Chapter 71: Spaghettabout it

Chapter 71: Spaghettabout it

[Brooke’s POV]

The setting sun paints the sky in shades of crimson and gold as I cruise down the winding road toward the Knight mansion. My stomach’s doing backflips of dread for the Wednesday night dinner ahead. The looming silhouette of the spires comes into view, and I can’t help but shudder.

“Get it together, Brookes,” I mutter to myself, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “It’s just dinner with the family. And the Knights. No big deal.”

Yeah, right. As if anything involving the Knights is ever “no big deal.”

I glance at my phone sitting in the cup holder, an idea forming. Before I can talk myself out of it, I snatch it up and dial a familiar number. The ring echoes in my ear once, twice, three times before...

“Hello? Brookie?” Lyra’s voice bursts through the speaker, brimming with barely contained excitement.

“Hello, Lyra.”

“Oh my goodness, Brookie, I can hardly believe it’s been a week already!” Lyra gushes, her voice a whirlwind of enthusiasm that makes my skin crawl. “Time just flies when you’re growing a little miracle, doesn’t it?”

I force out a laugh, trying to ignore the bile rising in my throat. “Yeah, it sure does,” I say, injecting false cheer into my voice. “Just doing our check-in. How’s the second trimester going?”

“Oh, it’s simply marvelous!” Lyra exclaims, and I can practically see her bouncing with joy. “I’ve been reading all these pregnancy books, and did you know that the baby can hear sounds now? I’ve been playing classical music for them every day. Mozart, Beethoven, Bach. Only the best for your little one!”

I sigh, utterly uncaring about Lyra’s maternal efforts at playing music. “That’s... great,” I mutter.

“Isn’t it?” Lyra continues, oblivious to my lack of enthusiasm. “I read that it helps with brain development. Oh, and I’ve been talking to the baby too! Telling them all about their daddy, about how brave and strong and handsome he is.”

My grip on the steering wheel tightens, my knuckles turning white. ‘Brave and strong? Is that how she remembers trapping and assaulting him?’

“I’ve even started singing lullabies,” Lyra prattles on. “I’m not very good, but the baby doesn’t seem to mind. Sometimes I imagine Jason singing with me, his voice so soft and gentle...”

I fight back the urge to vomit, my stomach churning at Lyra’s sickeningly sweet fantasies.

“That’s... that’s wonderful, Lyra,” I manage to choke out, my voice strained. “I’m sure the baby loves it.”

“Oh, I hope so!” Lyra gushes, her voice dreamy and distant. “You know, Brookie, sometimes when I’m singing, I close my eyes, and I can almost feel Jason’s arms around me. It’s like he’s right here, swaying with me, his hands on my belly...”

I grit my teeth, fighting back a wave of nausea. The gravel crunches under my tires as I pull up to the Knight mansion’s imposing gates.

“That sounds... nice,” I lie.

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line, broken only by Lyra’s soft breathing. When she speaks again, her voice is small, almost childlike in its hesitancy.

“Brook?” she asks, her tone quavering. “Can I... can I ask you something?”

I suppress a sigh, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. I’m already cutting it close for dinner. “Sure, Lyra. What is it?”

“Well, I was just wondering...” she begins, her words coming out in a rush. “After Jason falls in love with me again, do you think... do you think he’d be willing to give me another baby? One we could raise together this time?”

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. Alarm bells start blaring in my head, drowning out everything else. I struggle to keep my voice steady as I respond.

“Another baby?” I repeat, buying time as my mind races. “Lyra, don’t you think it’s a bit soon to be thinking about that? Let’s focus on this baby first, okay?”

“Oh, of course!” Lyra agrees quickly, but I can hear the longing in her voice. “It’s just... I love being pregnant so much. Feeling this little life growing inside me, knowing it’s a part of Jason and me... I want to experience that with him by my side. To have him rub my feet when they’re swollen, to feel his hands on my belly as the baby kicks...”

Her voice trails off, lost in the fantasy. I swallow hard, trying to push down the rising panic. I need to get this baby away from her, and now she’s talking about having another one? This is spiraling out of control faster than I thought possible. She might try to be positioning herself to keep it.

“Lyra,” I say, forcing my voice to remain calm and reassuring. “Of course, Jason would want that. He’d be thrilled to raise a family with you.”

“Really?” Lyra’s voice soars with joy, and I can practically hear her beaming through the phone. “Oh, Brooke, you have no idea how happy that makes me! I’ve been having these wonderful daydreams, you know. I imagine Jason and me in a cozy little house with a white picket fence and a big backyard. We’d have a swing set for the children and maybe even a treehouse!”

She giggles, the sound light and airy, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. “And in the evenings, we’d all sit around the dinner table, laughing and sharing stories about our day. Jason would make his famous spaghetti. And I’d bake a fresh apple pie for dessert. Can’t you just picture it, Brooke? It would be absolutely perfect!”

‘Jason cooked her spaghetti? Wait no that’s not possible I watched the video.’

I grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white as I force myself to play along. “That sounds lovely, Lyra,” I lie through gritted teeth.

