Book 7: He's a Natural

Ella

We don’t linger long at the falls. The sunset fades to a rich, velvety purple by the time I pull the car I borrowed into the massive garage behind the castle. Ryatt didn’t say a word the entire drive back. I glanced at him a few times, noticing the absent look in his eyes as he hung his arm out the window, his fingers splayed in the wind.

Now we’re seated at a long table made of glass. Platters of food cover the surface. It’s an informal setting in the informal dining room in Poppy’s massive castle.

“Here,” Poppy says, standing to lean over the table and place two huge steaks on Ryatt’s plate. “Eat up.”

Ryatt meets her eyes with a soft nod of thanks. She’s already laden his plate twice now, and he’s eaten every morsel of food she’s offered. Still, watching Poppy’s motherly attentiveness to his unspoken needs curls in my heart and threatens to shatter it. She doesn’t really know him, and what she does know about him can’t be good. Yet, sh