SERENA
L
ike clockwork, the lock turns, and the door opens at a quarter to twelve. The maid enters the room with my lunch. Carrying a tray of food, she walks all the way up to the bed and hands it to me.
“Would you like me to stay while you eat?”
The tray almost slips out of my hand at the suggestion. “Ah, I’d love to, but …” Dante might kill
you.
“I’ll stay, then,” she chirps, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
“I don’t know if it’s safe. Dante doesn’t like anyone in here.” I wonder what she is thinking about my relationship with Dante. She obviously knows that he keeps me locked in here.
“He told me himself it was okay to come in and talk to you while you ate.”
“Oh …” That’s surprising. So surprising that I’m not sure if I should believe her. Maybe I should tell her to leave
