Page 99 of Hide and Keep

“I look forward to seeing you both in the morning.”

Before he can leave, I say, “Miss Munreaux was wondering if you could add Greek yogurt to her diet? Maybe with her breakfasts? Just for like…” Shit. I can’t remember how long the website said. “A week. Maybe.”

“A week?”

“Yeah.” That sounds good.

“It would be my honor.”

“Thanks… Oh, and, um. Can you make sure it’s plain Greek yogurt? No sugar.” Because that makes things worse down there apparently.

“Shouldn’t be a problem. Anything else?”

“Uh…” Should I? I probably shouldn’t. But I am responsible for her, and I guess, in a way, her pussy’s current state. So, then, I should. “Some coconut oil, too.”

“In Miss Munreaux’s diet as well?”

“No, that’s…just for me. To have. On hand.” I’ll give it to her…so she can apply it herself. I’m not offering to do it for her.

Now, if she asked me to…

Would she ask me to?

“Oh.”

The chef spins and walks briskly down the hall, his stance normal now with the front of his body leading the way.

Fuck. He absolutely thinks it’s to jerk off with.

“Have a good night,” I call to his back, but get nothing in return.

I side-eye Ever’s door again, hoping we didn’t wake her. Thankfully, after several minutes of silence, I finally get to retreat to my room. Without turning on the light, I kick off my shoes, strip down to my brand-new, fit-like-a-glove boxer briefs, then face-plant on my bed, forgetting all about my plan to fuck my hand, and pass out almost instantly.

Iease open the door between my room and Crue’s. It’s after three, so heshouldbe asleep. Already adjusted to the dark, my eyes seek him out, finding his still form on the bed. On his stomach, his face is angled this way, his eyes closed, those full lips slightly parted.

I grin as I gently close the door behind me. Built into the wall to connect the two rooms, the door hasn’t been used in years. While my mother enjoyed a few of the more fun aspects of parenting, nighttime feedings and diaper changes did not fall under “fun.” My mother’s disinterest in her newborn evident during those first few days in the hospital, my father moved my nanny into this room before I was even released. He had the disappearing door put in so Winnie could promptly see to my needs throughout the night without disturbing the rest of the manor. She was responsible for all of my care, but wasn’t necessarily allowed tocarefor me, not like a mother wouldher own child.Or a nanny raising a child basically alone for eighteen years.

As soon as I entered elementary school, my father made Winnie close the door for good, banning both of us from using it again. I didn’t understand his decision at the time. I was so young, and the manor was huge and dark and cold, everybody in it like a stranger, even my own parents. It’s not like he wanted me to climb intohisbed after a nightmare. Why did it matter to him if cuddling my nanny soothed me?

But now, after everything that’s happened, I do understand. He didn’t want any attachments made, no bonds formed, no love exchanged.

My father’s a smart man. Extremely intelligent in how both motorcycles and businesses operate. But when it comes to humans, and what they require, he’s clueless.

I already loved Winnie. A sudden lack of access to her when I was scared didn’t stop that. He could’ve moved her out to the pool house and I still would’ve loved her. She was my main, and sometimes only, mother figure.

Time has no effect either because all these years later, I still yearn for someone to protect me.

Since meeting Crue Brantley, I want that someone to be him.

But he doesn’t want to. He has to, just like Winnie had to. And when my father decides Crue’s job is done, he’ll be forced to abandon me, too.

Crue twists his head toward the door to the hallway, then rolls to his side, giving me his back. I don’t move a single muscle until I hear his breathing return to that same steady cadence I walked in on, then I tiptoe over to the bed. With him in only a pair of boxer briefs, I can study Crue in his entirety, my hand moving in the air like I’m sketching him. Practice, for later. I had it all wrong—what I envisioned under his costume. I practically made him a pristine doll, an unrealistic version of the man I metfive months ago. This man before me is no doll. He is muscled, scarred, tattooed, and…real. So real I can reach out and touch him.

My drawing hand slowly gravitates toward Crue’s shoulder to do just that. An inch away from his skin, I trail a finger over the blade, to the space I dream about hiding behind. I would disappear into Crue Brantley if I could.

But I can’t.

I withdraw my hand and twist to leave.

---