Chapter 34
Sabine
I beelineit to the kitchen the moment I step inside and out of the prying eyes of whatever—or whoever—was watching me from the forest. I was hoping to find Astor. Instead, I find Prishna there, surrounded by mounds of fruit, vegetables, and baked goods. She’s washing veggies in the sink, her back to me.
Maybe she was the one watching me? From the windows, perhaps.
I toss my blanket and books on a chair and join her at the counter. “Hi.”
Her disapproval of my presence is clear by both the scowl on her face and the sudden vigor with which she scrubs the potato.
The unforgiving natural light from the window illuminates how severe the burns are on the side of her face, and again, I find myself wondering what happened to her. What is her story?
“Is Astor still in his office?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Do you know if anyone is outside? Cillian or Leo?”
“It’s not my job to handle their schedules.”
“Were you outside?”
She rolls her eyes, gesturing to the activity on the counter.
Right.
A moment stretches between us.
“Can I help?”
I refuse to allow this woman to intimidate me. As obvious as it is that Prishna hates me, the fact of the matter is that she is the only other woman in the house and knows much more about Astor than I do. In short, I want to pick her brain. Her miserable, rude little brain.
The spread on the counter appears to be ingredients for a very nice meal, and it hits me—Prishna has been put in charge of cooking my dinner with Astor tonight.
A wave of sympathy rolls over me. This woman is being forced to go shopping for, and cook dinner for, a woman she despises.
I pick up one of the washed tomatoes. “Cubes or slices?”
“Cubes,” she mumbles.
I begin chopping. “I have a deal for you.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll cook this meal if you let me pick out my next round of clothes.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Astor’s orders.”
“I won’t tell.”
She snorts. “Astor knows everything; I already told you that.”
“Certainly not everything.”
She cocks a brow. “Everything.”
“Well, do you promise not to throw a potato at my face if I tell you I’m two sizes smaller than what you’re buying for me?”
“Tell him that.”
“Why?”
“Mr. Stone picks out your clothing.”
“What?”
“Trust me. If I’d been given the task, you’d be wearing a trash bag, dear.”
“He’s picked out everything?”
“Yes. Every morning, I’m handed a detailed list and told to deliver everything on it. He makes every decision in this house, and his others. How many times do I need to tell you that?”
I consider the cheap toiletries and mismatched cosmetics. A man definitely wouldn’t choose the correct color of concealer or be able to discern the correct size. Because men are, well, men.
Huh.
“So, is it safe to say your boss is a total control freak?”
Prishna says nothing, probably for fear of being reprimanded. I fill the silence by recalling an article I’d once read about controlling men.
Isolates you from others
Possessive
Can be abusive
Makes decisions for you
Doesn’t take no for an answer
Demanding
Snoops into your life
Invades your privacy
Uses intimidation
Check, check, check, check, alllllll the checks.
“Why do you work for Astor?” I ask. “It’s clear you’re not loving the tasks you’ve been assigned.”
“That’s none of your business, and you’re cutting the cubes too small.”
“Sorry.”
As we fall into a steady rhythm, chopping and stacking, I study her.
Such an angry, unhappy woman. Why? Why work for such a demanding boss, especially if she hates the job? At first, I thought it was because she was in love with him, but now I’m not so sure.
So, why stay?
Then, like a wrecking ball, it hits me.
“Prishna ...” I set down the knife and tomato and turn fully to her. “Are you here against your will too?”
Her hand freezes and she looks at me, taken aback by the brazen question.
“Did Astor kidnap you, like he did me? Is he forcing you to work for him?”
Heavy footsteps come down the hallway. Prishna and I turn as Cillian passes the doorway, frowning at something on his cell phone.
“Ugh, Cillian.” Prishna groans at the trail of mud he’s leaving on the hardwood floor.
“I’ll help.” I grab a dish towel and follow her to the hallway.
Shaking her head, Prishna kneels to pick up a clump of dirt. As she bends over, a necklace slips out from under her collar. Dangling from it is a gold pendant in the shape of one half of a broken heart.
It’s the exact necklace Astor’s wife is wearing in each of her photos.