"Okay," I pull the blanket up to my chin.
"I'm also meeting with the other families."
I pause. My fingers grip the edge of the blanket. The other families. My brothers. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.
In. Out. In. Out.
This is one of those things we don't talk about.
Saint stops and his green eyes are filled with concern. "Gemma? Are you okay?"
"Am I okay?" I laugh, and the sound is hollow. "You told me that I helped Artem efficiently kill a room full of people and seize power. So, no."
I'd been thinking about that all night. Igor's easy, drunk smile. The way he'd been so gracious to us, thanking us, inviting us in for a night of peace, how he'd tried to keep me from Alexei's clutches, even putting his own life on the line to do so.
My stomach turns.
"Gemma—"
"Go to your meeting. We'll talk later."
I need time to process. The last few weeks have been a rollercoaster, and I feel like my brain has been too flooded with every hormone in the book. I need to breathe. To think. To be alone. Saint is too distracting. We fall into one another too easily.
He hesitates. "I'll be back as soon as I can, alright?"
I nod. "I'll see you soon."
I stay in bed. Thinking.
My plan failed. I got Igor killed and helped Artem, the very person I was trying to thwart.
I'm a strategist who played directly into the enemy's hands.
It won't happen again.
Saint thinks I'm dangerous now. A weapon he can use.
But is that what I want? To be used?
I wanted power, respect, equality.
But as what? Saint's attack dog? His strategic consultant? His pretty wife who occasionally gets to play at being important?
What do I want? He asked me that before all of this, and I still don't have an answer.
I do know what I don't want.
I don't want what Bianca desired for me.
Or what Adrian expected.
Or what Saint thinks I want.
What do I actually want?
That's the question that keeps me up at night.
Because I feel like I'm floating around, unmoored, and it's fucking with my brain.
