Chapter 18: Breakfast, Part 1

NINE

I stir from sleep with a yawn. Arching my back, I reach my arms above my head, pull my knees up, and curve my spine. I wring the sleep from my tired muscles as the blanket slips, exposing me to the cool morning air. It kisses my bare skin, reminding me that I'm naked.

"Sleep well?"

The familiar female voice douses me like a bucket of ice water. My eyes shoot open, and I grip the seam of the blanket and yank it to my chin. I push myself onto my elbows and peer down the length of the bed. Standing at the foot of the bed, Portia stares down at me, her tight curls pulled into a stunning fluffy ball on the top of her head. 

I let out a rush of air. "Portia?"

"Your services are required in the kitchen this morning." She swallows hard and averts her gaze. "One of the kitchen hands was killed last night, and we need someone on drinks until Vincent is finished with Thirteen."

It takes me a couple of seconds to unpack her sentence. An Unfortunate was killed. Vince has Thirteen.