brother in a low, urgent voice, his face hard, his eyes glittering dangerously. They were having an argument, that much was obvious.
Theresa hesitated. She didn't want to intrude. Neither of them had seen her yet. But then she remembered the way Samuel's shoulders had slumped when he'd told her about Severin and the way his relationship with his brother had soured. Maybe he'd appreciate some moral support. She came a little closer, until she could hear what they were talking about.
"…what I can't figure out," Severin was saying, his voice a low, dangerous hiss, "Did you think I wouldn't be able to tell—or did you really not know?"
"You're wrong," Samuel said sharply, cutting Severin off mid-sentence. "I don't even know where you get these ideas of yours. Theresa isn't my mate. I'm not in love with her. I'm paying her to show me a good time, that's all there is to it."
Theresa stopped dead in her tracks. Something wet and cold hit her wrist. She realized her hands were shaking badly enough that she'd spilled the glass of Champagne in her hand. Her entire body had gone numb. Her eyes stung.
She'd known, of course. She'd known this was only temporary, and that just because she'd fallen for Samuel hard and fast, that didn't mean he felt the same. She'd accepted that he wasn't in love with her. But hearing him talk about her like that, in that casual, dismissive tone, as if she didn't matter to him at all … She couldn't take it.
Any minute now, the brothers were going to turn around and see her standing there with tears in her eyes. Theresa flinched at the thought of having to explain herself, imagined the look of pity in Samuel's eyes when she told him how much she loved him, when he didn't feel the same…
No. That was the last thing she wanted.
Theresa sat the glasses down on a nearby table. One of them fell over and shattered, but she couldn't stop to clean it up. Tears were running freely down her cheeks by now. All she wanted was to get away before they saw her.
She walked as quickly as she could without outright running, keeping her head down, letting her hair fall in front of her face like a curtain, trying to hide her tears.
The hallway in front of the bathrooms was blessedly dark and quiet. Theresa took a deep breath.
"Theresa?" someone called behind her. A woman's voice.
Theresa reluctantly turned around. She didn't want anyone to see her like this. She could imagine what she must look like, a shaking, ugly mess, make-up smeared halfway down her face by her tears.
It was Vivienne, Samuel's brother's wife. "What happened, dear? You look terrible!" she asked.
Theresa felt a violent blush creep over her cheeks. Vivienne, of course, looked perfectly put together, spectacularly beautiful in a green dress, her blonde hair streaming halfway down to her waist; she was just about the last person Theresa wanted to meet when she herself was this much of a wreck.
"I'm fine. It's just—I just need to—" Theresa started, then had no idea how to go on. She didn't want to talk about it, but she also didn't have a convenient lie prepared, and her mind was blank and empty.
"Oh dear," Vivienne said, not unkindly. She reached out. Theresa let her take her hand, embarrassed, but not wanting to outright reject the offered comfort.
The moment their skin touched, she wanted to snatch her hand back. Vivienne's skin was icy, not cold like human skin but like real ice, like sticking your hand into a pile of freshly fallen snow. Vivienne held her with iron strength, not letting her pull away. Ice crept up Theresa's arm, through her entire body, until even her thoughts felt frozen and sluggish. And then everything went dark around her. Someone caught her just before she hit the floor.
***
Samuel heard the tinkle of broken glass and turned around. He felt an itch between his shoulder blades when he turned his back on Severin, aware of his unprotected back. His heart was pounding inside his chest. If he couldn't make
Theresa hesitated. She didn't want to intrude. Neither of them had seen her yet. But then she remembered the way Samuel's shoulders had slumped when he'd told her about Severin and the way his relationship with his brother had soured. Maybe he'd appreciate some moral support. She came a little closer, until she could hear what they were talking about.
"…what I can't figure out," Severin was saying, his voice a low, dangerous hiss, "Did you think I wouldn't be able to tell—or did you really not know?"
"You're wrong," Samuel said sharply, cutting Severin off mid-sentence. "I don't even know where you get these ideas of yours. Theresa isn't my mate. I'm not in love with her. I'm paying her to show me a good time, that's all there is to it."
Theresa stopped dead in her tracks. Something wet and cold hit her wrist. She realized her hands were shaking badly enough that she'd spilled the glass of Champagne in her hand. Her entire body had gone numb. Her eyes stung.
She'd known, of course. She'd known this was only temporary, and that just because she'd fallen for Samuel hard and fast, that didn't mean he felt the same. She'd accepted that he wasn't in love with her. But hearing him talk about her like that, in that casual, dismissive tone, as if she didn't matter to him at all … She couldn't take it.
Any minute now, the brothers were going to turn around and see her standing there with tears in her eyes. Theresa flinched at the thought of having to explain herself, imagined the look of pity in Samuel's eyes when she told him how much she loved him, when he didn't feel the same…
No. That was the last thing she wanted.
Theresa sat the glasses down on a nearby table. One of them fell over and shattered, but she couldn't stop to clean it up. Tears were running freely down her cheeks by now. All she wanted was to get away before they saw her.
She walked as quickly as she could without outright running, keeping her head down, letting her hair fall in front of her face like a curtain, trying to hide her tears.
The hallway in front of the bathrooms was blessedly dark and quiet. Theresa took a deep breath.
"Theresa?" someone called behind her. A woman's voice.
Theresa reluctantly turned around. She didn't want anyone to see her like this. She could imagine what she must look like, a shaking, ugly mess, make-up smeared halfway down her face by her tears.
It was Vivienne, Samuel's brother's wife. "What happened, dear? You look terrible!" she asked.
Theresa felt a violent blush creep over her cheeks. Vivienne, of course, looked perfectly put together, spectacularly beautiful in a green dress, her blonde hair streaming halfway down to her waist; she was just about the last person Theresa wanted to meet when she herself was this much of a wreck.
"I'm fine. It's just—I just need to—" Theresa started, then had no idea how to go on. She didn't want to talk about it, but she also didn't have a convenient lie prepared, and her mind was blank and empty.
"Oh dear," Vivienne said, not unkindly. She reached out. Theresa let her take her hand, embarrassed, but not wanting to outright reject the offered comfort.
The moment their skin touched, she wanted to snatch her hand back. Vivienne's skin was icy, not cold like human skin but like real ice, like sticking your hand into a pile of freshly fallen snow. Vivienne held her with iron strength, not letting her pull away. Ice crept up Theresa's arm, through her entire body, until even her thoughts felt frozen and sluggish. And then everything went dark around her. Someone caught her just before she hit the floor.
***
Samuel heard the tinkle of broken glass and turned around. He felt an itch between his shoulder blades when he turned his back on Severin, aware of his unprotected back. His heart was pounding inside his chest. If he couldn't make
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