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And we drink to that.

“I’m hungry,”the statement is followed by a loud squawk. “Feed the pretty bird!”

“Give me a fucking minute, Effie!” I turn the knobs, shutting off the shower, and grab a towel off the bar. Barely drying off, I wrap it around my waist. She’s angry that I took a shower before feeding her after the grueling training this morning. The night off to get shitfaced, my ass. Apparently Coach didn’t get that memo. Six times up the cliffs and then a series of workouts at the top isn’t exactly something a person wants to do twelve hours following a bloodthirsty cage fight with the Dukes. “You’re lucky I have enough feeling in my limbs to feed you.”

“Thank you,” Effie croons. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I mutter, ruffling my fingers through my twists. “We’re almost out of treats.”

I open the cabinet in the hall, reaching for the bag, but it’s not there.Shit. Did I use the last one? Fuck, Effie’s gonna be pissed.

“Gentle,” comes a soft, feminine voice I’d know anywhere. I still remember it from last night, her damp, naked body in my lap as I fed her champagne.

I straighten, hand gripping my towel, and walk into the room. “What the fuck?”

Verity, dressed in a faded sweatshirt and torn jeans, stands over Effie’s cage, grinning brightly at her. I lunge, snatching the bag out of her hands, but not before Effie carefully takes a treat out of her fingertips.

“Gentle,” Effie croons, and I freeze.

Her voice is startlingly close to matching Verity’s.

Already.

“What are you doing?” I snap, standing between her and the cage. “Who said you could feed my bird?”

Verity gestures to Effie. “After listening to her cry out in starvation for hours, I finally decided to check on her!” Her eyes shift down, drawing upward from the towel, to my bare chest, until they land on my face.

Her cheeks color.

“She’s not starving.” I roll my eyes, pushing between her and Effie. “She’s just a drama queen.” I offer Effie a treat and she takes it.

“Good girl.” I run my finger down her beak.

“Effie’s a good girl,” she replies.

I dig into the bag and pull out another treat. “One more.”

Verity watches with a soft glint to her eye. “She’s so pretty,” she says.

“Pretty bird.” Effie preens after eating the treat. “Effie’s a pretty bird.”

“Don’t encourage her,” I sigh, closing the bag and tossing it on my desk.

“Doesn’t seem like it takes much,” Verity says, laughing when Effie trills out a melodic, “Effie’s a pretty, pretty bird.” The sudden delight alters her face so much that she looks like an entirely different person. Brighter. Radiant. The sound does something to me, Verity’s laughter settling into the base of my spine like electricity.

She pokes a finger through the cage to pet Effie’s beak like I had. “How long have you had her?”

I look at Effie, remembering the day I finally got the old man at the Gentleman’s Chamber to give her up to me. There aren’t a lot of happy days in the life of an Ashby, but that definitely counts as one of them, and when I hold out two fingers, Effie skitters close to nuzzle against them. “Almost ten years now.”

“Wow,” she says, and her next glance is almost too much. Full of awe and sweetness. “She really loves you.”

I don’t like it. Last night was bad enough, letting her see me all ragged and worn thin. The celebration was nice–called for–but it can’t set a precedent.

Verity isn’t my girlfriend.

She’s my Princess.

My project.