“And what does Brendan think of her?” she asked.
I smiled. “He keeps his opinions to himself.” I hesitated, remembering his concerns. “Does Brianna have any visitors, anyone bringing her messages?”
She tilted her head up to look at me. “That’s what he thinks? That she’s got a spy on the inside?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure what he thinks, but apparently it involves your sister knowing things.”
Her head fell back to its earlier position as she stared across the room. “That’s just Brianna. She always knows things.”
We were quiet for a while, both of us lost in thought, and Emily’s gaze fell upon my forearm where it rested on my abdomen. She reached tentatively out to touch the place my scars had been, the once-jagged knife wounds that were now smooth skin. Her index finger rose slightly as her middle finger traced delicately over the skin. Her touch was so light, so perfect as it trailed over me, it became unbearable not to touch her in return. And touching her was so wrong.
I swallowed against a dry throat, shifting slightly beneath her, and brought up the one topic that would keep me from acting. “Is Brianna well?”
Emily’s hand froze on my arm, her fingers poised birdlike above my skin, and I wondered what I’d said wrong.
“She looked a little pale earlier,” I explained. “If she isn’t feeling well, we can help.”
I felt Emily’s back ease as she released a breath. “Oh, no, she’ll be all right. It’s just, sometimes she gets like that.” She seemed to realize this wasn’t answer enough, and added, “When she’s tired.”
The topic effectively ended our discussion, and we lay silent, Emily’s hand still as it lay over my chest. And though neither of us needed to, we slept.