The rain starts to fall harder again, and the drops sound like little bullets against the glass. Andrew grabs Andrea’s wrist and stares deep into her eyes. Her face is expressionless, but he’s learned to read the subtleties in her expressions. Now there’s a slight crease above her eyebrow and her jaw is clenched—she’s worried.
He sighs. He knows she caught him cheating, and he knows she only stopped the game because she couldn’t bear to watch Lance get hurt. His heart twists painfully in his chest and he grips her delicate wrist tighter.
“Are you happy, Mrs. Clifford?” he asks. “The game is over and Lance is safe from me. That’s what you wanted all along, isn’t it? You took the cup so I would lose and then when I still won some rounds, you volunteered to take the whippings. You forced us
