Chapter seventeen
I’m alone. I don’t even have to open my eyes to know that. I can feel it in my soul, and it hurts. There is no need to look and check, but I do it anyway, and it confirms everything. Tristan has left. My borrowed bed is empty.
I flop onto my back and sigh heavily. Morning light is peeking around the heavy curtains. My stomach rumbles. It is definitely a new day. Probably time to get up. I may have been abandoned, but I feel a whole lot better. No more headache. No more burning up. Whatever Tristan did to me, it did the trick.
A blush heats my cheeks, but since there is no one here to see it, there is no point in trying to fight it. I can blush away in peace, as I recall exactly what Tristan did to me. Well, physically, at least. The magic stuff is still beyond my comprehension. But I understand handjobs and orgasms well enough. And they were lovely.
I rub my eyes and try to gather my thoughts. Why were the orgasms lovely? Why was I not scared? Last time, Tristan pushed me too far and left me so shaken that strangers staged an intervention and I was given a castle.
Has my body forgotten? Has my mind forgiven? Was there even anything to forgive, because I’ve pretty much already concluded that the whole thing was rathercathartic and I was acting zombie-like because I don’t know who I am without all the pain and angst I’ve been bottling up for my entire life.
Oh for fuck’s sake. If I lie here until I’ve figured everything out, I’ll never move again. I might as well get cleaned up and go in search of some breakfast.
I heave myself out of the giant bed and walk over to my very own bathroom. Well, my very own while I’m staying here, however long that may be. It is still dead fancy. I have never had my very own bathroom before, temporary or not.
The black marble and gold fittings greet me. Toilet, basin, roll top bath, and enormous walk-in shower. Before I was taken prisoner by the fey, I would have sworn that this was the poshest washroom in existence, but now I’ve seen, and used, Tristan’s decadent, sunken-bath-the-size-of-a-small-pool set up, this all seems rather, ‘Meh’.
Even so, I’m not one to turn my nose up at clean, hot water. And since I’m already naked, there is no need to hesitate before stepping under the glorious shower. The Tropical Rainforest setting pours down on me and I groan in delight.
I stay in the shower until I’m almost pruny. Then I dry myself with super fluffy towels and try not to recall Tristan’s vigorous drying technique. Or the way he called me an angry kitten the first time he subjected me to his ministrations.
As I step back into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, I find it full of daylight. The curtains have been opened and one of Selwyn’s red-hatted servants is waiting to help me dress. I watch him carefully as he works. I’mpretty sure I’ve nearly got the hang of it and should be able to manage it by myself soon.
After the servant leaves, I admire myself in the full length mirror and swish the silks around a little. They do look good on me, I must admit. Being a guy, I never paid much attention to my waist before. Human clothes don’t show off the male waist, which is a shame because this shit looks great.
The colour suits me too. It is not emerald green, but that’s the extent of my vocabulary on shades of green. No idea what this is called. I do know it is pretty. It seems to be the exact shade of my eyes.
I freeze and stare at my reflection. If Selwyn picked these out, that is a bit ick. Actually, it is a lot ick, and I don’t like it at all. Hopefully, it was simply one of the red hat dudes who has a good eye for this sort of thing.
I shake my head and go in search of breakfast. I’m starving. I don’t think I ate at all while I was sick, or ripe, or whatever the hell it is called.
As I step out into the breakfast room, my heart starts beating erratically. Then my mind registers what it is seeing.
Tristan. Tristan standing in the middle of the room, holding a bouquet of pink oleander flowers. His hair is all glossy and very neatly done up, and his scarlet robes are even fancier than usual. I think this is the fey equivalent of a suit and tie.
“Hi,” I squeak.
I cannot read his expression at all, and it is making me very nervous. He flashes me a warm smile and hands me the flowers. I take them very gingerly, carefully holding only the paper that the stems are wrapped in. Though,given the casual way Tristan was holding them, maybe they aren’t all that poisonous to fey. But I’m plenty human, so I’m not going to risk it.
“Would you like to join me for dinner?” Tristan says.
“Like a date?” I blurt in surprise before I can stop myself.
Tristan nods and gives me a wolfish grin. “Yes, a date.”
I swallow dryly while my stomach fills with butterflies. Do fey always do everything backwards? Tristan moved me in with him, then we had sex. Now he wants to go on a date.
My cheeks burn as I helpfully recall that we haven’t hadsex, sex. But that is a mere technicality. The point is, having a date now is absurd.
“I’d love to!” I hear myself gush.
Tristan grins, and my heart joins my stomach in trying to kill me. Holy stars. I really am my own worst enemy. I don’t need a nemesis. I’m quite capable of destroying my life all by myself.
Oh well, at least I am good at something.
Holy smokes, Wagyu beef is every bit amazing as every influencer has ever claimed. I moan in delight and then look up at Tristan in horror. He grins at me. A big smile that lights up his whole face. It is so dazzling I swear the rays are going to blaze across the table and give me sunburn.
Hurriedly, I snatch my gaze away and look out of the window. London at night stretches out before me. Theview is spectacular. Just as one would expect from an exclusive restaurant at the very top floor of The Shard.
