✔ Mrs Mandray

14. Lies

Isabella

Nesta was in a foul mood. Some would argue that she always but that was a naive view. Oliver's 'early birthday cloak' had arrived so Nesta insisted they come over for lunch. Even when she was upset and angry Nesta couldn't help but dote on her family.

Once Isabella would have fought against such care, letting her pride dictate her but now... now she was hungry and tired of hiding it.

Oliver had taken two bites of pastry, had a sugar rush and decided to play some kind of game that involved him running around the house and sliding on the marble floor. She wasn't sure where he got all the energy from but she was sure that she would suffer the angry strop when that sugar burns out.

"You won't tell me how you got those bruises." Isabella was surprised that her twin didn't just ask flat out, it was an impressive feat that Nesta restrained her rage to just aggressively tapping her spoon against the teacup. "Nesta I'm a woodcutter's wife and it's winter, I have been cleaning and hauling wood for the past week. My legs and arms are covered in more splinters and bruises than I can count."

A sharp breath of air is Nesta's only answer and Isabella curses her long sleeved dress for not being long enough to cover her wrist. Her cheeks burn at the reminder of last nights events. Shame curls in her gut. If she told Nesta about how her hands were pinned down or pinned above her bed she would have to confess the situation it was done in.

Isabella could handle Nesta's vicious and bitter remarks about the destitute life Tomas has apparently trapped her in but to have her sister sneering at her for the- the rough way she and Tomas have sex. Isabella swallows heavily, unable to keep the taunting echo of her mother's vicious remarks from her childhood from filling her head.

No she wouldn't be telling her sister how she got that bruise.

"You know I would get you away from him."

"Nesta-" She sighs, closing her eyes so she doesn't have to see the look on her sister's face. "We've talked about this before, his my husband, the father of-"

"Except he's not." She snaps, her voice no more than a harsh whisper that Isabella's eyes snapping open to wildly scan the sitting room for eavesdropping servants. "You have no reason to stay with him. He's not the father, I can provide you with a home and money so why don't you just leave him."

Because I love him. I've grown to love him in those quiet moments, those caring gestures. The ones where he plays with Oliver, when he carves him a new toy. Or when he would dance with her during summer festivals.

Because she owes him so much for caring for her, for her son. For providing a home, an income and putting food on the table. Because she supports Mrs Mandray, cares and dotes on her. Because Tomas needs her, he doesn't know how to run a house and his mother is too old to do so.

"I am content, Nesta." She says instead. Her twin would never believe tales of love, would never accept that Tomas needs her that she owes him. Nesta would view that as a feeble reason. "And I couldn't accept your care. I will not be a charity case or a leech on your funds."

"What about Oliver's father?"

"I'm not talking about him."

"Why not." She hisses, voice sharp even though I can see how she's desperately fighting the urge to be cruel to me. "You truly loved him, and that new ring hanging on Oliver's chest shows that he clearly loves you."

"He loves his son." and that was the truth. It had been a fling, an escape born of passion and friendship. A foolish puppy love that hadn't ended on bad terms but would not give either of them romantic pleasure. "You know it would not be safe to take Oliver to Prythian."