The walls of the estate felt like they were closing in.
I paced the length of the marble foyer, my damp hair sticking to the back of my neck, the weight of the silk robe Geneviève had practically forced me into feeling like heavy metal.
Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the cold pressure of the water filling my nose and throat. Every time a floorboard creaked, I saw Alexiou's manic, curly-haired silhouette in the shadows.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
"Where is my phone?" I hissed, my voice cracking. "I need to call Penelope. I need to know if Beatrice is okay. Bloody hell, Geneviève, give me a phone!"
Geneviève was leaning against the grand staircase, her purple hair vibrant against the white wood. She hadn't moved for twenty minutes.
"You should be asleep, Bella," she said, her French accent smooth and maddeningly calm. "Stress is bad for the skin. And the lungs."