Tessa leans in close and whispers, “Easy there, tiger. Don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you riled up.”

I nod stiffly, forcing my grip to relax. But it’s hard to stay calm when Erica’s gaze keeps flicking back to me, her lips curled in a triumphant smirk. Each time she feeds Jason another bite, her eyes lock with mine as if to say, ‘See? He chose me. He wants this. He wants me.’

“More wine, Brooke?” Vivian’s voice cuts through the tension, sickeningly sweet and utterly oblivious to the silent war being waged across her dining table.

I turn to Vivian, grateful for the distraction. “Yes, please,” I say, my voice a bit strained. Amelia, the Knight family’s impeccably dressed maid, glides over with the grace of a ballet dancer. Her crisp uniform rustles softly as she bends to pour the wine, the deep burgundy liquid cascading into my glass like a miniature waterfall.

Just as I’m about to take a sip, Mom’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. “So, what’s the deal with you two?” she asks bluntly, gesturing between Tessa and me with her fork. A piece of asparagus dangles precariously from the prongs. “Are you two lesbians?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment, as heavy and suffocating as the perfume Vivian’s wearing. I nearly choked on my wine, and the expensive vintage suddenly tasted like vinegar in my mouth.

Tessa just laughs. It’s a rich, full-bodied sound that seems to dispel some of the tension in the room. “No, no,” she says, her grey eyes twinkling with amusement. “We both only like men.”

I nod vigorously, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “Neither one of us is gay,” I add, my cheeks burning. I can feel Erica’s eyes on us, practically boring holes into my skull.

Weirdly Jason seems to be eyeing Tessa the same way.

‘Why are they so surprised?’

Mom studies us for a moment, her eyes narrowing as if she’s trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the gentle clink of silverware against China. Finally, she nods, a wistful expression crossing her face.

“I thought I wasn’t either,” she sighs, her gaze drifting back to Vivian. The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Vivian reaches out, her manicured hand covering Mom’s. The gesture is intimate, possessive. “Relax, dear,” she coos, her voice as smooth and rich as melted chocolate. “Don’t let your toxic femininity show.”

The phrase’ toxic femininity’ rolls off Vivian’s tongue with practiced ease, as if it’s a term she uses often. I feel my eyebrows shoot up, a retort forming on my lips, but before I can speak, Tessa interjects.

She sets down her fork with a soft clink, dabbing at her mouth with a white napkin. Her grey eyes sparkle with mischief as she announces with the grace of a wrecking ball, “I have to take a shit.”

The blunt declaration cuts through the tension like a hot knife through butter. Erica bursts into laughter, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. It’s a genuine laugh, not the polite titter she usually affects in company.

“You know where it is,” Erica manages between giggles, waving her hand towards the hallway.

Tessa nods, pushing back her chair with a scrape that seems to echo in the suddenly quiet room. She stands, towering over the table in her chunky boots and flowing black dress. “Yup,” she says, flashing a grin that’s all teeth and confidence.

As Tessa saunters out of the dining room, her boots clicking against the polished hardwood floor, I feel a wave of panic wash over me. She’s leaving me alone with these nightmare people. The thought makes my palms sweat, and I reach for my wine glass, desperate for something to do with my hands.

*****

[Tessa’s POV]

I slip into Erica’s bedroom, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The plush carpet muffles my footsteps as I move through the dimly lit space, my eyes darting around for the perfect hiding spot.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mutter under my breath, fishing the tiny camera and microphone from my pocket. The devices are sleek and black, barely larger than a button. “Can’t believe I forgot to do this the other night. Thank god Brooke invited me tonight.”

“There.” A small space where two pieces of wood join. Perfect. With nimble fingers, I wedge the camera into the gap, angling it just so. The bed is in full view, along with most of the room. A shiver runs down my spine as I imagine what I might see through this lens.

“Now for the mic,” I whisper, scanning the room. My gaze lands on the ornate vanity in the corner. Bingo.

I tiptoe over, my reflection ghostly pale in the mirror. The nearly imperceptiable microphone finds a home behind a gilded picture frame, a snapshot of Erica and Jason, her arm possessively wrapped around his waist. I snort softly. ‘If only she knew what was coming.’

With both devices in place, I take a step back, admiring my handiwork. To the untrained eye, nothing looks amiss. But I know better. Every whispered word, every muffled moan, every secret shared in this room will now be mine to hear.

A grin spreads across my face, wide and wicked. “Oh, this is going to be good,” I chuckle, already imagining the juicy tidbits I’ll overhear. The power dynamics, the intimate moments. It’s all going to be at my fingertips.

As I turn to leave, a floorboard creaks under my foot. I freeze, heart in my throat, straining my ears for any sound of approach. But the house remains silent, the distant murmur of dinner conversation barely audible.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Close one,” I mutter, shaking my head at my own carelessness. “Gotta be more careful.”

With one last glance around the room to ensure everything is as I found it, I slip out, closing the door behind me with a soft click. The hallway is mercifully empty, the sounds of clinking cutlery and muffled conversation drifting up from below.

“Too easy.”