He tilts his head toward my ear. The snow ticks softly against the glass, and the lights hum while I wait for whatever comes next.
“This is just the beginning,” he whispers.
Everything within me silently respondsyes.
He taps the ribbon on my wrist.
“Remember—this never comes off. Now, I trust you can see yourself out?”
“I can.”
He looks me up and down one more time before he leaves. I’m left alone in a strange, sensual room, wondering what the hell I’ve just gotten myself into.
And if I’ll ever be the same once it’s over.
CHAPTER 3
CASSANDRA
Christmas in a hospital is its own kind of vibe.
Paper snowflakes are taped to the windows and doors, and there’s a fake fir tree in the lobby loaded with colorful and cheerful ornaments. The nurses are wearing holiday-themed scrubs, some with tiny reindeer, others with Santas and snowmen. But it’s still a hospital.
I slide into my sister’s room with a bouquet of grocery store–bought tulips. She’s half sitting, half folded into a nest of pillows, hair tied up in a knot. Morning light streams in through the big windows.
The heart monitor beeps its steady, smug cadence. She’s wearing a cozy cardigan over her hospital gown. There’s a book face-down on the tray table.
She looks up and smiles like she’s the hostess of a dinner party, and I’m her favorite guest.
“You brought contraband.”
“They’re legal,” I say, lifting the tulips. “I checked. Unlike an orange, which apparently is a biohazard.”
Clara giggles, amused, before her face tightens the way it’s been doing more often. Pain, fatigue, or the combination of both. She gestures to an empty vase filled with water. I put the tulips in, arranging them as best I can.
“How are you feeling?”
“Cardiac chic,” she replies dryly. “They’re doing the thing where they put the stuff in me that makes my blood glow.”
“Cool. Maybe that means you can be our Christmas tree this year.”
She sticks her tongue out at me. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m trying not to worry.”
I hang my coat over the back of the chair, tucking my scarf inside the sleeve so I won’t forget it, just like Clara taught me when we were kids. Outside the window, the downtown winter sky shines like a slab of ice. Christmas window clings are placed here and there, and there’s a colorful string of lights looped above the blinds.
Suddenly, I remember the ribbon. Like a “good girl,” I haven’t taken it off since he placed it on my wrist last night. It’s strange… I could take it off, but I feel like somehow Damien would know. Besides, I’m already skating on thin ice with how he clocked me as a less-than-skilled sub so quickly. He doesn’t know for sure, but I’m going to stay on the safe side just in case.
Still, I don’t want Clara to see it. I pull down the sleeve of my sweater, making sure the ribbon is good and covered.
“Did you sleep?”
“A little.” She studies my face in that way only she can. “You look?—"
“Like I fought with a pillow and lost?” I say quickly.
“Like you haven’t slept in a week.” She reaches out, and I take her hand. It’s warm and seems smaller than it used to be. “Talk to me, Cassie.”
It’s ridiculous how quickly the lie I brought with me starts gaining strength. It doesn’t have legs yet, but it’s already learned to crawl.
