I shrug. “A few days…”
His chest lifts and falls, lifts and falls.
“Will you miss me?” I keep my tone teasing, even though I’m curious to learn if he will.
The tension in his posture finally breaks, and he grips my hips. “I miss you every second we aren’t together.”
I hesitate to invite him along. After all, Alexander liked Cillian’s cooking. I give my head a small shake.
Too soon.
Too dangerous.
“Will you missme?” Cillian’s timbre is as hesitant as mine was flippant.
I nod, threading my arms between his to circle his waist. “Should we go check out the bathing amenities? I’d kill for a hot bath.”
“Haven’t had one of those in…in…” He looks at the ceiling as though the answer would be written there. “God, I can’t even remember.”
The bathroom possesses the same quiet luxury as the rest of the suite with its amethyst marble, tasseled glass pendants, round mirrors, and gold fixtures. As I fill the bath, Cillian eyes the décor as though it’s personally offending him.
Even though he doesn’t reiterate, “It’s too much,” it’s written plainly in the lines of his face and the rigidity of his shoulders.
“If I knew you’d hate it so much, I would’ve asked for their shittiest room.”
“I don’t hate it.” A muscle ticks in his jaw. “It’s just that…”
I wait.
“That I don’t like how it makes me feel,” he finally admits.
I tilt my head. “How does it make you feel?”
“Impotent.”
I blink. “Why in the world would a hotel room make you feel impotent?”
His cheeks hollow. “Because I can’t afford it, Electra.”
“I can’t either.”
His frown deepens. “What?”
“Inherited money isn’t earned money. I’ve never made a dime in my life. If anyone should feel impotent, it’s me.”
“You’re twenty.”
“Not an excuse.”
“You could make money if you needed to.”
“Probably, but the fact remains that I haven’t made any. So stop hating on this room. I’m not the one paying for it. It’s a gift from my parents.”
“Not sure that makes me feel any better,” he mutters.
Nevertheless, his shoulders lose their harsh angle and he finally…finallysets down his bag.
He’s staying.
