Page 75 of The Tower

“Right,” I say. Because I have no idea what else to say. Is she just a friend? Or is she a girlfriend kind of friend?

And why do I even care? It’s not like I have the right to ask or even to wonder. I mean, yes, Grimm and I have sex—but that’s because of our arrangement. Not a relationship.

Except I do care. And I hate that I do.

I tell myself to chill even as I search for answers in the set of his jaw or the way he’s pouring coffee. But there are no clues to be found.

I swallow a sigh, then look toward Grimm with what I hope translates as calm indifference. “I assume she’s out of town?”

“Overseas. She’s been living in London for the last few months.”

“Oh,” I say, mentally checking the Just Friends box. “How exciting for her.”

His brow creases. “Are you okay?”

It’s only when he asks that I realize I’m wincing. Not because I’m spinning out about Maya, but because my head is pounding.

“Thanks for pointing that out,” I say, after telling him about the state of my head. “It’s been hurting on and off since I ditched the pills. On the upside, I haven’t noticed my hands shaking in the last few hours, and light doesn’t bother me as much anymore.”

Considering what Dr. Chen described, I’ve gotten off lucky. And because I learned at a young age how to shut down my outside and live on my inside, I’m better than most at ignoring—or enduring—pain.

That doesn’t mean I like it.

He opens a cabinet and comes back with a bottle of ibuprofen, and I gratefully slam back three of the things.

“We’ll ask Dr. Chen if she can give you something to take the edge off. Not a narcotic,” he says quickly, warding off the protest I was about to toss at him. “Just something stronger than what I have on hand.”

I shrug. I don’t want drugs if I can avoid them. I’ve had more than my share in my life. “When will we hear from her?” I ask. “The labs were expediting my blood work, right?”

“I wasn’t going to mention it until we were certain, but she’s hoping she’ll have results today. I’m just waiting on her text.”

“Really?” Considering I’m about to learn what horrible compounds my father was shoving into me, the news makes me remarkably chipper.

“Is it horrible that I almost hope he pumped the worst of the worst into me? That he’s got some secret lab already set up somewhere, and he’s working on some horror movie-type drug to steal memories?”

I smile at the thought, then pick up another cookie before adding, “Then, when Dr. Chen finds it, I’ll be the magic bullet that takes my father out, along with his whole perverse enterprise.”

He nods, then draws in a long breath before releasing it.

“What? You disapprove of my glee? You’re not feeling sorry for him, are you?”

“God no,” he says with such fervor, I know I misinterpreted the moment. “I just—never mind.”

“No. What?”

For a moment, I think he’s not going to answer. Then he looks straight into my eyes. “It hurts you. That he’s done this. That you’re not a daughter to him, just something to be leveraged.”

For a moment, I just hold my coffee mug between my hands. Then I blink, and tears trail down my cheeks.

“And to you?” I whisper. “Isn’t it the same? Aren’t I just a means to an end? A weapon to leverage against my father?”

His eyes lock on mine. “Is that what you want to be?” His voice is soft, but I can hear the challenge. “Just a weapon? Nothing more?”

My breath catches, my body responding to his proximity against my will. “What I want doesn’t matter. It never has.”

Something flashes in his eyes—regret? Or merely calculation?

“If that’s really what you think, Princess, then maybe it’s time for you to make it matter.”