Francesca doesn’t gasp, doesn’t even flinch, just stills. She takes it all in: the theatrics, the sweat, the moaning, and the rhythm. Time crawls by alongside the slapping of skin. And then she moves on, her eyes shifting to me like she’s more interested in my reaction. Her cheeks areviolentlyflushed now, and I can’tstop staring at the red blooming up her neck. It makes her look real, with blood waking up in her veins for the first time since she was born.
There’s a hint of surprise in her eyes, as if she expected to catch me off guard eventually, but just never expected it to come this early. I hate that she looks vaguely satisfied that I’ve cracked first. I should speak, should explain what happened, maybe even lie. I’m good at lies.
But instead, I just look at her.
I can’t stop.
The world punishes me for not speaking first by giving that honour to the fucking toad still seated on the remote.
“Cultural research,” he says.
Cultural. Fucking. Research.
I hear him swallow, and if I looked away from Francesca, I’m sure I would’ve seen him nervously scratch his chin.
He points at the TV. “This one has good rhythm. Hip movement.”
Francesca blinks. Just once. Her breath catches, an aborted laugh maybe, and she glances briefly at Kai as though acknowledging his presence before she’s looking at me again. I’ve spent days reading her files.
Every photograph of her that my father’s team managed to find looked like it was taken in a mausoleum. Restrained. Cold. Tragic. Even the write-ups spoke of her like she were already dead, with one journalist describing her as being‘ghostly in her grace’.
But now, her breathing’s just a touch faster, her cheeks blooming, and her eyes crinkling slightly. Then her mouth curves, and her grin slips free, pulling at the cut. It’s the realest thing I’ve seen on her, and the worst part is I can’t shake the knowledge thatmyhumiliation caused it.
“This isn’t—” I try to save face, my voice lower than I want it to be. I clear my throat. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
Francesca lifts her chin towards the painting of Lady Athena. That poor woman forced to watch my brother’s unhinged choice of entertainment. “Seems a great time to tell you that the woman in that portrait was excommunicated for adultery and indecency.” A breathy chuckle leaves her. “You’ll fit right in with her, then.”
Kai bursts into laughter, the sound choked and uncontained. He laughs even louder than the porn, and I take his distraction as an opportunity to shove him and free the remote. The TV clicks off, and all we’re left with is Kai’s wheezing and Francesca watching him like he’s the most entertaining thing she’s ever seen.
“You’re not going to pretend you didn’t see that and walk away?” My question pulls her attention back to me, and something in my gut clenches.
She wrinkles her nose, scanning the room and checking if I’ve already made changes. I don’t know what she was expecting, perhaps graffiti on the portraits? I’d like to think I’m better than all of the headlines.
Then again, she just walked in while porn was playing on my bloody TV.
“I’ve lived through worse, as you well may know. I’ll thank you for the visuals, though.” As if she didn’t just reference her tragic past, she steps further into the room. “Hm, like I was saying, I only came to inform you that this corridor connects both rooms. It used to be a shared sitting chamber for a duchess and her…consort.” The way she emphasises the word makes Kai smirk. “I can ask for the panel to be sealed for the duration of your stay. That is, if you prefer more privacy.”
At first, her words sound like a joke, one that pushes Kai to snicker to himself, but I was never one for surface-level conversations. For that reason, I let the offer hang in the air.
Francesca lifts one brow at my muteness. “Sometimes it opens on its own, even,” she adds, almost in warning. “The stone swells in the heat.”
So does my humiliation, apparently.
“So does his cock,” supplies Kai lowly through a snort. Francesca pretends not to hear, but her ears flush.
My sigh comes heavy.
I could nod. I could ask for the panel to be sealed, but that would mean admitting that I need it. That her presence has shaken me, that two people fucking on the screen is enough to cut through my composure. She’s giving me control, which means she knows I lost it.
And I would never admit to that.
“Leave it open.” A low command. Almost careless. Her head tilts a fraction. Just the smallest of movements, but it’s the way her eyes brighten that truly gets me—that flicker of interest, of curiosity.
“As you wish,” she says softly, then claps her hands together and gives us that practised polite smile.Us. Because she looks at Kai, too. “Another reason for my intrusion is that I wanted to know if there’s anything you’d like to do before my grandparents return? Tour the grounds? Or should I leave you to your, ah,research?”
“I’ve never been one for studying anyway,” Kai is quick to say, giving her his full attention. He does that thing with his lips that he accuses me of, that supposed repressed horniness, and it takes a moment for me to realise he’s doing it on purpose.
To piss me off.
