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Slipping out of bed, she snatched up her clothes and toiletries from her bag and padded to the door, opening it as soon as Tristan opened his.
He wore nothing but his boxer briefs.
He cast an eye toward her bare legs, her panties, and the damp tank that outlined her breasts. For a fraction of a second, his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched.
So did his fist.
Lila stepped backward awkwardly, slamming her back on Dixon’s door, but Tristan didn’t snap or yell or raise his hand. He just turned away and padded into the kitchen.
She darted into the bathroom and closed the door.
As she exhaled over the sink, her mind returned to La Roux, how he’d snapped that night in her bedroom.
What if Tristan had done the same thing?
He had looked angry enough, at
least until he’d wandered off. She’d promised herself that she’d take a self-defense course last month, but once again she hadn’t followed through—not that she’d really had a chance to take a class while hiding at the cottage.
Lila looked in the mirror above the sink. Fuck Tristan if he thought he’d have a shower. She’d take one first.
Damn right. The reflection smirked back.
She hopped into the shower, wishing she had access to her old bathtub. Her soaks were long and legendary.
Was that what her life had come to?
Did she really miss a bathtub?
As she scrubbed shampoo into her hair, she realized that she did. It had only been a month. How would she survive a lifetime of slavery if she became this maudlin over a bathtub?
Had Alex felt the same every day of every week?
Lila knew she’d soon miss a lot of things: large beds, good food, great wine, expensive clothes, easy sex. She wouldn’t have the credits for another CUT, an operation that would prevent her from becoming pregnant, an operation she’d reversed to be with Senator La Roux.
That wasn’t the only thing she didn’t have the resources for. Even if she wanted to keep the baby, she didn’t have the resources to care for it. It would be born a slave, too, rather than a highborn heir. And what of its father? He’d either died or was screwing another woman. The latter shouldn’t have bothered her. Highborn didn’t keep one lover; they kept several, and they should be able to toss them away at a moment’s notice.
So why couldn’t she toss away Tristan? He’d tossed her away, even after he’d spent weeks murmuring all those lovely words, even after he’d asked her to run away from her family and her responsibilities and join him.
The liar.
She shoved her head back under the spray, giving herself a scrub and a rinse. At least she could take comfort in the fact that she’d said no to Tristan. She’d at least keep her damn pride. It would have made the breakup so much worse if she’d given in, only to have him change his mind after she’d given up everything to be with him.
Tristan’s bedroom door opened and closed. Either Tristan had returned to bed, or Katia had come outside to join him.
Lila rested her forehead on the shower wall while water rained down on her shoulder. Very soon, her eyes grew hot, and she felt the little hiccup of self-pity burn in her throat.
She didn’t have time to fall apart. Nor could she afford to go before the committee looking like a mess. One misstep, and her father and a friend might be sentenced to death.
It would be her fault again.
What would life be like without her father? Even though he’d only been about work lately, he was the one person she could always go to for help and advice. But that would change today, no matter what. Either she’d become a slave and would only be allowed to see him with her new matron’s permission, or he’d be hanged and she’d never see him at all.
He’d never see his grandchild, if she decided to keep it.
He would not be around to help them, either.
She’d really be alone then.
