Page 47 of Cruel Juliet

Great. Maybe tomorrow, he’ll pull out a club and drag me by the hair into a cave.

My clothes, my toiletries, everything I’ve gathered in here over the past weeks ends up back in my suitcase. His hands move quickly, like he wants it done before I can argue any further.

I sit on the edge of the bed and watch him. “Sure. Go on. I am after all biologically incapable of moving my hairbrush down the hall without your big, strong, masculine assistance.”

I wonder what he thinks I’ll do if he lets me handle this myself. Slip a vial of poison into a secret compartment? Throw a smoke bomb at my feet and disappear like a ninja?

Whatever he does or does not suspect, he doesn’t let me in on it. Just keeps tossing my stuff into the open maw of the suitcase on the floor.

When all my stuff is packed, he lifts the case in one hand and nods toward the door. “Walk.”

I do. Because I’m a prisoner and, apparently, I don’t get a say in what happens to me. Not even when it comes to where I want to sleep.

His room is as large and dark as I remember. My heart clenches. We used to spend so many happy evenings here. We’d explore each other’s bodies deep into the night and fall asleep curled into each other.

Now, we couldn’t be farther apart.

I hesitate on the threshold. “Why do you even want me here?”

“Because this is where you belong.”

“Not according to you,” I retort. “You said it yourself, remember? I was only supposed to stay long enough to give you an heir. After that, you’re gonna toss me back to my father.”

Petyr’s face tightens, but he only sets my bag down near the dresser, then opens drawers for me as if nothing has changed. “Unpack,” he says.

“Sure. Want me to jump, too? Bark on command?”

“Shut up,” he growls. “And do as I say.”

My hand itches to mock-salute him, but I keep it stuck to my side.

Unpacking my handful of belongings is easier than I thought it would be. The drawers in his dresser are still empty. The space I once filled is waiting for me, untouched.

When I open the closet, I see all the clothes I didn’t take when I ran, still hanging there, pressed and neat as if no time has passed at all.

I run my hand over the fabric. “You kept all of this,” I whisper despite myself.

He stands in the doorway, arms crossed. “Of course I did. Did you think I’d throw them away?”

“You could have.” I brush my fingers along the hem of a cocktail dress. I didn’t want to buy this one, but Petyr convinced me to—through not very conventional means. The memory is still burned into my mind and body. “More room for you.”

“You were always going to be back here. It wouldn’t have made sense to use up the space.”

For a second, his faith floors me. Then I realize he didn’t say I was going tocomeback—I was going tobeback. Because he was going to drag me, no matter what I wanted.

“Right. How romantic.”

His eyes never leave my back as I unpack. Every move I make, it’s with Petyr’s stare weighing me down, making me feel things I don’t want to feel.

I swallow. My mouth feels dry all of a sudden. My palms are sweaty, my breath shorter.

I force myself to keep moving. One drawer, then another. All my clothes get folded and tucked away.

It feels like I’m erasing the Sima who used to live here before me. The one who still had hopes that, somehow, her doomed crush would turn out to be the great love of her life.

But it also feels like a return. Inevitable. Like Petyr said.

I don’t know which thought unsettles me more.