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Traitor.

I grab Jubilee’s suitcase. She follows me through the mudroom, but the second I open the covered walkway beside the garage, her footsteps slow. “Gage.”

I glance back. “Hmm?”

She surveys me, gesturing to the second structure ahead. “You said room. This is another building.”

“Technically.”

Her suspicion follows me up the stairs into the carriage apartment. It disappears the moment she steps across the threshold. She stops, taking it all in.

Bedroom. Bathroom. Small kitchen with a sink and microwave. No stove. I’m not suicidal. Living area. Balcony facing the trees. Nothing extravagant compared to the main house.

She stares like it’s Versailles. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

I set her suitcase beside the sofa. “It’s yours while you’re here.”

Her head snaps toward me. “This entire thing?”

“If you want it. I thought you might like having your own space.”

Her eyes go glassy. That reaction hits harder than I expect. Luxury doesn’t do it. Privacy does.

I keep my voice easy. “No expectations, Jules. You have a key. Lock the door if you want. Come over whenever you want. Don’t come over whenever you don’t.”

She crosses to the windows, fingertips brushing the curtain as she peeks out at the dark lawn and tree line. “I bet the view is tremendous in the morning.”

“It is.”

Her gaze drifts toward the balcony. “And if we put little string lights around the balcony⁠—”

She stops. I don’t. A laugh escapes before I can save her dignity. “You said we again.”

Her eyes close. “Not a word.”

“Do you have a twinkle-light fetish?”

She turns toward me. “Not that I know of. Do you have some moral objection to them?”

Unfortunately, my brain immediately supplies an image involving Jubilee, twinkle lights, and very little else.

“Princess.” I step closer and cup her face. “If you want to cover my entire house in twinkle lights, I’ll buy out a damn warehouse.”

“And not complain about how tacky it is?”

“Oh, I’ll definitely complain. But your smile could outshine all of them.”

She presses her lips together.

I groan. “That was really corny, wasn’t it?”

She bites her lip, visibly fighting herself. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Liar.”

One hand climbs to her hip, and her stance screams sassy. “So were you just picturing me with a twinkle-light fetish?”

Shit, this woman. I swallow hard. “I plead the Fifth.”