There would always be a shadow of darkness and moments when I wouldn’t be okay, but right now I was ready for what was to come. Talking about Silas Boon and taming Graysen Crowther.
22
Nelle
Graysen held the door to his rooms open for me to enter. I wanted to change out of my sweat-damp dress and refresh myself with a shower. So, while he set about giving Sage a hunk of stinky chicken out on the balcony, I headed into my bedroom to snatch up my silky dressing gown before entering the bathroom.
I stayed in the shower longer than usual, briskly scrubbing my body and washing my hair, wishing dark memories could vanish down the drain as easily as the suds. But the strength I’d drawn from Graysen had settled warmly in my bones. I felt sharper. Steadier.
The water shut off with a flick of the mixer, leaving the last droplets to splatter upon the pebbled floor. I poached a fluffy towel from the chrome shelf and dried myself quickly. In the steam-clouded mirror, my distorted reflection stared back as I fiddled with Zrenyth’s rope. Whatever magic it possessed ensured the fibers remained dry. Which was the only good thingabout it, because it was irritating enough having it looped about my throat.
Sighing, I squeezed the water from my hair, and with a spritz of detangler worked a comb through the damp strands. Taming Graysen Crowther pressed to the forefront of my mind. First, I needed to test this tamer aspect, push it, nudge it, tease it out to discover what I was dealing with. How, I wasn’t exactly sure.
Slipping on my dressing gown and tying the belt around my waist, I drifted out of the bathroom. As Graysen walked over to the kitchen, he stole a quick, assessing glance to make sure I was still okay before I disappeared into my bedroom.
It wasn’t until I’d shut the door and turned around, about to slip off my dressing robe and hang it up, that I realized something feltwrongabout the room.
I studied the small space with the window cut away from the adamere stone. A few sparrows darted across the blue sky with its cotton-white clouds. Late afternoon sunlight slunk over the bedside table stacked with the romance novels Penn had carried up here and stretched along the single bed with its disheveled blankets.
I cocked my head, baffled. My bed wasn’t made.
My eyes flared wide. The dress I’d worn yesterday was still on the floor where I’d stepped out of it.
What the…?
Confused, I skittered out of my bedroom and pointed at the open doorway. “My bed isn’t made!”
Graysen was standing near the kitchen, drinking a glass of water. Above the rim of the glass, his gaze slid my way, and one thick brow arched.
Hurrying forward, I rushed deeper into the room, scanning my surroundings. Penn and her team had brought up new furniture to replace the items I’d destroyed by tossing them over the edge of the balcony, but they hadn’t rearranged them nor putanything away. There were baskets full of the things I’d thrown from the tower, Graysen’s clothes and belts, and a few of his precious board games—stacked neatly beside the bookshelves. His bed remained rumpled from his sleep, and my breakfast dishes were in the kitchen sink. I drew an awful breath, a hand clamped to my chest. What the hells was going on?
“No one’s tidied up,” I squeaked. My whole world exploded around me.
Graysen lowered his glass, swiping the beads of moisture from his bottom lip with his thumb. “It’s Saturday.”
Oh, I hadn’t really been paying attention to the days. But still, so what if it was Saturday?
I suppose my thoughts were apparent on my face because he answered as if reading my mind. “It’s the weekend. Most of the staff have the weekend off, and if they happen to be doing overtime or on rotation, then they’ll have time off during the work week.”
I mean, I knew that my family’s servants were entitled to a day of leave, but certainly not a full weekend, and they were there to serve us any time, any day of the week.
He spoke slowly, carefully. “Over the weekend, my family has to fend for ourselves.”
“What do you mean,fendfor ourselves?”
“I mean…” he drawled, still talking to me as if I were a small child, “we have to clean up after ourselves, make our own beds and meals, and do the dishes.”
My heart started palpitating in my chest. I thought I was about to have a heart attack.
His eyes flared wide as he dragged a hand through his hair. “Holy fuck, please tell me you’ve made your own bed before?”
“Yes!” I shrieked. “Yes, I’m quite capable of making my own bed.” Just not picking up after myself very often or making meals. “I can’t cook.” I wrung my hands. “No one taught me. Ionly know how to open cans and bake cookies.” And Graysen no longer did sugary crap or processed food, so he wouldn’t have either of those things around. I was going to starve to death. By Monday, I’d be dead.
Eyes sparkling, he clapped a broad hand over his mouth to stifle his laugh and failed. “Oh my fucking gods, the drama all over your face. You’re not going to starve to death.”
I flung an arm and spat, “You’re no better. You couldn’t even cook pancakes. You burnt them.”
He leaned sideways and placed the empty glass on the granite kitchen counter. “Not being able to cook pancakes doesn’t mean I can’t cook.” He angled his chin toward the fridge. “There’s a ton of food there. You can cut up vegetables, right?”
