Chapter 10: The Cup

Valentin's uncle lived in a white colonial house on the hill, with roses along the porch and a dining room full of family.

He took my hand at the door, and I let him.

His palm was dry and warm.

It was the hand that had lit a warehouse fire with a five-year-old girl hidden inside.

I smiled at him.

"Nina, my dear. You look wonderful. Come, sit by me."

"I'd love to."

I sat at his right hand, at the long table, and he passed me the bread.

Under the cloth, Valentin's knee pressed against mine, hard, a question.

I pressed back. Fine.

I did not tell him why my fingers were icy.

The dinner was the same as the last, only louder: cousins, aunts, a priest, twenty men with thick hands.

The uncle's son sat three seats down, glaring at me over a fresh glass of wine.

I ate. I watched.

I had spent eight years learning to look at a room, and I knew what the room was doing.

The wine moved around the table in the hands of a young waiter.

The waiter had a nervous habit of touching his left sleeve.

When the plates were cleared, he went through the swinging door into the kitchen, and when he came back out he carried a tray of small coffee cups.

Doyle had stayed in the car outside. Valentin did not drink the uncle's wine, and he did not drink the uncle's water either.

But a man can't refuse a cup of coffee at his uncle's table, and everyone knew it.

The waiter set the first cup in front of the uncle.

Keep reading free with an account. Start Lethal Vows：Married to My Rival from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.