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“Stop what?”
“Being a dick, for starters.”
“And now we’re talking about my dick. That desperate, huh?”
“Hell will freeze over before I let you touch me, Eli.”
“You look adorable when spouting lies. Besides…” He lifts my chin with a curled index finger, spearing his cold eyes into mysoul. “I already touched you. If I want to fuck you, you’ll bend over and take it.”
“Lie.” My whisper is barely audible as my chin trembles.
“Want to bet?”
“You’re messing with me because I lost my memory. I’d never sleep with you.”
“There was no sleeping involved. I must say I wasn’t impressed, but I can give you a chance for a redo.”
“Fuck you.”
I storm into what I assume is my room and slam the door in his face.
There’s no energy left in me to even appreciate the glorious pink princess room that greets me. I slide down against the door and pull my knees to my chest as a tear stains my cheek.
I clearly remember making a promise to myself that I’d never cry because of Eli again.
Never,everagain.
And yet another tear follows and another and another.
Because I realize with crushing clarity that I’m mourning a part of me that I thought meant something.
Something I wanted to only give up for love and yet I handed it over to the devil on a silver platter.
What the hell have I done?
7
AVA
“Don’t touch it!”
I swat Sam’s destructive hand away before she murders my beautiful dahlias more coldly than her favorite master would.
“Then you should do it properly.” She gives me her usual blank expression that I’m sure means murder in at least one language, then sits on the vintage recliner in the greenhouse, nestling a crochet yarn on her lap.
“I am doing it properly.” I cut the stem and carefully bury it in the pot, then cover it with the soil we ordered.
“Those flowers will die within the week. Maybe you should leave it to the professionals.”
“Stop being a buzzkill. Why are you here if you disapprove of everything I do?” I hike my gloved hand on my hip. Everything is pink—my gloves, wellies, and cute little off-the-shoulder Armani dress.
“I have nothing to do.”
“Pish posh. You’ve been following me around for days, Sam.”
She crochets with the precision of a surgeon, and considering how awfully mysterious she is, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was one in a previous life.
All I know about Sam is that she’s been with the King household longer than I’ve been alive, and although she has Asian features, she has no Asian name, accent, or given any indication of her heritage. She certainly doesn’t offer up the information. I’ve heard her give different answers to different people depending on the occasion. Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and Filipino all came into the conversation.
