Page 82

“Stop it, Belinda.”

I dress quickly.

One last look at Damian. Then I hightail it home.

Clarissa is already there.

Of course she is.

The front door closes behind me, and the little Sprite comes fluttering out of the dining room carrying a feather duster.

She stops. Her wings stop. Her mouth falls open.

I stop too. For approximately three seconds, we stare at each other.

“Belinda!”

“Shhh!”

Her pink eyebrows shoot toward her cotton-candy hair.

“You didn't!”

“He can probably hear you,” I hiss.

Her eyes widen. Then her entire face lights up.

“Oh. My. Goddess. You did!”

“I am thirty-eight years old, Clarissa. I am allowed to spend the night with a man without submitting a permission slip.”

“But not that man!”

I pause halfway toward the stairs.

“What does that mean?”

Clarissa's smile disappears. I narrow my eyes.

“Clarissa?”

“I—nothing.”

“You are the worst liar I've ever met.”

“I'm a Sprite. We're generally very honest.”

“Apparently not today.”

“I have rooms to clean.”

I point at her.

“Stay.”

Her wings droop.

“Fine.”