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I follow the instructions on my phone, and the heating churns to life, rumbling happily.
“Hey, look! I did something right,” I gasp, half surprised.
I’m not the kind of person to DIY anything if I can help it.
The house is small. It should warm up in no time.
“Wanna show me around?” I ask, as Bella’s already been here.
“Sure. But I picked my room already.”
I roll my eyes, and follow her.
The cottage has two floors; the common living space downstairs includes the U-shaped kitchen, a large reception area in front of the porch—with the fireplace—and a dining room. It’s not huge, but everything has been renovated to the highest standards. Upstairs, there are four bedrooms—our parents’ is the master, and of course, my sister picked the only other one with an en suite. I can’t very well begrudge her that when she’ll come here a lot more often than I will. Besides, I get the common bathroom all to myself as there are only four of us.
My bedroom has a king-sized bed with a purple comforter—my favorite color—and soft, gauzy curtains billowing from the canopy. It’s gorgeous, and a little like a fairy tale. It even has its own fireplace—a tiny one, unlike the one downstairs, which is large enough to roast a pig in. The comfortable armchair next to it, and the shelves full of brand-new books, make it quite clear this very much ismybedroom.
“So?” Bella asks a little anxiously.
For all that talk about choosing her bedroom, she didn’t—not really. She picked mine, and likely also had a hand in decorating it.
I bring her into a tight hug. “You know I love you, nightshade?”
“And I love you, poison.”
It always amused us both that we were named after deadly things. Mom said it’s because women are vulnerable in this world, and she wanted her girls to be tough. Which works, at least for Bella.
“Now if we’re done with the mushy stuff, let’s see what’s in the fridge. I’m starved.”
FIVE
Less
There’s a good chance I’ll kill my brother someday.
Anyone who truly knows him would understand. Not that they’d find out. My family has a long history of fratricide, patricide, and all other shades of friendly familial murder, and we don’t have so much one investigation. Poison for the win.
Poison.
Another one of the words I avoid thinking of if I can help it. My jaw tics as the unwanted memory rushes to the surface. Dark hair. Huge, eerie, pale green eyes, and that fucking mouth.
I focus on my brother’s unbearably smug smirk.
He and I have been trained to behave in the eyes of the public since before our first words, and he’d never look like this in public, but we’re alone in the antechamber, waiting for the journalists who will introduce him as an official member of the extended royal family—and potential heir to the crown, should a plane crash take out a dozen of our cousins.
Plane crash. So much better than poison, as far as removing unwanted pawns in the game can be.
Shit, why can’t I stop thinking about her now?
It’s been maybe six weeks since my last relapse. When she first walked out of our agreement, kissing goodbye to a life of opulence and fame because she didn’t want me, I couldn’t imagine I’d ever spend an hour without thinking of Ivy Fort, let alone a day. A month and a half is a great improvement. And sure, I have to actively pile up a million things on my plate just to avoid all thoughts of my obsession, but it’s worth it.
I never loved the girl. Shit, I don’t even think I liked her. But she wasmine. They gave her to me. In my world, verbal agreements, sealed by a handshake and a public declaration, are everything. For years, I believed she’d be my wife. She’d birth my children. I’d fuck my mistresses at the club, sure—ladies aren’t made to be screwed into next year on a sex swing—but I’d go home to her and kiss her cheek while she nursed our two children.
One heir, one spare. I even imagined a little girl with her eyes.
I don’t want to marry him. He’s so cold, indifferent to me, and honestly? I deserve better. I deserve to be able to date, like any girl my age. Go to the prom. I know you were very kind in your offer, Uncle Benedict, and if we liked each other, like Bella and Nico, it might have been wonderful. But we don’t.
I wasn’t supposed to hear that, but I did.
