And I wouldn’t change a thing.
But underneath it all is the reason I’ve started insisting on always spending the night with him, i.e., that night in the kitchen.
He doesn't talk about it. Or if he does, he's not telling me the whole truth. He said he was probably having a nightmare, and that he sometimes sleepwalks. But there’s sleepwalking and making yourself a sandwich, and there’s sleepwalking and screaming at yourself while holding a knife to your own throat.
I’m spending every night with him because the idea of leaving him alone terrifies me.
But when you don't sleep in your own bed for two weeks and you share a house with your overprotective big brother…well…here we are.
I’ve been lying nonstop, telling him I’m spending the night at various friends' houses. But there’s a limit to believability, and we’re a good week past that point.
“It was…fun?” I squeak.
“Evie.”
I swallow. “M-hmm?”
“Where did you sleep last night.”
My chest tightens. “Milena's.”
“Nero came home early from his business trip to surprise Milena last night.”
Shit.
“I had coffee with him this morning and, oddly, he didn’t mention any unexpected house guests when he got home. So…want to tell me the truth?”
Not particularly.
“Where the hell were you, Eves?”
My brow furrows, frustration rustling in my nerves. “Look, Rome, I appreciate the concern but not the accusation,” I say tightly.
“Evie—”
“I’ve been seeing someone, okay?”
“Jesus,” he hisses.
I exhale. “Roman, I’m twenty-three years old.”
“Defineseeing someone.”
“It means what you think!” I snap. “Roman, I’m not a kid. I mean, give me a freaking break! Atsome pointI was going to have a relationship with someone!”
“So why the fuck have you been lying to me about?—”
“Because I knew you’d get all psycho overprotective!” I yell.
“It’s my fucking job to?—”
“Not anymore!” I snap.
The line goes utterly silent for a moment.
“Who,” he finally mutters. “Who the fuck is it?”
I stare. “How about none of your business?”
