The covers are pulled up to her chin, her back to the door, that long chestnut hair spread across my pillow. She's clearly asleep—her breathing is deep and even, her body still.
Victory.
Except.
My eyes drift to the floor beside the bed, and I see what she's done.
A blanket. A pillow. Arranged neatly on the hardwood like a makeshift bed.
For me.
She's put me on the floor. Like a dog.
I almost laugh. I should wake her up and remind her exactly who's in charge here.
Instead, I find myself fighting a smile.
The audacity of it. The sheer nerve to comply with my order technically while still making her point.
She moved into my room. Just not the way I intended.
I cross to the bed, looking down at her sleeping form. She's wearing a t-shirt—oversized, worn, the kind that's been washed so many times the fabric's gone soft.
Her face is peaceful in sleep, all that defiance smoothed away. She looks younger like this. Vulnerable. The gold cross pendant rests against her collarbone, rising and falling with each breath.
I run my hands through my hair and curse softly.
The t-shirt bothers me more than it should.
It's old. Faded. Probably another relic from a life before me that she's clinging to out of spite.
I make a mental note to have Maria handle her wardrobe situation. All of it.
I look at the floor bed again. The blanket is one of the expensive ones from the guest room closet—Egyptian cotton. The pillow is down-filled, the kind that costs two hundred dollars.
She made me a dog bed. But an expensive one.
Despite everything, I respect the commitment to pettiness.
I could sleep in another room. I have six bedrooms in this house. But that would be admitting defeat. Admitting she won this round.
So instead, I strip off my shirt and pants, grab a pair of sweatpants from my drawer, and lie down on the bed.
My bed.
Right beside her.
She doesn't stir when the mattress dips. Doesn't move when I settle in, deliberately taking up more than my half of the space.
This is a bad idea.
Everything about this arrangement is a bad idea.
But it's too late to back out now. The party's in two days. Giulio, my father, is expecting to meet my girlfriend. Caterina's probably already planning her ambush.
I need Bianca cooperating. Smiling. Convincing.
Not furious and marked up from punishment I couldn't control.
