But no one noticed. So I quietly stepped away, my bleeding hand hidden under the edge of my apron, and went back to my room.
I sat on the edge of the bed, peeled off the bandage, and sighed as I pressed a clean towel to the reopened wound. The sting was sharp, but the silence stung more.
Then the door burst open.
Kier.
“Apologize to Camille,” he ordered.
I looked at him. “It wasn’t my fault. She insisted. It was an accident.”
He narrowed his eyes. “So what? You’re still responsible. Apologize.”
“I didn’t hurt her.”
“I don’t care. Just do it.”
Before I could respond, Camille entered the room too, still holding her bandaged finger.
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice soft now. “There’s no need for that. My sister is not at fault. It’s on me.”
I forced a nod, though my throat burned.
Camille glanced at Kier. “Anyway, we need to talk about the trip. Only three days away now.”
“Oh, right,” Kier said, his tone shifting instantly. “We’re heading to Paris. Business trip. I’ll need you to pack our things. I’m going, Camille’s going, and your dad too.”
Paris.
My heart skipped.
“Can I come?” I asked before I could stop myself.
They both looked at me.