Her Name Is Knight(Nena Knight #1)(68)

Georgia nodded. “Deal,” she said.

“Okay, enough of that,” Nena said, feeling warm inside and anxious to get Oliver, who was chatting it up with Cort, out of here. “You two should be off now. I’m also about to head out. Have to sort some things out.”

Elin raised her eyebrows as the men said their goodbyes. “Stay the course, little sister.”

“I appreciate your concern, Elin.” Nena tried to be as cool as she could manage.

She watched Elin and Oliver return to the car, and then Elin sped off far too fast for the neighborhood. She begged off an offer of dinner from Cort and asked for a rain check. She got in her Audi, waved at the Baxters, and drove away wondering what the hell had just happened.

Later that night, when she was back home alone eating takeaway lemon-pepper wings and blue cheese, which Keigel had graciously brought her, and watching Pet Sematary, her phone chimed.

CORT: Ty 4 what U did 4 Georgia. She’s going thru her mom’s stuff looking for a keepsake.

NENA (after wiping her fingers): Good.

CORT: UR something else, NK.

If only he knew. Heat rushed Nena’s cheeks. She didn’t know how to respond to that. All she could do was reply with: TY. Not so bad yourself, CB.

He ended with good night, but as Nena continued to watch the movie, she wondered why the husband buried his wife in a cursed cemetery knowing what it would do to her. Maybe the message was that it was better to have those you loved in any capacity—even if they came back murderously evil—than to not have them at all.

She shifted in her seat. If she were honest with him, could Cort decide to be with her, in any capacity? Like that husband? Nena couldn’t answer that, but how would she ever know what they could be, if she didn’t at least try?





50


BEFORE


Two weeks after I take Elin into my confidence, the mornings are brighter, and I feel as if some of my burden has been lifted.

Elin and I are different in every conceivable way. We are opposite bookends. She is stylish and highly sociable, assured and unabashedly unafraid. She speaks her mind and can be as tactful as a royal or as brash as a sailor.

I refrain from commenting. I question every decision I make. I prefer clothes that cover my developing body. I wear what allows me to blend into my surroundings so I may go unnoticed.

Mr. Noble, Ms. Delphine, and Elin are already at the breakfast table when I come down to eat. Ishmael excuses himself to gather ingredients for lunch from the pantry. Margot sets a steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of me, velvety and topped with whipped cream. She knows how partial I am to sweets. She hovers over me a second too long, and when my eye catches hers, I know she knows everything and that Elin has told them all.

Despite all my caution, I have grown to love this family and become comfortable in these new settings. But now they know of my disloyalty, of how I betrayed my first family by surviving. And now, instead of being dead with them, I am living lavishly in a lifestyle fit for royalty.

Elin offers an apologetic smile. I am not upset with her for breaking my confidence. To be honest, I feel nothing but relief that the job was done for me.

“Darling,” Ms. Delphine says solemnly, “will you sit?”

“Yes, Ms. Delphine.”

She hates when I refer to her like that, but what other options have I?

“Nena.” Mr. Noble folds his newspaper, then lays it on the table beside his partially eaten scones and scrambled eggs. “We won’t dally around. Elin told us what you told her.”

I am nodding and swallowing, forcing my eyes to remain on the melting white cream. I try to save them the trouble.

“Yes, sir.” I swallow down the painful blockage in my throat. I rocket to my feet, prepared to leave immediately. My story, who I am, is more than these people have bargained for.

A long stretch of silence passes, and I cannot tell what any of them are thinking. I finally chance a look at Ms. Delphine and find not the disgust or pity I expected but sadness. She has tears in her eyes, and her lips are trembling. Mr. Noble appears just as stricken.

Mr. Noble begins, “Nena—”

“Darling, we would never ask you to leave,” Ms. Delphine cuts in. “Never.”

Mr. Noble silences his wife with a steady hand. “We had no idea what you have endured. We cannot fathom what has been done to you and your village, your father and brothers.” His voice cracks.

In wonder, I watch him overcome with unexpected emotion; his eyes are so unbelievably sad I have a fleeting urge to comfort him.

“I have already made calls to locate Paul and his men. We’ll find them and deal with them accordingly.”

Why? The question does not transmit from my mind to my lips. I clear my throat and repeat it aloud.

Mr. Noble looks baffled. “Why what, Nena?”

Ms. Delphine holds Elin’s hand. Elin looks at me, wide eyed and worried.

“Why did you take me in? Why are you doing this?” This has been on my mind for months. I drill an imaginary hole into the tabletop, awaiting their response.

“Nena, I owe you my wife’s life. You risked your life for hers. There are people I pay to do that, but you did it without a second thought, without an expectation of payment. You did it with no thought to your own safety.”

His voice gains strength. “The moment Delphine brought you into this house, I knew you were meant to be a part of our family, another daughter for me. I know you are loyal, and you are brave.”