Page 34 of Even Robots Die (Even Ever After #3)

Florentine

O n the way to the dining room, we cross paths with Charles, two other people I have never seen, and then Daniel.

No one is walking in the same direction as us, though.

This is suspicious.

When we arrive, the dining room is empty with the exception of one person who is setting two steaming plates of what looks to be pasta with tomato sauce and meatballs right next to each other.

And as soon as we enter the room, they disappear.

“What did you tell them?” I ask Brice, who stays at the door, peacefully leaning against the frame while my brain is going into overdrive.

This is not what I wanted. It looks like we’re going to eat with just the two of us again, and that’s definitely not what I signed up for.

“That we’re eating together,” he answers, as if it was the only possible answer to my question.

“And why are we eating together again?” I ask him with annoyance.

“Can’t I like your company?” Brice asks me with amusement in his voice.

“No. You like making me mad,” I bite back and there’s some light that shines in his eyes at my words and I don't want to look too closely at what that means.

“Maybe I like both,” he answers me.

“I already knew your brain was fucked, but this is almost worse,” I answer him with a laugh I don’t even believe in.

“You have no idea,” is the only answer I get, and I’m not even sure he wanted to say it out loud.

Before the silence installs itself, I walk to the closest plate and drop to the seat.

I don’t let Brice start asking anything this time. I eat immediately. If eating is really the right word. It’s more like I’m shoveling food into my mouth more than anything else.

It’s not lost on me that I’m currently eating in a castle and that I look anything but a lady. The old royalty would be appalled at my manners.

“Milton, is there another way out of this room?” I ask when I see that Brice still hasn’t moved from where he’s so casually leaning against the doorframe.

“The only way out is where you came from, Miss F.,” Milton answers me as I try to eat more and faster.

It’s probably an awful sight, but I don't care.

“What scares you so much?” Brice’s question pulls me out of my conversation with Milton. It’s not like it was going anywhere, anyway. I’m stuck in this room with the only man who has ever questioned the veracity of my words and who keeps asking the wrong questions.

Or, well, the questions I’ve managed to avoid so far.

So the real answer to his question is actually quite easy. Him.

I’m doing all I can not to look at him, especially not to meet his eye because I don't want to know what he has in store today.

“Nothing,” I answer instead and then stuff a whole meatball in my mouth so I don't say anything I will regret .

“Didn’t your parents tell you that lying was bad when you were a kid?” Brice asks, and once again I can't shake the feeling that he’s toying with me.

“You mean before or after my mother left us?” I snap at him.

“Or maybe when I was raising my sisters because my dad was too busy gambling the night away? Or when I was the one who needed to explain to my kid sisters why we were eating bland pasta with nothing else for the fifth time that week? Or maybe when I had to sneak out and work odd jobs underage because brokers would take everything we had without that extra money? Or, well, when I had to lie about my age because no one would hire a fourteen-year-old? Or maybe you mean every time my sisters ask if I’m okay?

I’m not freaking okay. I’m stuck here, not knowing what is going to happen to them.

I’m stuck here while I know dad will show all the love he’s capable of but it still might not be enough for them to have food on their table every day.

I’m not okay. My dad basically took my kindness for granted and exchanged me for money.

So no, no one ever told me not to lie. I learned how to say half-truths so they could still be believable, but my life is now basically made of half-truths and maybe it’s more comfortable this way because I don't have to see how bad things are. So yes, I lie. I lie like I breathe, like it’s second nature.

But maybe if you were in my shoes, you would do the same.

So stop fucking calling me out or stop asking me anything, because you don’t want my truth. No one’s ever wanted it, anyway.”