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“What if …” She hates me. Ridiculous, given her condition that Thierry described, but sometimes the ones with the quietest minds are the most perceptive. What if she sees right through me?

“Relax, catin. She probably won’t even know you’re there.” With a wink, he takes my hand again, and I follow him into the room.

Sitting in a wheelchair that faces a barred window is a young girl, her braided blonde hair draped over her shoulder. Blessed with the same sharp jawline and high cheekbones as her older brother, she’s beautiful. Flawless, pale white skin is a contrast to Thierry’s bronze tone, perhaps the most notable difference between them. In her arms, she clutches a ratted-looking teddy bear, with a missing black button eye and matted fur.

As I take a seat beside her, the girl doesn’t so much as glance in my direction, her eyes fixed, dilated. Staring out the window.

A short brunette in a nursing uniform gathers up a tray holding a small dixie cup. The onceover she throws at me is nowhere near as friendly as the others I’ve gotten today. In fact, the tightening of her lip and roll of her eyes suggests she’s not happy to see me, at all.

She slides Thierry a sidelong glance as she passes us, knocking me in the shoulder on her way, and I frown after her, when she leaves the room.

“What the hell was that all about?”

The quirk of his brow tells me it’s better not to know. Or ask. She’s obviously someone he’s fucked before, and to a certain extent, I guess I can understand her bitterness.

“Well, she’s much more gracious than I would’ve been. I’ll give her that.”

“How so?”

“I’d have, at least, made a point to kick you in the n--”

With a look of warning, he glances toward his sister and shakes his head.

“Right. Allow me to rephrase: I’d have firmly introduced my stilettos to the inseam of your perfectly pressed slacks.”

The dark chuckle that follows isn’t the response I was hoping for, honestly, and it’s then I realize I’ve been bitten by the jealousy bug.

Damn thing.

I want to reach inside my chest and squash it, just like a mosquito that bursts across my palm in a bloody mess, but I can’t. It’s already injected its poison, and all I can do is wait for the itch to go away.

Trying not to imagine his body pressed against hers, I sit fidgeting, watching him peel his suit coat from over the crisp, white dress shirt beneath, which stretches across the muscles in his arms as he drapes the jacket over the chair beside me. I wonder if those muscles held her up against the wall when he banged her. She’s small enough.

Stop it, Céleste.

For chrissakes.

It’s when Thierry crouches in front of his sister and takes her hand in his that my head clears its cookies of those unsavory visuals, and my heart damn near explodes inside my ribs. Such a strange contradiction from his ordinarily cold and detached demeanor.

“Bonjour, Frannie. Ça va?”

She doesn’t say anything in response, of course.

I swallow back the nervous tremble still humming beneath my skin, feeling every bit an intruder.

“I’ve brought someone with me this time. She’s been a pain in the ass for me, but I bet you’ll like her.”

“How sweet of you,” I grumble, crossing my legs as I turn slightly away from him.

A flicker of movement in my periphery draws my attention back to where Frannie has turned to look at me. The surprised expression sketched on Thierry’s face tells me this is unusual for her.

He pushes to his feet and takes the seat beside me, offering only a small modicum of comfort, while the girl appears to be fixated on me, her pale gray eyes almost looking right through me.

My skin feels as if it’s been peeled back under the weight of her stare, and I shift in my seat, wanting nothing more than to crawl away. Far, far away.

The brush of cold fingers against my thigh narrows my attention to where she’s leaned forward, reaching for the scar there. Eyes wide, she trails a shaky finger over my skin, and I try not to flinch at her touch. Some incoherent mumble passes her lips, and I glance back at Thierry, whose equally confused face tells me he didn’t understand, either.

“Babies,” she whispers a bit clearer. “The babies.”