“I’m not used to sharing a bed.”
Another lie.
For the last few weeks, when pride and stupidity didn’t keep us apart, Sebastian and I shared a bed and so much more. The hurt inside me wells, rendered too powerful by the lack of light, the late hour, and my empty stomach.
I hold my breath as a tear escapes. Another follows, and it’s not long before I’m drenching the pillow. The day’s events—starting with Lilith’s unexpected visit and ending with undressing in front of Miles—boil over and leak from my eyes.
A sniffle gives me away, and Miles shifts again, the presence of his body heating me through the blanket.
“I’m sorry I’ve upset you so.” He sounds sincere, and that makes me cry harder.
“It’s not you,” I sob.
“Then what is it? Let me help.”
“You can’t help.”
He’s quiet for several moments, his breathing filtering through the darkened bedroom and blending with my sobs. “I gather it’s a private matter?”
“Yes.” I sniffle again. “Are those still allowed in this tower?” I can’t help the sarcastic color of my tone.
He sighs. “Rest well, my queen. Tomorrow will be a better day.”
The bed shifts again as he rolls over, giving me space, and in spite of Sebastian’s hurtful betrayal, I wish he were the man sleeping at my side.
5
Unadorned windows ensure the morning starts extra early. As the light of day slowly drags me from a dream, my lids fluttering open, I’m surprised to find the other side of the bed empty. Gripping the blanket to my chest, I jerk into a sitting position. The door to the suite stands wide open, the corridor deserted as brilliant sunshine filters through the wall of glass.
Yesterday’s turbulent storm has passed.
Miles is gone.
And I’m free.
But gaining freedom and acting on it are two different things, because my dress has vanished along with Miles.
I spend an absurd amount of time in the bathroom taking care of business, but mostly debating on what to do as my stomach demands sustenance. Do I wait for him to force my hand…or do I suck it up and leave the room willingly?
Oh, how I despise him for cornering me into such a lose-lose dilemma. This is worse than that first morning with Liam, when the chancellor insisted I wear a sheer negligee to meet him for breakfast on his balcony.
Now my options are just as limited. I can either hide inside the walls of this suite, saving my modesty by clinging to the bed covers, or I can waltz through that door with my head held high despite my nudity.
Unless…
My attention detours to the place where Miles and I slept last night, the rumpled bedding spawning an idea. A risky idea, since it’s against the rules and will be considered a willful act of disobedience. But maybe some things are worth the risk.
I yank the sheet from the mattress, and the duvet slides off the edge as I wrap myself in the luxurious sheet. Ignoring my bed hair—tangled blond locks falling down my back without fanfare or style—I exit the room for the first time since Miles trapped me with him. But as I make my way toward the main living space in search of my keeper, apprehension creeps past my defenses.
How will he react?
Or maybe the question I should ask myself is how will I? What if he forcefully removes the sheet? Will I fight him, or will I submit to my training? And what if he takes a less-aggressive approach and demands I remove it myself? Do I risk another prison sentence inside that suite—a potentially longer one this time?
I follow my nose into the kitchen, where the aroma of coffee and something tantalizingly sweet lingers in the air. There’s no sign of Miles, though the evidence of his busy morning preparing breakfast sits on the counter next to the sink in the form of stacked cookware and bowls, every last one of them rinsed.
Coming upon the dining room, I find him seated at one end of the gigantic light oak table. As I stall on the threshold, he glances up from the paperwork in his hands, the beginnings of a smile on his face until his attention dips to the forbidden sheet wrapping me in modesty.
“Take it off.” Documents forgotten on the table, he rises from his chair, paying no heed to his own lack of attire. I almost expect his shaft to jut out, long and hard like the other men I’ve seen naked in the Brotherhood, but he’s still locked in that metal contraption.
I lift my chin, maintaining eye contact when all I want to do is shy away from the sight of his displeasure. “I want my clothes,” I say, voice steadier than the tremor threatening to buckle my knees.
“You can either take it off yourself, or I can do it for you.” His hands flex at his sides, as if he can’t wait to yank the sheet from my body.