Page 157 of Hide and Keep

A hint of uncertainty crosses Crue’s features. “What did you tell him?”

“That I had an upset stomach. So if he asks, you should say the same.”

He steps closer. “You weren’t actually sick, were you?”

I only shrug. There was nausea at some points.

“You should’ve said something.”

“It doesn’t matter. It never fucking matters,” I blurt because I can’t hold it in anymore.

“What doesn’t?”

Me!

“Nothing. Let’s just—”

Crue grabs my arm. “What doesn’t matter?”

“My overall comfort.”

“Comfort? You have a butler, a professional chef, and a personal protection agent, all at your disposal day and night.”

The reminder of the chef slinking around outside my room last night tugs at the knot in my stomach. I would never ask for anything from Chef Ryan during the day, but especially not at night.

“You have a private movie theater, salon, and gym. You have a fucking butterfly conservatory. You have the most comfortable life imaginable. You—”

“Can you teach me how to wrestle?”

Crue appears bewildered momentarily. It seems out of nowhere for him, but it’s been a long time coming for me. They can make back handsprings during fight sequences look good in movies all they want, but they’re not realistic. I need to know how to defend myself properly.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

“I didn’t want to teach you how to stunt but I did.”

“Is everything tit for tat with you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I ruin a pair of your shoes. You ruin a pair of mine.”

“I didn’t ruin them. If anything, I improved them.”

His eyes widen. “I guess that’s why they say art is subjective.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your design…”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“What was it supposed to be?”

“Bats. A reminder of your first night in the manor.”

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