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And I think that’s what scares me the most.
Knowing he hasn’t given in. Knowing he won’t give in no matter how tempted he is.
I’m a patient girl, and I always have been, but there’s a small spark of fear inside me that the night he finally calls me his own—marks me as his queen—it won’t be enough. Maybe I need to be more like them. Maybe I need to crack my soul in half and get blood on my hands and prove to them that I can be a misfit and a monster.
That this is where I’ve chosen to be.
And this is where I’ll remain.
Maybe.
Probably.
Slammingthe final drawer in my dresser, I do a spin around my room like somehow all my panties and yoga pants are going to miraculously manifest out of thin air. There’s a small flicker of rage inside me, which is made worse by these fucking baby hormones, and I know this is some kind of prank or sex bullshit, but I’m just not in the mood for it.
I’m not showing yet, but everything around my stomach feels tight and annoying, and I just wanted my comfy clothes.
Storming to the door, I wrench it open and stick my head out into the hallway. “Where the fuck are my clothes?”
There are a couple of snickers, a long stretch of silence, and then James has the nerve to say, “Dinner’s almost ready, love. We can solve that mystery while we eat.”
I’m in a skirt that rides up my thighs and a too-loose sweater that covers my hands. I’m half-tempted to strip down and crawlback in bed, but that will just lead to them coming to look for me. And if they find me like that, I’ll never get to eat.
Because that’s the other thing. All the books and websites warned me about the nausea. None of them told me about the ravenous hunger and the cravings. I didn’t spend time with my mother while she was pregnant with my sister—at least, not that I can remember. So my sole resources are crappy rom-coms that made me think I’d want pickles on ice cream.
Instead, all I want to do is stuff my face with Korean sticky ribs, cheese enchiladas, and a literal mountain of pico de gallo and salty tortilla chips.
Whatever’s on the table better satisfy because after this bullshit, they’re going to have a goddamn banshee on their hands instead of a partner.
Twisting my hair into a knot, I don’t even look in the mirror before I storm down the stairs—barefoot with my legs cold and my torso warm and my stomach rumbling. I throw open the door to the dining room, and I see Kane at the head of the table like usual, with James at his left and Phoenix at his right. Ari—like always—hasn’t joined us. He’s still weird about eating in front of me since the damage that paralyzed his vocal cords also makes it hard for him to swallow.
But even those two fuckers—because I know Kane’s not in on it—are enough to set me raging.
I fix them with a glower, even though Phoenix can’t see it, because I’m willing to bet it’s hot enough he can feel the heat.
“You.”
Phoenix’s lips twitch, and James looks like he’s only barely holding in a laugh.
Kane clears his throat, setting down his wine glass and dabbing his lip with a napkin. “What did they do?”
“They took my clothes,” I hiss.
James sighs, standing up to offer me his hand, and I take it automatically in spite of my frustration. He walks me to his now-abandoned seat, sitting me next to Kane, and he takes the one to my right.
Kane’s got a frown on his face like he’s trying to figure out their game, and he will. And then they’ll be sorry. But until then, I’ll have to sit here all uncomfortable and irritated.
“Relax, love,” James says. He leans in to mouth at my earlobe, and I moan in spite of myself. His lips trail a path to the curve of my neck, where I’ve come to realize I enjoy a little too much, but before I can lose myself in it, he pulls away.
I lurch forward for a second, then glare at him over my shoulder. “Asshole.”
Kane clears his throat. “Why did you take her clothes?”
“Why are you assuming we’d do such a thing? It’s probably just the laundry service.”
My jaw tenses enough that my head hurts from it. “My stuff was clean. I—” My words are cut off by the appearance of Kane’s serving staff. My serving staff? Jesus, that’s a thought. They set a plate in front of me full of saucy enchiladas, rice, and beans, and I look up at Kane, who’s got the smallest smile playing at his lips.
He remembered. He fucking…he won’t touch me, he won’t kiss me, but he rememberedthis?
