Page 30 of Girl Anonymous

Maarja picked up her fork and speared a raspberry. “This is perfect, thank him for me, and thank you.”

“Don’t hesitate to ask. We feel privileged to serve the young lady who put her own life on the line to—” Fedelma choked again, and this time she whipped a white handkerchief out of her skirt pocket and wiped her eyes.

Which made Maarja tear up, which made Fedelma pat her shoulder and say bracingly, “None of that. Ever since her husband died, Raine has been busy and happy. This isn’t how I thought it would end, not now, but we all know for the Arundels, an early death is always a possibility.”

Savagely unwilling to admit the possibility, Maarja asked, “Why? Why is it a possibility? If Dante has really moved the family into legal enterprises, what could anyone achieve with murder?”

“Memories are long.”

“Ridiculous!” Maarja sprinkled flake salt on her oatmeal, added a sprinkling of dried cranberries, and mashed them into the warm cereal. “Mrs. Arundel wasn’t even really an Arundel. She simply married one and I’m not surprised to hear it was an unhappy union. Did she even have a choice?”

“No. We never… None of us…”

“But you said you were Benoit’s cousin. Your last name is Lambert. You weren’t forced to marry an Arundel.”

“My husband was part of the organization. As a reward, Be­noit gifted me to him.”

“That’s medieval.” A word Maarja had heard too often this morning. “Did you fight it?”

“The marriage? That’s not how it works. They look for pretty girls who love their families and whose fathers or mothers or brothers or sisters—or all of the above—are in trouble. Deals are struck. Sacrifices are made. No one escapes, and if they do, they escape alone.” Fedelma stood with her hands clasped at her waist, a solid woman of good sense whose exterior never hinted at her difficult hidden past. In a portentous voice, she said, “Maarja, you know of what I speak.”

Maarja’s father was dead. Her mother was dead. But she had found a family and a job, she wasn’t alone, and she resented Fedelma’s belief that she was. Yet how could Maarja tell this woman who had suffered through a marriage with a thug that she could have escaped that particular prison? Fedelma’s circumstances differed.Hermother hadn’t blown up Benoit Arundel to give her daughter a chance at life.

It was all a matter of perspective.

A thought occurred to Maarja. “Wait! You don’t thinkI’m somehow stuck in the same—”trapwas the wrong word “—situation as you were?”

“Of course not.”

Maarja waited for more.

“Not long after the wedding, my husband was killed on a mission.” Fedelma lifted the teapot. “Can I freshen your cup?”

The conversation made Maarja view the massive mounds and variety of foods with a different perspective. Maybe this breakfast wasn’t merely a thanks for trying to save Mrs. Arundel. Maybe this dress, expensive and flattering, was more in the line of enticement for the woman who Dante saw as his predestined mate.

A surge of horrified rebellion made her push back the chair and bound to her feet. And stagger a little when her hip twinged.

Fedelma caught her arm. “Are you all right?”

“I just…remembered I have an appointment today…at the dentist’s office.”

“What’s your dentist’s name? I’ll call and explain that you have to cancel. Do you want me to schedule a different day?”

Maarja stared at Fedelma. Was she acting like an assistant?Herassistant? “No. I’ll go…to the dentist.”

“Miss Daire, you can’t go to the dentist. Your skin looks sunburned from the heat of the blast and if you had to open your mouth wide, your lips and your cheeks would crack. You need a gentle facial and Dante has arranged one for you.” Fedelma pushed her back into the chair. “I know you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten since, at best, lunch yesterday. Finish your breakfast. I’ll take care of everything. Now, what’s the name of your dentist?”

Maarja sat and tried to think, but her stomach growled and her fingers trembled. She needed the over-the-counter pain reliever Fedelma had placed on her tray, and she remembered the doctor’s lecture to have something in her stomach when she took them. Picking up a cinnamon roll, she peeled off the outer layer, and before she popped it in her mouth, she said, “I was lying about the dentist. I wanted out of here.”

“Ah.”

One thing about Fedelma: she didn’t require a lot of explaining to. Her experiences meant she understood, or at least so Maarja supposed. While Fedelma moved about the suite, straightening and picking up, and for sure not leaving Maarja alone, Maarja ate until she felt she could take the pain relievers. Then she ate a little more—the chef, whoever he was, knew how to prepare a toothsome breakfast—and with a sigh put down her fork. Taking a breath, she announced, “I’m ready.”

“I’ll let Dante know.” Fedelma seemed so stuck in some kind of old-world serving mode Maarja was startled to see her pull a phone from her skirt pocket and message. She immediately got a beep back, and she chuckled. “He’s impatient.” She helped Maarja to her feet—the painkillers hadn’t kicked in yet—and led her through the door.

A man in a gray suit, white shirt, and red tie walked toward them, frowning intently.

Dante.

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