Page 92 of Reign

Absolutely not.

“This is…” I pause because every available word feels like a confession. “A lot.”

Marisol smiles. “Señor Castillo chose this room for you and asked that it be prepared before you arrived.”

Of course the terrifying cartel prince with the cheekbones and the control issues decided my comfort required a lavender palace.

I walk farther into the room, pretending to inspect it with detached criticism when really I’m trying not to touch everything like a peasant in a museum.

There are fresh flowers on the dresser. White roses.

My suitcase has already been placed near the closet. That means Rafael was here with Riot.

I should call him. Right after freaking Adriana.

“The bathroom is through there,” Marisol says, breaking my thoughts and gesturing toward a door on the right. “If you need anything, press the call button beside the bed or use the house phone. The kitchen is available to you at any time.”

Button beside the bed?

“Thank you,” I say instead, because my manners are unfortunately stronger than my will to be difficult.

Marisol leaves me with another small smile, closing the doors softly behind her.

The silence that follows is immediate.

I stand in the middle of the room for a moment, staring at the lavender walls.

Then I go to the bathroom.

The bathroom is white marble and warm brass and glass and light. A soaking tub sits beneath the window. The shower is big enough to host a business meeting. Fluffy towels are stacked on open shelves, and beside the sink is a neat arrangement of toiletries.

Toiletries.

Expensive ones.

I freeze. It can’t be.

I pick up one of the bottles and turn it over in my hand.

It’s the body oil I reposted last month on my socials.

The exact one.

The one I wanted and refused to buy because even I have limits, despite what my brothers think. Beside it is the cream from the same line. The cleanser. The perfume mist I had stared at for twenty minutes before deciding I didn’t need it.

Apparently, I did need it.

Because it manifested in the bathroom of a man who terrifies my nervous system.

I set the bottle down carefully.

Then I look at myself in the mirror.

My reflection looks polished. Pretty. Fine.

A liar in lip gloss.

“This is normal,” I tell her.