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CHAPTER 27
SIENNA
Sunlight shouldn’t have been allowed to be that smug.
It slipped around the edge of the curtain and straight across my face, warm and soft and entirely rude, like the universe had decided to spotlight my life choices.
I tried to burrow deeper into the pillow.
That pillow, unfortunately, smelled like Sterling.
The memory of the night before rushed up all at once…and I bolted upright.
The bed beside me was empty, though. The sheets were rumpled, and the other pillow was dented, but there was no massive, dangerous, beautiful man in sight.
Relief and disappointment crashed through me so fast they canceled each other out and left me with static.
“Good,” I whispered, though my voice shook. “He’s gone. You can just gather yourself now…or at least collect whatever pieces didn’t melt all over his chest.”
I pushed myself upright with a groan, and reality landed like a badly timed punchline. Sterling had hauled me out of the inn last night without giving me a chance to pack my bag…which meant that I was without my toiletries, clothes, or even a hairbrush this morning.
“Perfect,” I muttered, rubbing my face. Kidnapped without my skincare. This is how villains are made.
With no hope of fixing myself, my gaze drifted around the room I hadn’t properly seen last night. I hadn’t exactly gotten the tour, unless panic, crying, and passing out counted, so when I spotted a door cracked open across the room, curiosity tugged me toward it like a string.
I crossed the rug and nudged the door open with my fingertips, my jaw dropping as I saw what was inside.
Women’s clothes filled the space from end to end. Blouses, sweaters, jeans, dresses…an entire wardrobe arranged like someone lived here full-time. Someone decidedly not me.
My brain tripped over itself.
Had Sterling forgotten to mention the girlfriend who apparently dressed like a Pinterest board?
Jealousy swept through me in a hot, bracing ripple, followed by a vivid and alarming urge to yank every hanger down and perform a one-woman textile massacre. Maybe even salt the ruins for dramatic effect.
“Okay, breathe,” I whispered, gripping the doorframe. “You’re not a psychopath. You’re…reasonable. Mostly.”
Maybe he had a sister who visited, or a stylish aunt. Someone non-threatening.
But then my eyes landed on something that didn’t fit either theory, a shirt in soft green that cinched at the waist. I knew that shirt. I’d looked at it at the general store the other day.
And those leggings…I definitely remembered touching those leggings. Along with that cardigan and that dress and…
I blinked hard. “What the hell…?”
These weren’t other women’s clothes, these were mine. Or rather…clothes I would have bought if I’d had a paycheck. I had only gone to the store to window shop for later, see the prices, run a budget in my head, and decide what I’d need for the coming month.
But not all of them.
My gaze drifted lower and got caught on a row of pieces that absolutely had not come from the general store. Cashmere sweaters in muted jewel tones hung beside a silk camisole that looked like it belonged in a boutique where they handed you champagne just for walking in. Next to them, a skirt that whispered luxury hung next to rows of jeans.
My pulse skittered.
Some of these were exactly my taste, similar to what I used to wear in Boston. Some were the version of me I only ever let myself imagine in passing. But all of them…every single piece…felt unnervingly chosen.
For me.
Slowly, I reached out and ran my fingertips over a cream sweater so soft it could have been knitted by benevolent forest spirits. Then the green top with the store tag still attached.
