Page 68 of The Villain

I reach over to close it. She folds her hands on her lap, any openness in her face gone. “My father had a rule about guns at the house.”

“I’m sure his soldiers all carried guns, Allegra. Maybe he was careful you didn’t see them, but I can assure you, they were there.”

“You’re probably right,” she says. Did she really think they had no guns in the house?

“Tell me about school,” I say to change the subject.

“There’s not much to tell.”

“You’re in college. That’s something. Tell me about that” I say, wanting her to continue. Wanting to lift the mood again.

“You want to hear about my education?” she asks like she doesn’t buy it.

“Humor me. School was never a priority for me.”

She studies me momentarily. “I’m in my second year, but since dad died, Michael won’t let me actually go to any classes in person so I’m just taking the few offered online. I don’t think I’m going to continue though.”

“Why wouldn’t you continue?” I glance at her. She is passionate, that I can tell from the notes I read in her books. She loves the history of art in churches, the stories that go along with them. I get it.

“I’m required to attend some classes in person. When dad was alive, I was allowed to go with soldiers. Michael has made it clear he won’t spoil me like dad did. His words.”

“Is he jealous of you?”

She glances at me. “Maybe. I don’t know. I think after what happened, dad felt guilty or something, so he tried to spend time with me, and I guess Michael didn’t like it.”

“Guilty?”

“Not because of what you said. He didn’t arrange to have us kidnapped. He didn’t…” she trails off, hiding the hand with the missing finger in her other one. “I’m not talking about this. You’re wrong about that. You know what? This was a mistake. Take me back. I want to go back.”

“Relax. We don’t have to talk about it. That’s not why I’m doing this.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“I don’t know,” I say without meeting her eyes.

“Just take me back, Cassian.”

I glance at her. “I guess I’m trying to make up for what happened back there,” I say, feeling sheepish. She studies me like she’s trying to decide if I’m telling the truth. “In fact,” I start, looking over my shoulder before crossing four lanes of highway to get to the exit that we almost don’t make.

Allegra gasps, sitting up, her expression one of surprise. “What are you doing?”

“You like frozen custard?”

“What?” Car horns blare at us. She looks over hershoulder. “They’re so mad at you,” she says, turning bright amber eyes to me like she doesn’t believe I did that.

I grin, shift gears, glancing in the rear view to see one of the SUVs miss the exit. The second one makes it, and Enzo’s face in the driver’s seat tells me he’s not happy about it.

“Do you?” I ask.

“Do I what?” she asks as I drive onto a single lane road.

“Do you like frozen custard?” I ask.

“Oh, yes. I mean who doesn’t? But it’s November and it’s not even noon.”

“There’s no bad time for frozen custard.”

“Why are we talking about frozen custard?”