Vivienne was still in utter silence when he said that. Her fork hovered in midair, trembling slightly in her hand. She didn't even blink, though her heart was hammering like a drummer at a funeral march.
She thought, whatever he is planning, it cannot be good. Nothing that comes from his lips is ever good. Every time he smiles, someone's soul ends up in hell — usually mine. He is smiling like a devil in church. Maybe he is planning to fuck me again on top of dinner. I cannot do that again. My spine still aches, my thighs feel like they have been beaten by a blacksmith's hammer, and the table itself is probably still sticky with our sins. I can't even look at the wood without remembering what he did to me on it.
