Page 68

I spit a curse, rising to my feet. “Give me your keys.”

Wicker looks disheveled in a way that isn’t intentional. His eyes are glassy from the brandy, hair tangled in the front. “No.” Slurring, he adds, “Fuck you.”

A glance at the screen confirms my fears, Heather pouring a white glob onto Verity’s red, silky hair. “I don’t have time for your sibling rivalry bullshit,” I growl, lunging to jab a hand into Wicker’s coat pocket.

“Hey!” he barks, punching my arm, but I’ve already hit the mark, clutching my fingers around a key ring. When I yank it free of his pocket, Wicker slams his fist into my shoulder, exploding, “Fuck it! Go ahead and run to her like the pussy-whipped shithead you are.” He turns to where some of the PNZ guys are watching, shifting uncomfortably. “All of you! Probably had to get permission to stare at someone else’s tits, didn’t you? Weak fucking bitches.” He stumbles as he backs away, throwing two middle fingers in the air. “Stay in school, fellas! Do your goddamn duty.”

I lock eyes with Lex all the way across the room, the phone still glued to his ear.

Jerking my chin in Wicker’s direction, I wait until Lex nods in understanding before I sprint out of the club.

* * *

Restingmy hand on the small of her back, I lead her up the main staircase, eyes flitting around like I’m doing something unspeakably illicit. My brothers are still at the stag party, probably wondering what made me leave in such a hurry, and Father’s there with them. It just settles over me awkwardly, being away from screens and surveillance feeds. That must be it.

“In here,” I say, knowing it’s bad when she doesn’t fight, allowing me to usher her over the threshold to her room. She’s been quiet and tense, this little crevice set into the skin between her eyebrows.

She looks like she’s absorbed in dreaming up some elaborate revenge plot.

And for once, it probably isn’t against me.

When we enter her bathroom, I flick on the light, turning to assess her. She’s a horror show, from the green mask that flaked all over the interior of Wick’s precious car, to the matted hair. It’s one thing to mess with the Princess. It’s another to touch that shiny, red hair.

Mine.

When she just stands there, wooden and expressionless, I turn to the sink, snagging a washcloth from the little shelf beside the mirror. It takes a moment for the tap to run hot, and I keep my stare on her reflection as I wait, wondering what she’s thinking.

That’s the worst part of all this.

I can watch her every second of the day—and sometimes, I do—but there are parts of her I’ll never have access to. Like that day down in the exam room, hearing the heartbeat on the ultrasound. Some intangible knot in my chest loosened. I took a copy of the initial sonogram video from Lex, but it’s all blurry and confusing, and I’d rather punch myself in the dick than ask Lex to explain it all to me. It’s not enough anymore to watch her like this. I need to see inside her. I need to know her veins and muscles and organs and sinew. I need to touch it, memorize it, map it out, and tape it to my wall.

Such a shame she can’t get any x-rays.

“I left my bag.” The words tumble from her mouth like a distracted afterthought.

I dip the cloth beneath the hot water, wringing it out. “Miss Adeline will keep it for you.” I approach her like she’s a spooked animal, showing her the rag before knuckling beneath her chin. The crevice between her brows deepens as I swipe it over her cheek, removing the mask. I watched Lex do something similar a few days ago, curved behind her as he cleaned her mouth of vomit. The flare of jealousy in my chest didn’t make sense at the time—who the fuck wants to clean someone’s vomit—but now I think I understand.

Inch by inch, I reveal her skin, pink and unblemished beneath the clay, and with each pass of the rag, another knot in my chest unwinds.

“There,” I sigh once it’s all gone.

Now I can see her.

There’s a knock on the door.

“What?” I snap.

“Sorry to interrupt. It’s Stella.” The handmaiden. “I gathered the supplies. Do you need me to—”

“Leave them by the door.”

“Yes, sir.” There’s a pause, then, “Princess?”

Verity’s red-rimmed eyes hold mine, and she says, “It’s okay, Stella. Thank you.”

I wait a beat before walking to the door, opening it to find a caddy filled with everything I asked for. Mineral oil, acetone, a comb with thick teeth, and a special shampoo for damaged hair. I pick it up and step back inside, back to her.

I reach out slowly to grasp the robe’s belt, half afraid she plans to shank me. “I’m just gonna…” I let my words trail off as I give it a gentle tug. “To clean you up.”