Page 6 of On Edge

“But what if he comes home?”

“He hardly ever stays here.” She sniffs, seeming offended personally by that fact.

Where does he stay?But the words don’t come out.

“Now come along. Try not to lean on the furniture in your damp clothes.” She leads me through the dimly lit house, the wall lights humming softly, casting long shadows.

Dutifully, I follow, my focus drifting as we move through twisting passageways and past shadowed tapestries. I’m overtired and ready to sleep on my feet. I take extra care on the sweeping staircases, because wouldn’t that be poetic? Falling to my death before I even sayI do. That’d be one way to get out of a wedding night with Severin.

Don’t lie. You can’t wait to have him all to yourself now that I’m dead and gone,my sister laughs, making my cheeks burn.

I hate her intrusions sometimes.

A gallery stretches out at the top of the stairs, offering a view of a grand hall below: black and white tiles, a hearth, and another corridor leading off to the side. I peer over the balcony.

“Miss Lovett?”

“Yes?”

She sighs. “Try to listen. I do hate repeating myself. I was saying you need to be careful. There are parts of the house that are off-limits. The east wing, for instance.” She gestures toward the room below.

“Off-limits? Why?”

“There was a fire there ten years ago. Master Troy is still replacing the foundations on that side of the house.”

“Oh, I heard there was a fire.”

I must look worried, because she adds, “Don’t worry. Grayfleet isn’t going to fall down. This side’s been rebuilt, andthere are supports in place to keep the rest of the walls from doing just that.”

I stare down at the grand room. There’s nothing to suggest it had been rebuilt. It looks perfect.

My hostess tuts. “But I wouldn’t lean over like that, just in case.”

Trying not to chew my lower lip, I nod. Everything I was taught—manners, how to act, what to say—has eroded to nothing. I feel raw and on edge.

But either she doesn’t see, or doesn’t care, because she doesn’t wait for a response. She barely glances at me as she unlocks a set of double doors at the end of the hallway, then ushers me inside, flicking on the lights as she does.

The room glows with just the right amount of mood lighting I’d expect from a billionaire who buys cursed houses no one else will touch.

I walk in and… just… stare at the space.

“As you don’t have your luggage, I can lend you some things.” I hear her moving behind me, but I’m too busy taking it all in. The master suite is enormous. On one side of the room is a blue velvet sofa and a widescreen TV, with French doors leading to a balcony. On the other side, a four-poster bed, and beyond it, through an arched doorway, a large, gleaming bathroom.

All luxuriously decorated.

It’s not what I expected at all.

A sigh behind me draws my attention. “Here you are.”

She places a bag of toiletries and a set of slinky-looking garments onto the bed, and then continues her spiel, but I’m no longer listening. Exhaustion and despair threaten to creep in, pressing hot behind my eyes. “…there are fresh towels in the ensuite, and breakfast is at ten…” I nod along, barely taking in a word.

“Miss Lovett? Are you okay? You look tired. Do you need anything? A mug of hot milk, perhaps?” She asks gently all of a sudden, as if realizing I might break.

“No. I’m fine,” I croak.

She studies me, unconvinced.

“I’m just tired, like you said,” I add, which seems to satisfy her.