Page 155 of Where the Snakes Sleep

Henri continues, his tone conversational. “Vous saviez qu’il était seul. Étranger. Vulnérable. Vous vouliez quelque chose qu’il possédait, alors vous avez fait en sorte qu’il vous ouvre sa porte.” You knew he was alone. Foreign. Vulnerable. You wanted something he possessed, so you made sure he opened his door to you.

Each sentence feels like a hand pressing against a bruise.

I know these things.

Ryan has said them, and I have said them to myself, yet hearing Henri say them changes their shape, because Henri sounds pleased—proud.

“Ne me comparez pas à vous,” I snap. Do not compare me to you.

“Pourquoi pas ?” Why not? His eyes gleam. “Parce que vous avez fini par éprouver quelque chose pour lui ? Est-ce cela qui vous rassure ?” Because you eventually began to feel something for him? Is that what reassures you?

My heart thuds painfully.

Henri laughs softly. “Ah.”

I hate that sound.

“Vous l’aimez.” You love him.

I say nothing.

There is nothing I can say that will not give him more.

Henri turns his head toward the men stationed around us. “Où est l’Américain ?” Where is the American?

My stomach rolls. No.

One of the men glances toward the hallway. “Nous n’avons pas encore fouillé toute la maison.” We haven’t searched the entire house yet.

Henri’s expression hardens. “Alors faites-le.” Then do it.

“No,” I gasp as one of the men begins moving. “Non,” I say more sharply. “Laissez-le en dehors de ça.” Leave him out of this.

Henri watches me with renewed interest. “Pourquoi ?” Why?

“Parce qu’il n’a rien à voir avec vous.” Because he has nothing to do with you.

Henri’s expression becomes almost tender. “Il est le petit-fils d’Alberte.” He is Alberte’s grandson.

“That means nothing,” I say.

“Pour vous, peut-être.” To you, perhaps. His gaze settles over my face with terrible patience. “Vous savez ce que je trouve fascinant ? Vous avez passé votre vie à me détester pour ce que j’étais avec Alberte, et pourtant, dès qu’un homme intéressant est apparu à votre porte, vous avez fait exactement la même chose.” Do you know what I find fascinating? You spent your life hating me for what I was with Alberte, and yet the moment an interesting man appeared at your door, you did exactly the same thing.

“I did not.”

Henri’s eyebrows rise. “Vous l’avez manipulé.” You manipulated him.

“Oui.” The admission surprises him slightly. I continue before he can speak. “Et j’avais tort.” And I was wrong.

Henri sighs. “Quelle consolation.” How comforting.

“I know what I did.”

“Et moi aussi.” As do I.

“No.” My voice hardens. “That is the difference.”

Henri’s gaze narrows. “Quelle différence ?” What difference?