“A little,” I whisper back without looking, so he’ll move his head and so we won’t get in trouble.
“Alright! If there are no more questions, we’ll send you up these stairs to find your rooms. They will be marked with your names, so you should not be confused as to where you will be staying. I am Elore Lamé, so if you have any other questions, please feel free to seek me out or ask one of our lovely staff assigned to each room in the house.”
He claps his hands three times and steps backward with a bow for us to head up the stairs. Everyone moves in unison until we’re at the top, and then we part ways, walking around the outside of the stairs and down each hall to find our name. Romeo stays with me, refusing to leave me until we find my room first. I try to insist that I’m fine and can do it on my own, but he’s just as stubborn as me and refuses to change his mind.
At the end of the first hallway, by a large window and a hand-painted wall encrusted with diamonds, we find my name on an oak door.
“Lydia Royce. This is me. Thanks.” I step up to the door without looking back, and then he touches my upper arm. For some reason, this stops me from just leaving him alone in the hall.
“Romeo San Giovanni.” He says it in a daze, and I turn my head to see where he’s looking. The door directly beside mine has a label with his name on it, and I honestly think that the gods are on my side. This is probably the most ideal scenario, considering I will need optimal time with him to get him to open up to me.
Having a room next to mine will be a great way to ensure we have no distance between us— emotionally or physically. Obviously, it will be one-sided, but he won’t know the difference. I’ve already got my backstory planned out. I try not to look too excited, though I truly am by how perfectly this is all falling into place.
“Wow.” I say, and he continues to grin in amusement.
“See you in a bit.” He jokingly salutes me stiffly, and I roll my eyes with a grin.
“See you in a bit,” I repeat and mimic his action. We enter our rooms at the same time, probably with the same stupid smile, but definitely not for the same reason.
I check the itinerary hanging above the light switch in a gold frame before I even look at anything else in my extravagant room, which looks as though it's been transported from the gilded age. My essential schedule seems pretty simple. Breakfast in the courtyards, hot yoga at twelve, lunch on the porch at one, team building activity, practice lines, dinner in the dining room at six, movie in the theater with everyone, free-time until lights out.
There is a map of the mansion in varied shades of pink on the long white and gold painted dresser. I pick it up and unfold it—it covers the entirety of the dresser top. There are at least five pools, six courtyards, three theaters, and four gyms, and I stop counting how many other rooms there are after I remember why I opened it in the first place. I’m trained to find all the exits in every given space. It’s a necessary skill to always have a way to get out.
I’m assuming the only weapon I’ll be able to take around with me every day is my pocket knife that’s been sharpened enough to cut through bone. I know plenty of vulnerable spots that need far less pressure than cutting off fingers, but when push comes to shove, I’m not picky.
There’s a knock on my door as I’m about to head to the door on my right, which I’m assuming is my bathroom.
“Yes?” I walk back to the door and open it, but there’s no one there or down the hall when I peek my head around the doorway. I shut it quickly and convince myself I’ve imagined the noise, then walk back to the bathroom door. As I turn the knob, it turns the rest of the way, and the door swings open. Instinctually, I reach for my knife and take a quick movement backward.
My fists are up before I can stop myself. It's robotic at this point— how quickly my brain goes into fighting mode. I’m mid-swing when my fist stops on the palm of someone’s hand. I can tell before I’ve gotten a good look that the black-hooded person hovering in the door like the grim reaper is Romeo. It’s the way he stands, the feeling of his skin on mine, and the exaggerated low laugh.
“They teach you to fight in Pilates too?” He pulls his knit hood off his head with a grin and pulls me close to his chest. I don’t fight it because I’d really like him to forget the fact that I just tried to karate-chop his head off. That’s why I don't pull back when he grazes his lips with mine.
“How are you in my room?” I whisper as I glance around his shoulder to see another door opened on the opposite wall of the large bathroom.
“Jack and Jill bathroom.” He grins and takes a step back to show me, still holding my hand.
“Convenient.” I laugh.
“Very.” He glances over at the Victorian-looking gold tub next to a half-moon shower with steps down into it. I feel his eyes on me again as I pretend not to notice and continue to look around the bathroom with intrigue. At least the toilet is through a separate door, closed off from the rest of the bathroom. I predict this shared bathroom situation will make my plan a little more difficult.
I can tell by the way he’s been talking and drawing close to me that he wants me to give in to him. But I can’t give up the biggest hold I have on him. I’ve just got to find a way to keep him thinking I will eventually. I take a deep breath and turn my attention to him. His eyes wait for me to give him a sign that I want him too, so I flash him and grin and slowly let go of his hand.
“I’m going to put on the clothes they laid out for me on my bed,” I say seductively, so he imagines me changing. Anything I can do to keep his mind on my body.
“Do you need help?” He licks his lips as I begin back towards my room.
“No.” I look over my shoulder with a grin as I pull my tank top off. His face drops a little, and he proceeds to look me up and down, but I don’t turn around. I continue forward and close the door behind me with my foot, trying not to laugh at his expression. I guess that’s one way to keep him wanting more.
14
ROMEO
God, Lydia is so fucking hot it's miserable to not just be fucking her right now. I should have just pulled her into the shower and ignored the clock ticking towards breakfast. If it wasn’t marked as essential, I would be knocking down the door to her bedroom and pulling the rest of her clothes off for her. It’s a struggle to ignore this impulse as I force my feet back to my room and change into a white linen button-up and matching pants.
When I walk out of my room, I see Lydia already turning at the end of the hall, so I sprint to catch up with her. I don’t know where I’m going, and I definitely don’t remember the map of this place. I should have probably looked at that one last time before I left my room, but I forget myself when Lydia is in my vicinity. At least my temporary lapse in judgment is leading me right where I want to be.
“Hey.” I touch her shoulder, and she tilts her head to me, not surprised that I’ve caught up with her.