Page 55 of No Greater Oblivion

My jaw drops and a shocked laugh leaves me. “What?”

“I already said I’m coming home. We don’t have to get into our feelings about it.”

I grin at her. “Did you miss me?”

She heaves a heavy sigh. “Your ends look like shit. When was the last time you got a trim?”

I laugh openly this time and pull her into a bear hug, squeezing tight. She groans in protest, writhing against me for dear life.

“Let go! This is child abuse!”

I kiss her cheek and then the top of her head. She practically wails in protest.

“I am going to kill myself.”

“I love you too, you little brat.”

I finally let go, and she scrambles into a sitting position, adjusting her robe and the fuzzy headband keeping her hair out of her face. She straightens her back and picks up the nail file to resume her handiwork, but not before she gives me a very fast, very fleeting, peck on the cheek.

“I’m not saying it back,” she grumbles quickly and files down on my pinky finger with renewed vigor.

Lettie and I are far enough apart in age for her to be the baby sister I’ve always wanted, despite enjoying an unprecedented amount of freedom and independence for being nineteen years old. Most of it due to the fact she was raised by two older brothers who were kids themselves when they became responsible for her. I know Lettie spent a few years in Mexico with their aunt where she finished what would be her high school years at a private, international boarding school but other than that, Alejandro played an active role in her upbringing. I wonder if she ever craves more structure, more direction in her life. Maybe she gravitates toward me because unlike her brothers, I don’t typically tolerate her bullshit.

Unless it’s about my hair. I hate how she’s always right—I really do need a trim.

At breakfast the next morning, I have a plan.

By the time I head downstairs, it’s well after eight which means Doña Ana, Dimitrio, and the rest of the security team have already vacated the kitchen and started their day. Diego is most likely with them as he isn’t sitting with Alejandro at the breakfast table when I arrive, and Lettie is probably just waking up. I swear she’s half-feline—she needs a minimum of ten hours of sleep. Twelve if she’s to be in a good mood the next day.

Alejandro glances up from his newspaper and offers me a smile. It isn’t the coy, slightly seductive grin he gives when he’s in a good mood. He smiles like the effort pains him and an invisible weight tugs at the corners of his mouth until he’s frowning again, almost unconsciously. He’s wearing his reading glasses which means he must’ve woken up with a migraine because he avoids using them if he can. Karina does the same thing.

“How was last night?”

I waltz over as elegantly as I can given the monstrosity on my right foot. When I’m within reach, he moves as if to get up from his seat but I descend onto his lap, wrapping both arms around his neck as I lean in for a kiss.

He lets out a sound of surprise and I tangle my fingers in his hair, moaning into his mouth as I deepen the kiss. His hands fall to my waist and he repositions me so I’m more comfortably situated on his lap. Before he can slide his hands under the hem of my nightgown, I pull away and give him a saccharine smile.

“It was fun.”

His eyes narrow suspiciously. “You want something, don’t you?”

“Correct.”

“Yes. Now get on the table.”

He stands and in one swift movement, deposits me on the edge of the table. I spread my legs and he moves against me, aligning our hips so I can feel his hardening erection push against my aching core. I’ve craved this kind of closeness between us for weeks, wished for the return of the intimacy we once shared. When Alejandro pulls away, he does so completely; mentally, emotionally, and physically. The worst part is I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it nor do I think it’s intentional. I want to beat down on the walls he’s using to protect himself until he lets me in. If it takes completely bulldozing his defenses, I don’t care. I’m determined to get through to him.

I press a finger against his mouth before he can kiss me. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“Dahlia.” His voice is strained with desire, and the blood in my veins boils with need.

“We never finished our conversation yesterday.”

He looks at me and his eyes shift between brown and green.

“I wasn’t asking for your permission to attend class next week. I was telling you that I am.” I brush my mouth against his and tease him with my proximity. He tries to kiss me but I pull away. “However, I’m willing to compromise. You can send as many men to watch over me as you’d like. I’ll even let Pedro stand outside the classroom door. Given he behaves himself.”

“That’s not⁠—”