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Not loud enough that I don’t hear Bee’s room door open, though. She pops her head out and looks at me with wide eyes. “Hormones, am I right?”
“You need to do something about her,” I snarl. “Whatever I’m doing is clearly not working.”
She snorts with laughter. “Clearly.”
“We need her to be more compliant.”
The music turns up and I hear the distinct crackle of more glass shattering.
“Riiight. ‘Compliant,’” Bee scoffs incredulously. “I hate to break it to you, buddy, but she’s a feisty little thing. ‘Compliant’ is never gonna happen.”
21
WREN
I wake up the next morning to find that the living room has been restored to its original condition.
The floor is clean. The stains are gone and the furniture restored. And the carpet smells of roses.
The first wave is guilt, because while Dmitri Egorov can and does have pretty much any material thing that the world has to offer, I’m fairly sure he doesn’t keep a squad of magic house elves hidden in the hallway closet. Which means some poor cleaning staff spent the wee hours of the night undoing all the petty, spiteful damage I inflicted on his penthouse.
After the guilt comes annoyance. Then more guilt. I’m standing marooned between the sofa and the chaise lounge, wondering how far I’m going to take my little protest, when I hear someone behind me.
I turn and almost scream. Bee is leaning against the archway with a lopsided smile on her face. “That was quite the show you put on last night,” she remarks. “A-plus for effort, that’s for damn sure.”
I flush anxiously, desperate to explain myself. Although I’m gonna draw the line at apologizing. “He doesn’t listen to me. So call this ‘passive resistance.’”
She chuckles. “There was nothing ‘passive’ about your little display last night.”
I have no idea how to interpret that cryptic smile of hers. There’s a lot hiding in the curl of her lips. “Fine. Maybe not so passive. But if being loud is the only way to force him to hear me, then I’m gonna be loud.”
“Literally, huh?” she says with a glance toward the blown-out speakers embedded in the ceiling.
“That was just… letting off some steam.”
“Hm. If you say so.”
I frown. What does that “hm” mean? “Listen, this place is comfortable. I mean—” I gesture around me. “—it’s a fucking mansion in the literal sky. But as pretty as it might be, even the most beautiful place on Earth becomes claustrophobic the moment you know you can’t leave.”
She arches her eyebrows but says nothing.
“So,” I continue with a tight throat, “if you expect me to be grateful for giving me a room here, you can forget it. And if you expect an apology for last night, you can forget that, too.”
She pushes herself off the wall and beams widely. “I like you, Wren. I think we’re gonna get along famously.”
I pause, utterly baffled by these people and the whiplash changes in their moods. “Um… okay.”
“You hungry? I was just on my way into the kitchen to stuff a croissant in my face. Feel free to join.”
She doesn’t wait for me to respond. She just saunters past me to the kitchen, leaving a fragrant trail of jasmine in her wake. I stand in place for a minute, considering just how far my rebellion ought to extend. Then, because my stomach is churning hungrily, I sigh and follow her.
“Herbal tea or orange juice?” Bee asks as I step into the kitchen. “Pick your poison.”
“Tea, please.”
Is it my imagination or do her eyes flicker to my breasts for the briefest of moments? I cringe inwardly. It feels like they’re getting bigger by the hour and her gaze just confirms it.
By the time we sit down opposite one another with a bowl full of croissants between us, the elephant in the room is looming closer than ever.
