Is this what Kestrel meant when he said Jethro had something to show me?
Jethro placed his hand on the small of my back, pushing me forward. The double doors behind him closed. Leaning against them, he never took his eyes from my wonder-filled face.
“It’s yours. Your quarters. Yourrealquarters.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
He chuckled softly. “The buzzard room was a stupid idea I had to keep you in line. I’ve grown up a little since then.”
I had so much to ask, but all I could do was drift forward in awe.
The room was huge, completely open plan with arched walkways leading to a sitting room, dressing room, bathroom complete with huge shower and claw-foot bathtub, and a bedroom that looked straight from a Persian souk. Acres of divine beaded material hung in heavy swathes from the teak four-poster bed.
But it was the room we stood in that fascinated me.
It was better than any haberdashery I’d been in.
Far exceeding any priceless material market I’d travelled to with my father and brother on expeditions to find exclusive textiles.
The walls were decorated with floor-to-ceiling racks. Bolts and bolts of every colour fabric imaginable hung enticing and new. Ribbon spools, lace sheaves, threads of every style and width rested on huge tables groaning with scissors, needles, chalk pens, and tape measures.
In the centre of the room stood three sizable busts, two full-size models to design the perfect dress on, and a skylight above, which drenched the space in natural light.
Comfy couches, love-seats, and velour stylish chairs were scattered beside bookcases full of histories of fashion; there was even a fish tank in the corner with tropical fish glowing in pristine turquoise water.
My fingers ached to touch everything at once.
Then my eyes dropped to the carpet.
Deep emerald richness glowed with elegance and the repeating design of W.
“This is the Weaver quarters. They’re only shown and offered when the current Weaver fully understands her place.”
I couldn’t stop my smirk, turning to stare at him. “I haven’t learned my place.”
His face remained locked of emotion. “No, you haven’t. And my father won’t be happy that I’m giving you this so soon, but...things changed.”
My heart sprung into an irregular beat, waiting for him to continue.
But he didn’t.
Moving through the room, he stood out in his black shirt and greyslacks like a spot of ink or a stain on such pretty fabric. He didn’t belong.
I followed him. Finally seeing what I should’ve seen all along.
He doesn’t belong in these rooms.
He doesn’t belong in this house.
He doesn’t belong with this family.
Everything I knew about Jethro was wrong. And despite his task and our fates that were horribly entwined and shadowed with death, I wanted toknowhim.
Following him through the space, I slammed to a stop as he spun to face me.
His face twisted. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to discuss what’s happening or even try to fucking understand it.”
My stomach flipped over at the lust glowing in his gaze. “Okay...”
