Page 162 of Cruel Romeo

“I gotta head out for a bit. Don’t mind the bag—I’m just taking my laundry to another state.”

Also no.

“Someone just called. They said you won an all-paid vacation to Aruba, but you have to leave now. Like, right now.”

Fuck my life.

I rub my temples. I can’t brute-force this. I need a distraction. Something shiny to throw in Luka’s face while I slip into the elevator like the world’s least graceful magician.

I stop pacing and plant my hands on the dresser. Then I lean forward until my forehead almost touches the mirror. My reflection stares back at me, pale and tight-eyed, but still breathing.

“You got out once,” I murmur. “You can do it again.”

Staying here isn’t an option. I’d lose everything. Petyr would win. He’d get my baby.

And that’s not an option.

So, step one: distract Luka. That’s the first obstacle I have to overcome. The crux of Operation Save My Own Ass.

I walk up to the front door. My hand is clammy on the handle. I have to wipe it on my jeans before I try again.

“Come on,” I hiss to myself. “Get it done. Dad was scarier.”

I pull the door open.

Luka is exactly where he always is. His arms are crossed, his eyes tracking the hall restlessly. He’s probably self-digesting again. If Petyr told him anything about me, though, his face doesn’t show it. When his gaze turns to me, there isn’t any more alarm than usual in it. He doesn’t look at me like I’m the enemy.

Good. I can use that.

My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears. I paste on what I hope is a casual smile and step closer. “Hey,” I manage, voice squeakier than I’d like. “Can you help me with something?”

His brow ticks up. “With what?”

Just my daring escape. Nothing fancy.“There’s… Uhh… A pair of shoes I can’t reach. On the top shelf of the closet.”

His forehead creases. Not a good sign. “Are we heading out?”

“Nope,” I say, too quickly. “I just wanted to try them on. For… you know. Later.” When his face still doesn’t show any sign of computing, I add, “Petyr likes them. Heels. Seeing me in them. Especially, um, around the house.”

Finally, Luka’s cheeks turn the color of ripe peppers. “Oh.”

“Yep.” My stomach is doing backflips, but I somehow manage not to show it. “So, can you…?”

“Yes. Of course.” Luka springs off the wall so fast, I’m surprised there’s no cartoon sound effect. “Which closet?”

I point too quickly toward the bedroom. “That one. Top shelf, left corner. Petyr shoved the box up there, and I—” Ipause, force myself to keep breathing.Be cool. Don’t overexplain it.“I just can’t get to it.”

Luka doesn’t ask any more questions. Likely because I’ve already filled his nightmares with answers he did not want.

I close my eyes and send a silent apology to his therapist.

He leans into the walk-in closet. His shoulders bunch as he reaches up and peers towards the top shelf.

Now. This is my chance.

My socked feet pad soundlessly across the carpet. I slip backwards slowly. My heart is slamming against my ribs as I ease the door shut behind me.

Then I grab the belt I stashed at my waist.