Chapter 5

“Not particularly,” I said.

Her smile wavered. She'd expected me to pretend.

Daniel pulled out the chair beside him for her bag. He didn't pull out a chair for me.

I sat next to Grandpa.

Mrs. Martin, who'd worked for our family since I was a child, brought in oatmeal, eggs, fruit, and the cinnamon toast Grandpa always insisted I liked more than I admitted.

Lydia touched nothing.

“What's wrong?” Daniel asked her.

“It's fine. I'll grab something on campus.”

“You haven't eaten.”

She glanced at Grandpa before answering.

“Some of this doesn't agree with me.”

Daniel turned toward the kitchen. “Could you make her something else?”

Mrs. Martin stopped with the coffeepot in her hand.

“What would you like?” she asked Lydia.

“Anything. Really.”

“Then perhaps you could name one thing,” Grandpa said.

Daniel's jaw tightened. “Everything here is what Claire likes.”

“Claire lives here. You were not invited for breakfast. If Lydia needs something different, she can ask Mrs. Martin politely.”

“I didn't mean to cause trouble,” Lydia said.

She put a small piece of toast on her plate. For the rest of the meal, she looked at it as if eating it would be an act of courage.

I drank my coffee. It was hot enough to make my eyes sting. I welcomed having a reason.

After breakfast, Grandpa went to take a call from the office. Mrs. Martin followed him out with the empty cups.

Daniel put my phone on the table.

I'd left it beside my plate. I hadn't even noticed him pick it up.

“Don't tell him about last night,” he said.

I took it back.

“I told him I got you help.”

“You know what I mean.”

Lydia leaned against his shoulder.

“I don't want him worrying about us,” she said. “He already has so much on his mind.”

Daniel kept his eyes on me.

“And if you ever try anything like that again, I'll make sure everyone knows.”

For a second, I couldn't hear the hum of the refrigerator. I was back in the club, trying to say a word clearly enough for somebody to believe it.

“You think I put something in your drink.”

“Who else was there?”

“You had dinner before I arrived.”

“Don't.”

Just that. One word, and Lydia was safely beyond the edge of his suspicion.

I put my hands flat on the table until the room stopped shifting.

“I didn't drug you.”

“Then tell me you don't want me.”

Lydia looked down, hiding the smallest smile.

Once, I'd thought the worst thing that could happen was Daniel discovering how I felt. He'd found out anyway. Lydia had opened the private journal on my phone and shown him, calling it an accident.

I'd spent months apologizing for thoughts I'd never asked him to return.

I wasn't doing it again.

“I don't want you,” I said.

His expression sharpened.

“Don't lie to me.”

“I used to love somebody who helped me with homework and came home when he said he would. Somebody who could tell the difference between a person asking for help and a person setting a trap.”

My voice shook. I kept going.

“You're not him anymore. And I'm done waiting for him to come back.”

He straightened away from Lydia.

“Claire—”

“Leave.”

“This is my father's house.”

“And I live here. You don't. Breakfast is over.”

For a moment, I thought he'd refuse.

Then Mrs. Martin appeared in the doorway. She'd heard enough to look at Daniel without smiling.

“Mr. Whitmore has asked not to be disturbed,” she said. “Shall I show you out?”

I left before I could see whether Daniel would take that as an insult too.