Layla bustles into my room and when she sees me she laughs. “Trouble sleeping again? You look terrible. Don’t worry; you’ll adjust to the bed soon enough.”

I blink at her. Who is this friendly creature who took over Layla’s body?

“You can put the clothes anywhere you like, Pippa,” Layla says with an implied “and then you can leave” after it.

Pippa lays the fresh outfit over the trunk and looks at me like I’m a puzzle that needs solving. She barely takes notice of Layla. “Breakfast is laid out in your sitting room. The word is that they’re cleaning the dining hall. But if you ask me—”

“Lovely. Thank you,” Layla says before she can continue.

Disappointment shows on Pippa’s face when Layla doesn’t ask any follow-up questions. Normally I would give her a big “Thank you” and tell her how much I appreciate everything, but I have no enthusiasm to offer this morning. All I can think about is Stefano’s cold neck below my fingers and his blood-covered chest. Pippa does a quick curtsy and leaves.

The moment our suite door closes, the friendly expression drops from Layla’s face. “You might as well walk around with a guilty sign on your back if you’re going to act this emotional. Did you imagine that they weren’t going to question our maids about our behavior?” Disgust flashes in her eyes and she walks out of my bedroom.

I throw back my covers and follow her to the table near the window in the common room, which is laid out with cloth napkins and fragile-looking china. “I wasn’t expecting—”

“I don’t care what you were expecting,” she says, and sits down, placing a napkin on her lap. “There is already a bull’s-eye on both our backs.”

I sit down, too, trying to reconcile the horrifying reality that I found a dead body last night with Layla’s expectation that I act like nothing happened. “If we’re supposed to be acting normal, then why did you say I look terrible in front of Pippa?”

Layla looks up from her cheesy eggs and frowns. “Because by calling it out, I instantly normalized it. I made her read your demeanor as nothing more than a bad night’s sleep on a lumpy mattress. And by smiling, I sent the impression that I approve of you. Pippa knows that I’m discerning, that I wouldn’t accept you if you weren’t trustworthy.” She pauses and levels a look at me. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you? This is first-year deception.” Her upset and anger from last night have been replaced with her usual cool demeanor.

I poke at the potatoes on my plate, trying to muster an appetite. I have no idea how to process the events of the past few days. Saying I’m freaked out doesn’t even begin to cover it.