“It’s my room.”
“Sure, but . . . shouldn’t you be––?”
“No, Wren. It’s your birthday, and I want to hang with you.”
“At least one of us should have a fun closing to the night.”
“Wren!”
“Seriously, Raine, why would you want to hang out with me when you could be hanging out with your hunky boss?”
I glare at Wren. She’s wearing her pajamas, her eye mask perched on her forehead, hair pulled back with a scarf wrapped around it, makeup scrubbed off.
“Well, I thought because it’s your birthday...” I drop onto the end of the bed and prop myself up on my side, my hand under my head. “We’d planned to have a slumber party, remember? There’s no reason we can’t do it here.”
Wren’s eyes are closed, but she cracks one open, looking at me like a pirate missing her eye patch. “I can think of two really good reasons.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask.
“Yeah. Number one, it’s my birthday and I’m tired.”
I place my hand on her calf, giving it a little squeeze. “That’s two reasons already.”
“Fine, whatever. Three reasons.” She sighs. “There’s a hunky, hunky dragon shifter somewhere in this castle who was looking at you like you’re a meal. Not a snack but a full, gosh-darn meal. You’re not grilled cheese—you’re filet mignon. Mashed potatoes and gravy. You’re the whole thing. A real first-class meal.”
“Are you done?”
“No. You’re also chiffon pie. Chocolate with a nice graham cracker crust.”
“Wren, are you hungry?”
“No. No, I’m not hungry. The room’s spinning, and I just want to go to sleep and have some really nice dreams.”
“What are you going to dream about?”
“That’s for me to know and for you to never find out. Now, go.”
“Wren, this is my bedroom. I’m not going anywhere.”
“All right, if you insist. But at least go take your makeup off.” She points to the bathroom.
I do as she says, wrangling my hair into a braid like she’s told me so many times. After all, it is her birthday—or was her birthday. I glance at the clock on my dresser. It’s half past midnight.
I find myself standing by the window, looking up at the sky, wondering where Evander is and when he’s coming back. When I return to the bedroom, Wren is already snoring softly. I pull the blanket off the bottom of the bed and cover her up.
I should crawl into bed—that’s the right thing to do. But then I wonder again about Evander, and I have to know.
I open the door and silently pull it shut, avoiding the inevitable click. Then I’m standing in front of Roark’s door. I raise my hand to knock, but it opens before I touch it.
50
RAINE
“Raine,” he says, his voice dropping to a gravelly tone.
“Is Evander back yet?”
“No, my little Duchess, he won’t be back for a while. But like I said, he’ll be okay. You don’t need to worry.”
