I didn’t know how long I stood there before I caught my reflection in the mirror. Numb, I turned to meet it face-on. It had to be residual tears. Or a trick of the light. Though I knew it wasn’t either of those things when Madame Richie’s laughter returned, resounding in my ears. Her cackles turned into a witchy crescendo of “congratulations” while I stared into my ice-blue eyes holding a glimmer they’d always lacked.
I guessed sparks came from passion.
Even ones that eventually destroyed you.
The mirror shattered with one strike of my hand. It pinged like untuned music notes as I walked out of the room.
acrasia
(n.) the lack of self-control
Yulia stopped me in the doorway of my bedroom, giving me a derisive perusal from my head to my toes.
“We have guests,” she said sternly. “You must do something with your”—she flicked a hand at my chest—“bosom.”
I looked down at said bosom and saw nothing wrong with it. I was even wearing pants for a change—high-waisted bell bottoms. One would think Yulia would take that as a win. I knew Ronan would.
I lifted my gaze to hers. “They’ve been called ‘boobs’ for decades, FYI. And considering the fact I was tied to a bed naked the last time we had guests, I find your request a bit hypocritical.”
She put her bony hands on her hips. “That was only in guest room. You were not flaunting your bosom around the house.”
Spread-eagled naked for guests to see in the guest room:
Not wearing a bra beneath my T-shirt downstairs:
Made sense.
I sighed. “What would you like me to do with my bosom, Yulia?”
“Strap it in a bra,” she said as if it was obvious. “And not some see-through thing only meant to arouse men’s urges.”
When she began a spiel about the necessary amount of support a bosom needed, I put up a finger to quiet her and said, “I’m taking this into consideration.”
She scowled, tapping her foot impatiently. After a longer than necessary pause, I finally dropped my finger.
“Well?” she snapped.
“No.” I brushed past her and down the hall.
“Insufferable hussy,” she mumbled.
“Old bat,” I shot back.
I headed toward the dining room for breakfast but stopped in the hall when I saw Gianna and Kat on the drawing room couch with a massive platter of food in front of them.
“Mila!” Gianna exclaimed, a sly smile forming as she looked me over. “I told you the next time we saw each other, there’d be less ropes and more clothes.” Then a frown appeared, and she snapped her fingers like an opportunity lost. “I knew I should have bet on it, but you didn’t seem in the right mindset for a wager.”
I had the feeling she was serious.
“Apparently, I’m destitute, so your winnings would be slim.”
“No worries. I’ve already skimmed the top off Yulia’s pocketbook this morning,” she said. “Don’t let her poor housekeeper ploy fool you. She has a mountain of five-thousand-ruble notes in her closet, and she safeguards them like a troll.”
I’d believe anything these days.
I took a seat in the armchair across from her and stole a grape from the platter, pulling my legs up underneath me. “Do I want to know what you were betting on?”
Gianna pursed her lips in thought. “I usually love the power of playing with people’s minds, but I like you, so I’m going to keep this one a secret for now.”