Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

"Yeah."

She sat down, flipped open the takeout box, and started eating.

One bowl. Then another. Then another...

Suddenly, Rupert reached out and grabbed her hand, locking eyes with her. "Stop eating."

Sylvia gave a small smile. "Okay."

She wiped her mouth and rested both hands on the table, sitting there like a robot waiting for its next command.

Rupert saw right through her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "What's the point of this? Even if you act like this for the rest of your life, it won't make me keep you."

As he spoke, he brushed his thumb across her chin, wiping away a crumb.

Even that small touch made Sylvia gag. She shot up, bolted to the bathroom, and threw up.

The retching was loud enough that Orson, standing by the front door, heard every bit of it.

He walked in, worry written all over his face as he looked at Rupert.

"Mr. Rupert, maybe-"

"It's fine. She'll get used to it," Rupert cut him off coldly.

Orson had nothing more to say.

Sylvia hid in the bathroom, rinsing her mouth and scrubbing her face until her cheeks were raw. Only then did she finally calm down.

Staring at herself in the mirror, she let the water drip down—she couldn't tell if it was water or tears anymore.noveldrama

She gripped the edge of the sink, forcing herself to breathe.

No. She couldn't go on like this.

She wouldn't let herself be trapped here forever.

After a moment, Sylvia wiped her face and stepped out of the bathroom.

She found Rupert standing out on the balcony, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette he didn't even bother to smoke, just letting the smoke drift away on the breeze.

Sylvia came outside and stood next to him, following his gaze to the corner of the backyard.

If Stella were here, she'd be waving her little trowel around by now.

Rupert glanced down at her, then pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

"Still feel sick?"

"I'm better now." Sylvia didn't fight it, just leaned quietly against him.

Rupert's arm paused around her, searching her face. "I'll have Chris come by this afternoon to check on you."

Sylvia nodded. "Okay. Are you staying?"

"You want me to stay?" Rupert exhaled a slow, smoky breath, his features blurring

in the haze.

"Up to you."

Sylvia turned to leave.

But his arm tightened around her waist, yanking her back.

"If I stay, what do you want to do?" he asked, his voice low against her cheek.

"I want to plant some veggies. Can you help me dig up a patch?" She pointed to a

spot in the garden.

66

That actually stumped Rupert.

Sure, he'd always taken care of

Pad, but digging up dirt?

something a rich

guy like him had ever done

Sylvia tilted her head. "Mr. Rupert, don't tell me you don't know how?"

Rupert stubbed out his cigarette, the chill in his voice fading. "Not calling me

Uncle Rupert anymore?"

"Uncle Rupert."

He raised an eyebrow. "You really

know how to push all the right

buttons." He let out a short lavel

have Orson bring some tools

“---

over."

"Great. Don't forget to buy some seeds. Maybe by next spring we'll have a little harvest."

"Next spring?" Rupert repeated, his voice low and smooth, like melted chocolate on a cold day.

It sounded good. Comforting, even.

Sylvia nodded. "Yeah."

Later that afternoon-

Chris arrived, only to hear voices drifting from the backyard.

"Do you

wing?ole you dug looks na politician's emptiel

promises." Content beloel

"Sylvia, come here. I promise I won't throw you in."

"I'm good, thanks. The internet says guys who get this defensive are usually compensating for something."

"Oh, really? Where exactly?"

Listening to their banter, Chris took a step back and glanced at Orson.

"Did I just walk into the wrong episode? Orson, help me out here-am I dreaming?"

Orson just clicked his tongue. “I thought I was seeing things too.”