"It's nothing that hard, Olive." Kafka replied, brushing his lips close to her ear again. "Everyone here's already far more open-minded than you give them credit for. They've accepted what's happening. They're not about to clutch their pearls now."
"I—"
"And..." He went on, ignoring her protest. "You've seen it done before. You watched Abi, remember? Watched her closely. Thoroughly. You know exactly how she did it."
Olivia stiffened, the memory flashing unwanted through her mind, Abigaille's ease, her confidence, the obscene detail of it.
Kafi's voice lowered to an intimate murmur only she could hear. "So...just follow her example, Olive. You'll be perfect."
A shiver chased down her spine, her thighs squeezing together. She didn't answer, but the tremble in her lips betrayed her.
Kafka didn't push her for a reply. Instead, he straightened, looking over the heads of the circle.
