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But ten minutes later when the meeting is dismissed and we’re supposed to go about our duties, my triumphant smile courtesy of my little revenge and extra work melts off my face.
Because one of the duties that I so enthusiastically took over is to clean the room of my former bully.
The prince of The Pleiades lives in tower two.
I’ve been to his room before, of course. My first time in there, I went a little crazy. I snooped inside his closet and all his drawers. Not that I found anything interesting. He’d been gone for a couple of years by then and his room was empty besides the furniture. Except for dust bunnies, there wasn’t anything interesting in there.
I wonder what I’ll find now that he’s back. Not that I care but still.
It’s nearly lunchtime; I’m done cleaning the other rooms in the tower. Except his. I’ve been avoiding it so far but I can’t. Not anymore. I have to do it.
I push the cart with all my cleaning supplies and laundry bag, along with fresh towels and sheets, and go to his door. His room is located at the end of a gleaming corridor made of Italian marble and adorned with paintings made by expensive, foreign hands. There’s a tall window – which is a pain in the ass to clean – tucked away in the corner, overlooking a courtyard with a water fountain.
I press my ear to the door but don’t hear any sounds.
Actually, I’m kind of hoping that he isn’t here. Maybe after last night’s party, he met up with his minions and got trashed, and is now sleeping off his high somewhere. He’s been known to do that. Every Monday he used to either cut school or come to his classes after lunch, all hungover and sleepy.
Whatever the case, I’m not going to know unless I knock.
Grimacing, I raise my fist and do it.
Nothing.
Puffing out a breath, I knock again. No response.
Oh my God. Could it be? Could I be so lucky that he isn’t in there?
I can’t control the grin that overcomes my face. Fist-pumping the air, I get out my key and slide it into the lock. The lock gives easily and I push the door open. Maybe I’ll be done before he returns and I won’t have to see his handsome but cruel face.
The first thing I notice when I step inside is that it’s bright. Glaring bright. I have to put up my hand to avoid the sunrays blasting through the windows.
Zach’s room has the biggest ones of all the rooms in this place. They go from floor to ceiling and take up an entire wall.
The first time I was here, I was astounded by the sheer size of them. It’s almost like a glass wall. You can see the woods spanning the property. You can see the entire sky through it.
And the best part? There’s an alcove extending into the window, sticking out separate from the architecture of the room. The sides and the bottom of the alcove are glass, as well. So when you step into it, it’s like walking on air.
As much as I hate him, I love the room he grew up in.
I step out of the glare of the sun and slowly, the bright spots behind my eyes go away. I’d be relieved that I can see but I’m not.
Because as soon as my eyes adjust, they fall on the giant bed. Which is currently occupied.
By a sleeping Zach.
I press a fist over my mouth to keep myself from shrieking out. I even lock my knees so I don’t make any sudden moves and wake him up.
Why didn’t I think of this before? Why didn’t it occur to me that he might be sleeping?
I’m an idiot. That’s why.
Oh, and another question: why the hell does he sleep with no shirt on?
I can see him. Like, really fucking see him.
He’s sprawled on his stomach, both his arms flung above him. One over the pillow and the other seems to be under. The gray sheet that he has on only covers his lower body, leaving his back exposed and bare.
I wasn’t wrong last night. He has grown and has become tan.
Even though I haven’t ever seen him without his shirt, I can still tell that those grooves on his shoulders where they meet his biceps, weren’t there before. The bulges of his arms have grown as well, making them look like tight waves of water. Not to mention, his back is a freaking study of taut planes and ridges that move when he breathes.
Jesus Christ.
It’s so unfair, right? That someone so breath-stealing can be so rotten.
I don’t know how he can sleep with that sun glaring down at him but I’m going to count my blessings and leave.
But I don’t leave like I should. Like the policy is to not disturb when the occupant of the room is sleeping.
