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“My shirts are yours to ruin any time.”
“Thanks,” I said with a laugh. “I’m glad we’re friends now, Wilder. There’s a lot of exploring I plan to do in your mind.”
He chuckled. “Little chance of that happening. We’re not friends.”
The bacon hung out in my mouth midchew. “What? What do you mean? What about last night?”
“Last night was great, but there’s every chance you feigned interest in topics I like for the sole purpose of getting me to open up. A tactic you’d have been taught if my suspicions are correct and you didn’t spend the last four years in a French Catholic school and instead were trained in covert ops.”
My mouth fell at each word.
“I can’t locate most of your records, half of your family history is unknown, and you only butter half a slice of toast when making a sandwich. I don’t know what that last thing proves, but it’s weird.”
“What’s weird about buttering half a slice of toast?” I cried. Of all the nonsense he said, that offended me. “And if you still don’t trust me, why did you let me into your room, share those things with me, and—and— Why, Wilder?”
“Why?” He faced me, an expression on his face that I’d never seen before—heat. “Because you were wearing that dress and talking sci-fi. I didn’t stand a chance.” He shrugged. “I’ve got a weakness for beautiful women. Especially when they’re looking so sad, I have to do something about it.”
Wilder headed for the stairs. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes. Again, don’t touch anything that’s not yours. I’ll know.”
He left me frozen in his wake. “I’ve got a weakness for beautiful women.”
If I thought waking up to a Cato-sized body pillow was my biggest shock of the day, I could thank O’Rourke for fixing that.
“Lady Luna?” Lucien appeared in the hall between the kitchen and living room. “Your eggs are burning.”
“Shit.” I switched off the stove and scraped the charred remains of my breakfast in the trash.
I guess I am eating with Victor.
Our morning meetings still stood, but with access to a stove, I planned to eat beforehand, so we could keep it short. I was mixed up over our talk the other day.
He was mature and serious about our future, even going so far as to say he’d give me a divorce if we couldn’t make it work, or an open marriage if I wanted that instead. While I was over here sleeping with the very guys he asked me to stay away from, and having fantasies of those guys that were very nonexclusive.
Was I into Rafael, Cato, Lucien, or Wilder? Could I be?
They were gorgeous, but handsome and flirty weren’t two characteristics to risk an unhappy marriage on.
And Victor. Are we doomed from the start? The question of if I’m attracted to him isn’t a question at all. Victor could cause a pileup even if he rolled out of bed with ratty hair, sleep in his eyes, and holes in his boxers. The conceited jackass became that way honestly. His mother should’ve dubbed him a god of beauty too.
Maybe I should give him a real chance. Why can’t we—?
Victor in the closet getting his dick sucked, and Everleigh’s hands running all over him behind the music hall crashed into my head.
Oh yeah, that’s why he pisses me off.
“Luna.” Lucien cupped the small of my back, tugging me out of my thoughts. My chest fluttered as he turned me, hands on my waist. “You don’t have class between one and three. Is then a good time?”
My speech took a second to catch up. Lucien wore his usual wrong-century getup. I’d never tell him the fitted black pants and maroon velvet coat looked darkly sexy on him—like the mysterious prince living in the manor on the hill came down to see how hard I’d blush under his touch.
“A good time?”
“You said you wanted to be a part of it.”
Understanding dawned. “Yes, I do. Are you sure I can help you? Wilder reminded me last night how important it is that no one can point the finger at me.”
“They’re not going to see me, so they won’t see you.”
“Then one o’clock. Let’s do it.”
I went upstairs, finished getting ready, and met Wilder on the front steps. Together we crossed campus for the café, talking our favorite sci-fi shows.
“None of these titles double as my passwords, by the way. Those are a series of random numbers and letters that change daily.”
“I’m not spying on you, O’Rourke. What can I do to prove it to you?”
He hummed, turning his head to the sun and capturing golden light in his locks. I jumped when he spoke, realizing I was staring.
“You’d have to do something to compromise your mission. Then I’d know where your loyalties lie.”
“But I don’t have a mission, apart from the obvious one, and I won’t be compromising that.”
