“Are you listening to me?”
Claire looked up, held his gaze while her mind searched for a cubby in which to stash the bits of memory Jules would rather she forget. She felt like a child caught playing with a toy whose detriment she could only guess at. “Forgive me. I was ... distracted.”
“Oh, my sweet, simple Claire.” Jules’ face softened, and he clasped her cheeks in his hands. “You of all people should know that my forgiveness doesn’t matter.” His stale breath lurked around them, all his violent niceties blurring and confusing her memory.
What had she forgotten? His preference for potatoes? To tidy up? That play is for children, and muddy boots do not become a woman associated with his reputation?
Claire’s quivering body and clenched jaw sought equilibrium against his grasp. As she rooted herself in the moment, Jules’ words came back into focus.
“Are you even listening to me?!”
One glimpse of his onyx ring, and she remembered.
“Yes. I’m sorry. I ... forget my place,” she said, regurgitating the script he’d taught her. It would keep her safe for the moment.