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She woke slowly, found him sitting at the edge of the bed with a mug already waiting, and studied him over the rim with an expression he was beginning to recognize — the same merciless structural read she gave every room she walked into.

“You look like you didn’t sleep.”

“I didn’t.”

“Bad conscience?”

“Close enough.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

“That’s the one you get before coffee. Drink first. Interrogate second.”

“You don’t have house rules. You have a penthouse you’ve probably never let anyone else stand in, based on the general aura of a museum exhibit nobody’s supposed to touch.”

“You touched several things last night, and touched them rather enthusiastically, as I recall it.”

“That’s different, and I’d like you to stop looking so pleased with yourself about it before I finish my coffee and regain the capacity for a proper argument.”

He didn’t stop looking pleased with himself. She didn’t seem especially committed to making him.

“For a man who apparently runs three continents’ worth of hotels, you have a remarkably smug morning routine.”

“I don’t have a morning routine. I have you, currently, which is a far more interesting problem than the one I woke up with yesterday.”

“That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“It was purely a compliment. I don’t do anything by accident.”

“Everything you do is calculated. It’s a little unsettling before coffee.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“That sounds less like a promise and more like a threat, delivered with altogether too much confidence.”

“With me, it’s rarely just one or the other.”

“You’re not going to tell me what’s actually going on, are you?”

“Not yet.”

“That’s an answer I’m going to remember you gave.”

“I’m counting on it.”

She didn’t push further, not this morning, choosing not to rather than missing the fact that there was plenty here worth pushing on. He sat beside her, certain of her in the same total way he’d been certain since the day he’d first seen her face, and watched her begin, cautiously, to suspect that his certainty might not be like the other certainties that had let her down before.

“I should go home. Shower. Feed myself something that isn’t hotel coffee, excellent as it is.”

“I’ll have Victor bring your car around.”

“Of course you will.” She said it almost fond, the fury of the previous night worn down to exhaustion edged with reluctant warmth. “I haven’t forgiven you for the security detail, for the record. That’s a separate, ongoing grievance.”

“I know.”

“Or that we’re finished discussing what you’re not telling me.”

“I know that too, and I’m not looking forward to it, if I’m honest.”