Page 47 of Meet Cute the Virgin

“You know it’s just open…” I trail off because it doesn’t matter and because the vault door is now all the way open and I can see inside. Holy Scrooge McDuck! A small laugh leaves me. I almost don’t believe my own eyes.

The vault is bigger than my bedroom at Tristan’s, which is saying a hell of a lot because that room was crazy big. It’s lined with shelves that hold pure chaos. Velvet crowns in pinks and gold. A gold bar sitting on a velvet pillow like it belongs in a museum.

On another side are first edition romance novels with covers featuring bare-chested pirates. Antique handcuffs in a glass case. A single orchid under its own tiny grow light. And in the corner, staring at me with glass eyes, is a taxidermic peacock. I honestly cannot make this shit up. I blink a few times to make sure I’m seeing what I’m seeing.

“Was that ice cream laced with shrooms? And none of this is really here because all of it is crazy.”

“That’s Reginald,” Teddy says, hopping over to the bird, and she starts stroking his feathers. “Don’t be rude. Say hello.”

“Hey, Reginald,” I say because not saying hello to the peacock is not the hill I’m going to die on today. There are bigger birds to grill around here.

“He’s very comforting.” She moves to a mini fridge. “I’m excited about this part because I’ve never gotten to do it. Ready?” she asks, and I simply nod. “The emergency supplies.”

She opens the fridge to reveal champagne.

“I think I might actually need a glass at this point,” I say, elbowing Reginald. “You want one too?”

“Don’t be rude.” Teddy gives me a look. “He’s been sober for eight years.”

“When did he die?” I ask.

“Eight years ago.” The cork pops, and I scream when it flies over my head.

She pours it into two crystal flutes, handing me one. I don’t even know if I like champagne. Only one way to find out.

“To not dying,” Teddy says, raising her glass.

“Guess I’ll cheers to that.” We clink the glasses together and drink. The bubbles burn going down.

Teddy sinks onto a velvet settee that has no business being in a vault. I sit beside her. The champagne hits fast, probably because I haven’t eaten since breakfast, before I decided to flee my captor and nearly get kidnapped. What’s with all these men trying to steal me? I’m popular.

I stare at a painting hanging on the wall with a light over it. “Is that a…” I trail off.

“You’re not seeing it. It’s just an illusion. Because that painting burned up in a fire in 1912. So there’s no way I could have the original locked up in my vault.” Okay then. I jump over the subject of the easily million-dollar Baldwin painting.

“Did you see Tristan put a tracker on me?” I look down at myself. “He showed me on his phone, but where the hell is it?” I hold my arms out. I’m only in my clothes. I didn’t even take my phone with me.

“Gotta be in your clothes.”

“My clothes?”

“Don’t move.” I freeze, and Teddy starts copping feels all over me, making me laugh. She runs her finger along a seam of my sweatpants. “Feel it.”

“That crafty bastard.” I run my fingers over the spot, and you can barely feel it. “That’s illegal.” I should not be so impressed, but I am.

“Him tracking you or the painting?” Teddy refills my glass. “You beat that man with a stick of lumber.”

“Hey, you make it sound like you’re innocent. You keep tasing people.”

“Why does everyone throw that in my face?” She kicks off her shoes. “You saved us with construction debris.”

We laugh. It’s wrong; it’s hysterical; it’s the champagne. I drink more.

“I hate him,” I say. But my voice cracks.

“You want to fuck him.”

“That’s not—I don’t—” I stop. The vault is spinning slightly. “He tracked me like I’m property. He probably watched me shower. He definitely watched me sleep.”