In Over Her Head by Elsie Russell - Parnasse.com

eyes shut.
"Now mama wants to keep her here. I think she has a plan."
"Why did you lock the door?"
"To keep her out."
"So this seraglio thing is new to you, huh?"
He shoved his hands into his narrow pockets.
"Where does she stay here, usually?"
"Here."
"You really don't know anything about women, do you? In a
situation like this, Don Juan, you lie!"
"To whom?"
"To me, to her. What's the difference? Oh, it's okay, it's kinda
cute. We'll figure it out." Penny rubbed her temples, took a sip of water.
"This water sucks!"
"Faucet water! Only dogs drink this, I am so sorry! I will bring
an Evian, subito!"
"Not now."
"Yes!" he spun around as if to go his room through the library,
but Penny stopped him, with her arm on his.
"I'm fine, why don't you take a break? You're strung out."
Without ceremony, he collapsed into the blood spattered duvet.
Penny watched him from the chair. How many times had Ula had sex
with him on that bed? Even second base? That's all it had been, after
all. She turned around to the painting. That, at least, had not been here.
He had put it there for her. Ever serene and pure. Nada te turbe. Her
ticket to sanity.
He slept, peaceful as a corpse. The blue veins of his hand
meandered between skin and tendons. Each finger nail was clipped
with identical white slivers. Felt them stroking her face, slipping so
politely under her shirt and over her breast. Those same hands had
cradled Ula's shiny skull and held her, moments before the attack. They
had also turned the curly key to keep her out, the very person they had
come here to find.
Back to work.
The warm whisper of his lips brushing past the back of her
neck woke her. Then as she melt in her chair, he lifted the headphones
from her head, "Dinner is served. I think it will be dramatic."
Alone in the burgundy salon, Ula was engulfed in a velvet
armchair with only her black taffeta turban peeking above the rococo
frame. Her spidery white hand held up to the light a large black and
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