Page 77 of Hide and Keep

“Where are you going?”

“I’m staying on the estate.”

“Where?”

Crue’s voice is closer than it was. Than it should be. I told him where, so why is he following me?

“I’m going for a swim.”

“Where’s your suit?”

“Don’t need one. You saw for yourself, my panties are already drenched. A little pool water’s nothing.”

“Miss, you can’t swim in your underwear,” he gnashes in warning.

I ignore that as I round to the back of the manor because it’snotmy name. Also, what’s the big deal? My underwear covers the exact same things my swimsuit does. He just did the same thing the other day.

“Ever,” comes out in a growl that sends a shiver up my spine, not in fear, but in…something else. Something that makes my panties even wetter.

“I’m not going off property. Isn’t that good enough?”

“No, it’s not, and you fucking know it. Stop being so difficult.”

“You asked for it,” I mutter because he literally did. More than once.

When I reach the atrium, I pause outside the door and face Crue. He approaches me like a bull in a ring, all snarly and pissed off.

“This isn’t the pool.”

I pat his head exactly like he did mine. Well, I try to. Even in heels, I’m still shorter than him. It doesn’t help that he bats my hand away with one easy swipe.

“Good job, Crue. Maybe tomorrow you can—”

“I need to see what’s in there.”

“No, you don’t.”

“It’s my fucking job to protect—”

“There’s nothing in there that can hurt me. I promise.”

“You’re a pathological liar. Your promises don’t mean shit to me.”

We hold a stare-off, neither of us willing to back down.

“Don’t follow me inside. I mean it. I’ll stab you.”

He laughs. “With what? Your fucking high heels? You already tried that—”

I stomp on his foot, making sure the sharp heel lands on his toes, hopefully piercing at least one.

“Shit!”

I close the door on his doubled-over form, then lock it. After a couple calming breaths that fill my lungs with the balmy eighty-degree air, I turn around and go through the second door, a genuine smile splitting my face. Dropping my head back, my eyes lift to see hundreds of butterflies flitting about overhead. It’s mostly silent in here, but if you listen closely, you can hear the light fluttering of wings.

Hundreds more hide in plain sight—on tree branches, the floor, the walls, rocks around the koi pond set into the center. There are fewer than thirty indoor butterfly atriums in America,this being the only one in Connecticut. Housing both tropical flora and butterflies from all over the world, these three thousand square feet are not just the butterflies’ sanctuary, but mine as well. I don’t have to be anything other than myself in here. I don’t have to say anything I don’t want to. I don’t have todoanything I don’t want to. It’s one of the few places that I feel free.

A common birdwing lands on my sleeve, using its two front legs to taste me.

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