“The cottage I’m renting has black mold. It won’t be safe to move in for at least two months,” I shared. “And it wasn’t that easy to find an appropriate space that would rent to me for only six months. Now I need something fast, and that cottage is cute. I’m bummed I don’t get to stay there. But I don’t know when it’s going to be ready, and I can’t ask a prospective landlord to let to me for two to three months or ask Mr. Atkins to wait for me if I’m in a place for three months and his place is ready to let earlier. I think in the end, I’m probably going to be bouncing around Airbnbs for three months, and that sucks.”
“Vivienne, you have a home.”
My back straightened, and one could say, him uttering those words set an electric bolt through me, much like the one I felt when I first met him.
“You’ll stay at The Downs,” he decreed.
“I can’t ask?—”
“You didn’t.”
“Listen—”
“This isn’t a discussion, Vivienne. You’re staying at The Downs.”
My back got straighter.
“Battle—”
“Now, I must go.”
“Battle, no, hang on a second.”
“What?”
“I can’t stay here.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I’m using your Wi-Fi. And eating your food. And your staff handwashes my sweaters for me.”
“And?”
And?
“All of that costs money,” I stated the obvious.
“Agreed.”
“So…” I let that hang.
“Vivienne, as you pointed out so eloquently not long ago, we’re super, crazy, stupid rich.”
“You are. I’m a freeloader.”
“Hardly.” Now his purr had a sting.
“Look at it from my perspective,” I urged.
“What I’m asking you to do, something you seem incapable of doing, is looking at it from mine.”
“Okay, I know you all really dig me, and that’s sweet. Super sweet. I love it. Because I really dig you all too. And I know you’re really happy that Prue is blossoming after she let those schoolgirl bitches take away her shine. But I already felt like I’m taking advantage of you, this will only make it worse.”
“You aren’t.”
“But I feel it.”
“However, you aren’t.”
