere.
“For tradition. The Lords like to keep certain things as they were when they were young.” She leans in close and whispers, “Before their parents passed.” She pushes the double doors open to a huge kitchen. It’s complete with every possible commercial appliance there is available. It’s all stainless steel and sterile. The light reflecting off the metal is nearly blinding.
I nod in understanding. “It was so long ago though. So much has changed.”
“In many ways yes, but in many ways nothing has changed.” Mrs. Sarah answers from her position at the sink. I stop in my tracks and watch as Zinnea skips over to her.
“How many sweets would you like?” I don’t even realize Zinnea is talking to me until both women look back and stare at me.
“Just one, please.”
Zinnea looks back at me with a look of disbelief and then climbs on a stool to get to an upper cabinet. “One of each it is,” she says cheerfully before climbing down with a handful of brightly colored candies. “Mrs. Sarah, we’ll need a little bowl if you have one.”
The older woman smirks at her. “You’ll need a bowl Zinni. Don’t blame this on our Lady of the castle.”
“Her name is Kara. And she doesn’t want to be called Lady.” Zinnea sits on the counter swinging her legs and looks back to me as she keeps talking to Mrs. Sarah. She says in a hushed tone, “I thought you may want to talk to her some. She also says she has no money to go shopping.” I don’t miss her raised brow and knowing look she gives the older woman before glancing back at me.
“Oh, dear.” The older woman looks at me from head to toe, her lips pursed. Suddenly my throat goes dry. With a quizzical look she comments, “But you love him.”
My heart sputters in my chest. I shake my head no, but really I’m not sure it’s the truth. And I’m not a liar. I spear my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know.”
Mrs. Sarah walks to the fridge with a sigh, ignoring my response, and pulls out a bowl of peeled shrimp and places it on the counter. All the while I watch and wait, as if this woman’s opinion would mean anything at all. She digs back in the fridge and sighs, pulling out a bowl of shrimp shells. I suppose she’s making a broth. I try to convince myself that what anyone else thinks is irrelevant, but for some reason, I can’t. I’m desperate for someone else to explain what I feel to me. I’m at a complete loss—torn, confused, and on the verge of admitting that I am in love, although none of it feels as if it’s in my control.
“I bet you do know,” she says matter of factly, interrupting my thoughts, as she grabs a pot hanging over the stainless-steel counter. Ignoring my racing heart, I purse my lips and consider her words as she fills the pot with water and sets it on the stove.
“I don’t trust how I feel.” Again, I settle on the truth.
“Ah!” She holds her finger up. “You’re afraid.”
“No.” I respond instantly. I am never afraid.
Turning to look over her shoulder, Mrs. Sarah smirks at me, wiping her hands on her apron. “Of course you’re afraid. Everyone is afraid when they’re in love.”
As she turns her attention back to the pot, I murmur, half wishing I could keep my thoughts to myself, “I don’t want to feel this way.”
“Which way is that? In love or afraid?” she questions, her back still to me as if this is a casual conversation. Swallowing thickly, I glance to my right at Zinnea and expect to find her leaning over and ready to pounce on my insecurities, but she’s simply unwrapping a sweet and popping it into her mouth.
