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“Oh c’mon, Charleigh. Don’t make me do schoolwork today.”
Evie flops back over in bed and tugs the comforter over her head. But I yank it right back down and in fact, pull it all the way off the bed, leaving her thrashing around in her favorite striped pajamas, which make her look like a prison inmate.
“You suck,” she whines. “I’m grieving.”
Really?
“Yeah, I know I suck. I also know you’re grieving. So am I. But you can still learn. Now get up and get dressed. We have to head over to the school to get some of your books. I need to speak to the principal too.”
She wrinkles her nose. “What are youwearing?” she asks when she finally sits up in bed and looks me up and down.
I step in front of the full-length mirror on her wall and check myself out. Creamy white trousers, an off-white blouse, and a nice wide belt to pull it all together. “What? I think I look nice.”
I read somewhere about wearing neutrals and that they take the guesswork out of putting together prints and other colors.
A uniform, of sorts. Works for me. It’s the only way I’ll get away from my usual uniform of jeans and sneakers.
Plus, they say wearing all one color makes you look like a rich lady. Not that I care about something like that. I mean, who do I see except people here on the compound?
She shrugs as she finally rolls out of bed. “I guess. But you look weird.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say haughtily, checking out my ass, all nice and smooth thanks to Spanx.
Which the guys did not purchase for me. I got the housekeeper to order them for me from the internet. We’re not supposed to get packages here, another security thing I guess, but the household staff seem to be allowed to.
God forbid the guys see me in my modern-day girdle though. If it looks like any sexy time is about to go down, I have to slip out and quickly change into a thong.
I guess to Evie, I do look weird. I no longer wear the clothing that has been a uniform for me nearly all my life—jeans, Converse Chucks, T-shirts, and a hoodie, depending on how cold it is. Well, most of the time. When life gets back to normal and I can run out for coffee or something, jeans and a hoodie will have to do.
The guys have filled a closet for me—or rather, hired someone else to—loaded with silk blouses, well-fitting slacks, and cashmere sweaters. I also have a stash of shoes to choose from, mostly high heels, except for the one I used to stab a man’s hand with. That pair is long gone. I’m not asking about it.
In fact, I have so many clothes now it’s almost embarrassing. I’m not into waste and seriously wonder how I’ll ever wear all these beautiful things. The shoes themselves are so plentiful I have a hard time choosing every time I get dressed. So, I pretty much wear the same ones, over and over.
I don’t mind my new look or having a closet full of nice things. There was a time when I would have scoffed at the ‘lady who lunches’ look, but I don’t give a shit now. I like looking nice, and the guys like it too.
Something I never thought I’d say. Not because they neverwouldn’tthink I look nice, but more because I never thought I’d care about what they thought.
I tried not to, God knows. I never wanted to like anything about these guys. After all, they up-ended my life, not to mention my sister’s, and are even indirectly responsible for my father losing his life.
One would think I’d be trying to get away from them as fast as possible, like I once was. But that’s behind me now, and I’m not even sure I can explain why.
Well, aside from the obvious. All I have to do is set foot in public without protection, and Dimitri or some other of their enemies will scoop me right off the street and do any manner of horrible things to me.
So really, people are after me because of them, who I was forced to be with to begin with, and now I’m stuck with them because they’re the only way I can stay alive.
They’re the cause of my problems but also the solution.
How’s that for fucked up?
But they light something up in me. Even in my darkest days, they have a way of pulling me away from the abyss, taking me to a place where things are beautiful and easy, even if it’s only for a short time. It’s like a drug, and I am afraid I’m becoming addicted.
If I’m not already.
Evie appears in front of me, ready for our outing, and back to her usual heavy black makeup and goth clothes in case any of her friends see her. “I don’t know why I need to go,” she huffs. “Can’t we just send Gloria?”
“She’s not our personal errand runner, Evie. We need to make an appearance at the school to show we’re okay, doing well, even though Pops just died and the shop is gone. People talk and believe me, I’m sure we’re the subject of a lot of speculation right now.”
We pass through the kitchen so Evie can grab a bagel, and we run right into Kir, grabbing himself a cup of coffee. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye with a little smile, and I nearly melt right there.
