“Need me to what, princess? Need me to make you come?”
Yes.“No. I’m not a deviant.” Why do my jeans feel like they’ve shrunk five sizes?
“You’re sure about that?”
“Okay, have it your way,” I whisper a little desperately. “I’ll try to smile. I’ll be nice.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
“Don’t you get it?” I whine. “Misbehaving would be telling my family that you fart horrendously in your sleep or that you have a thing for feet.”
Maybe I should shove my own foot in my mouth.
“Lavender.” God, why do I love the way he makes a warning of my name? But at least his hand stills as Primrose appears again.
“I don’t know why I have to play housemaid while you just sit here like you’ve forgotten what your hands are for.”
“I haven’t forgotten what my hands are for,” Raif says in that tone again. “Have I, princess?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. Not until I’ve taken a deep breath. “I’ll help,” I sort of squeak.
I make to move when his hand slips to my thigh with a squeeze.
“No, let me.” Raif begins to stand, his hand sliding away. I don’t know whether this makes me happy or sad. Maybe I’ll make sense of it when my body stops throbbing.
“No.” Primrose gives a resigned sigh. “You stay where you are. Can’t have the guests of honor serving.”
“My, aren’t I special.” Though my heart rate has begun to slow, annoying her doesn’t require a lot of attention. It’s second nature.
“Oh, Lavender, you’re so much more than a guest,” she says, sickly sweet. “You’re also the entertainment.”
I flip her the bird with an antagonistic smile.
God, I love that Primrose is my little sister. She’s so easy to annoy.
“What’s Brin still doing in the kitchen?” I ask as she begins to turn away.
“Pretending to be Whit,” she says, turning back. She lifts one shoulder, then drops it carelessly. “You know, reinforcing a patriarchal ideology.” Her eyes flick to Raif, and I instantly understand.
“Are your ears burning?” I turn the question to him.
“Should they be?”
“Probably. Whit likes to think he’s the man of the house,” I say by way of explanation.
Polly mostly placates my brothers’ masculine sensibilities. Oh, shetsksand nods and agrees in all the right places. Then, when they leave, she carries on doing whatever it was they warned her against. She’s a very managing woman, my mother. It’s genius, really. None of them seem to have realized she doesn’t give a flying fig for what they think.
“Don’t let me keep you away from the gossip,” I saw, shooing her with my hand.
This time, she flips me the bird before toddling off in the direction of the kitchen.
“So why do you think my brother is trying to get my mum to chuck you out?” I ask, turning to face him and pressing my elbow to the tabletop.
“I have no idea.”
“Yeah, I’m not buying that.” I rest my cheek on my hand. “Is it because you’re a criminal?”
“I’m not a criminal. I’m a businessman,” he carefully corrects.
