“Don’t blame me for what you are, either,” I hiss at the wall—but it’s more of a plea than a rebuttal. Robert’s already tainted my soul. I can’t take any more.
More guilt.
More pain
More envy?
“Oh no you don’t.” Laughing, Mischa moves to stand opposite me, refusing to be ignored. “Look at me.”
A sliver of blond hair obscures his gaze. Only the stern set of his mouth gives me a clue as to what he’s feeling.
“You want me to enlighten you?” he asks. “Teach you what he never did? Let’s start with the truth: All I want from you is the one thing you never gave him.” He waits, ensuring he has my full attention. Then he smiles, displaying a terrifying array of white teeth. “I want your honesty, Little Rose. Can you give me that?”
He doesn’t seem to really want an answer. Not now anyway.
“Let’s start with your first lesson,” he says, abruptly changing the subject. “Sit.” He nods to the chair nearest him.
Heart in my throat, I approach it. This close, I’m aware of his scrutiny, how he eyes my quivering throat and heaving chest.
“Twenty-four years ago, the Winthorps started a war.” He leans back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Apparently, this story will be a long one. “Can you tell me why?”
I grit my teeth. My ignorance is a toy he constantly loves to play with. “You know I don’t—”
“But you should.” His tone softens, unnervingly quiet. “Because your mother was at the start of it.”
I blink, unsure if he’s joking—but there is no mocking smile to temper the impact of his words.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked.” He leans in and drags his thumb along my cheek as if savoring how my eyes widen. As I gape, he brings the digit to his mouth and flicks his tongue over it. Then he says, “I think you’ve suspected it all along, haven’t you? That she was the very first. Marnie Winthorp. She was fated to be number one.”