Page 63 of Cruel Romeo

Petyr settles across from me. He isn’t touching his food, but his scalding coffee disappears down his throat like fresh water.

It feels oddly domestic, eating like this. Like we’ve known each other all our lives.

Then I remember dinner last night. How quiet he got afterwards.

Unease stirs in me. “So,” I say, more to break the silence than anything.

“So.”

“You didn’t come back last night.”

“I had a work emergency.”

“Yeah. You’ve said.” I hide my face behind the rim of my cup. “How did it go? Did you save the planet or whatever it is you billionaires with racecars do in your spare time?”

His brow furrows. “My Lambo isn’t a racecar.”

“Apologies. Your very long, very flat minivan.”

I can see a smile fighting to get out. But it must not fight very hard, because soon, Petyr’s face is the same exact shade of Exhaustion Gray it was moments ago, only more guarded. “No planets were saved. But I did what I needed to do.”

“That’s very informative.”

“I wasn’t aware you were looking for information.”

“I’m not,” I recover as smoothly as I can. Even though I really wasn’t looking, it’s better if he doesn’t have a reason to suspect me. To look too deeply into me. “Just wondering if you caught any Zs last night.”

My explanation seems to relax him a little. “Sleep is a luxury,” he rumbles with that low baritone of his that makes me want to nod dumbly at everything he says.

“And the life you lead here is certainly that of a pauper.”

He shrugs. “In this life, you learn to trade one luxury for another. It’s the only way to get what you really want.”

“Bartering?”

“Sacrifice.”

And on that joyful note, we turn back to our breakfast.

But the silence gnaws at me. And I do have a request for Petyr, so I might as well smash it to smithereens while I’m at it. “I like it here,” I say. “The penthouse.”

He lifts his gaze from his picked-at sandwich. “It’s not for sale.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I roll my eyes. “Just so you know, I like having both my kidneys. And I’m no gold-digger. As my escape attempt up your rusty gate should have already established.”

He seems to mull over my words. “No, you’re not,” he concedes.

“Great,” I mutter. “Glad we settled that.”

“So what did you want with my penthouse, then?”

Right. Fuck. That.

“Nothing,” I say, voice rising an octave too high.

Petyr doesn’t look convinced.

“Fine,” I blurt. “It’s nothing big. I was just thinking we could stay here for a while.”