Peasants and Kings - Emma Slate Page 0,47

should stay.”

I shook my head adamantly. “No. You need to live your life, Tiff. You’ve already done so much for me.”

She paused, looking at me thoughtfully. “Did you ever think—well, this is where life would take us?”

“Not in a million years.”

“Promise me we’ll always be friends. Promise me that we’ll always remind each other of where we started and what we’ve overcome.”

“Why do you want to remember all of that?” I asked quietly. “I’m trying to forget it.”

There wasn’t anything more to say after that—what could she say? She was aware of my situation. She knew what had brought me to her doorstep and into the world of The Rex.

I brushed past her and headed to the guest room to gather my belongings.

“Sterling,” she said.

“Eden,” I corrected, looking at her over my shoulder. “My name is Eden.”

She stared at me for a long moment and then nodded.

I went into the guest room and began to pack up the few clothes I’d brought with me to get them out of Tiffany’s apartment.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and a moment later Tiffany came in, dressed and ready for a night out.

“You look great,” I said. Her hair was in a loose side braid and her black satin tank emphasized her toned arms.

“Thanks. Are you really sure I can’t convince you to come out? I’m worried you’ll sit here and stew all night.”

“I won’t stew. I’ll ponder—and besides, I want to get back to The Rex. Gotta rest up for that training program.”

“Has she told you what the training even entails?”

“Not yet.”

“They get you on an exercise regimen and a meal plan. They outfit you for your wardrobe. They teach you tea service and how to navigate events.”

“So, like charm and beauty school for courtesans?” I asked with an impish smile.

“Something like that. It’s not hard. You won’t work again until you finish the training program. They want to get you into a routine and check in on your well-being. Which is partly why they want you at The Rex in a suite.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“During training, you also talk to Annika three times a week.”

“Are you kidding me? I have to bare my soul to a shrink?”

She cocked her head to the side. “I imagine you could sit in silence three times a week, but they want to make sure your body and your mind are equipped to handle this very unusual lifestyle. They don’t need girls going off the rails or developing addictions.”

“When I met Annika, she made it seem like I had a choice in whether or not I spoke to her.”

“She was planting the idea in your head early so you felt comfortable, but no, you don’t have a choice.”

“I feel like I’ve been expertly outmaneuvered,” I muttered. “I hate the idea of mandatory check-ins with her.”

“Don’t worry about it. I still check in with her once a week,” Tiffany said.

Her phone buzzed in the back pocket of her jeans. She pulled it out and looked at the screen. “Julia is here with her driver. I’ll see you later. Dinner, before I fly to London?”

“Absolutely.”

In an uncommon show of physical affection, I hugged her. “Thanks. For…well, being you.”

She squeezed me back and then quickly left the apartment. When I heard the front door shut, I looked back at my suitcase, which was now zipped closed. I had no reason to linger.

I went to the bedside table and opened the drawer. The letter from my mother was folded, but I didn’t need to read the delicate scroll of her handwriting to know its contents. I had it perfectly memorized after reading it for a year straight.

The letter was dangerous. Not only did it give away every piece of truth about my parentage and ancestry, but it was a physical link to my mother.

From the moment I got the phone call that she’d passed and the date and time of the funeral, I felt like I was living someone else’s life. It was like I was watching myself from above with a weird sort of detachment.

I’d been running from a faceless enemy for a year. The Foscari, though a very real threat, hadn’t presented themselves to me. They hadn’t showed up on my doorstep. I hadn’t come face to face with the horrors of them.

I took the letter and went into the kitchen. I turned on a stove burner and set the paper on fire. As it burned, I dropped it into the sink. Only when

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