Page 33 of Covert Desires

I should never have come to this stupid island.

Chapter ten

Collar

(Kiah)

Inonlyafewweeks, the first guests will start arriving at the inn. Where has the time gone?Fuck.

Usually, I start getting everything ready for the festive season way earlier. But my unexpected visitor-slash-prisoner has kept me otherwise occupied, the list of chores piling up.

My seasonal staff don't arrive for another three weeks. I usually take care of the initial set-up of the inn myself.

There is something almost therapeutic about putting everything in its right place. The routine of it all—dusting off decorations, hanging lights, arranging rooms—usually gives me a purpose after the stormy months.

But this year, I've been a bitdistracted.

I haven't even started planning the annual Christmas party yet. It's usually quite a do; everyone on the island comes. It’s one of those things I inherited when I bought the inn.

The first year, I tried to cancel the event, but people showed up anyway, and I had to scramble for food.

Over the years, I’ve accepted the Christmas party as inevitable, even looking forward to it—or perhaps only looking forward to it being over. The setup is always more enjoyable than actually dealing with the guests.

If you told me ten years ago that I’d be happy to run an inn tucked away on a tiny island, I would’ve laughed at you.

But a lot can change in a decade.

Where once I moved in shadows and violence, now I fuss over fresh linens and breakfast menus.

This place has become my sanctuary.

I’m not sure I could ever leave.

The isolation is...comforting. Miles of ocean between me and my past, yet I'm not entirely cut off from the world. Guests come and go, never staying long enough to see beneath my carefully crafted exterior.

It's connection without the risk of intimacy—perfect for someone like me who's been burned too many times. On good days, I can almost forget the blood on my hands, the scars on my body. (Almost.)

There's a certain irony in me, of all people, creating a home for others. I never had one growing up, bouncing from one foster family to another. Even as a soldier, home was wherever they sent me.

But now I get to build my own home, or at least try to.

I won't lie, there are days when the tranquility of this place suffocates me. When the sound of waves lapping at the shore sounds too much like blood rushing in my ears.

But what’s the alternative?

I can never go back.

No, the only option is to get back on track and prepare the inn in time for the guests so I can continue living the life I had planned.

Easier said than done when you’ve got a 28-year-old naked mafia prince tied to your bed.

Why is he still here?

What the fuck am I even doing?

I should get rid of him—I know I should.

Yet…

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