Another one of my assumptions proven wrong. I don’t know why I’d thought I had any privacy.
I look up at the ceiling, studying it carefully, but I can’t see where the cameras are.
“Mawy . . .” Beth prompts.
I retrieve the fork and throw it at her. I think I’m secretly hoping it spears her in the eye.
But Beth catches it and shakes her head at me, as though disappointed in my behavior. “I was hoping you wouldn’t act this way,” she says.
“Act what way? Like a victim of force?” I really, really want to hit her right now.
“Like a spoiled brat,” she clarifies, putting the fork in her pocket. “You think it’s so awful, being here on this beautiful island? You think you’re suffering by being in he’s bed?”
I stare at her like she’s a lunatic. Does she honestly expect me to be okay with this
