Page 50 of The Revenge

Instead of responding, Juliet looks at me like I’m something that came into her house on the bottom of Syn’s shoe and then walks away.

Before Syn walks back to me, an older Latina woman walks back out through the door Mrs. Keyingham left. She looks older than Syn’s mother, with graying hair swept back into a bun, and fine lines around make-up less eyes. Given the gray dress she’s wearing, my guess is she’s a housekeeper or maid.

“May I take your coat, señor?” she asks Syn in a heavily accented voice.

Without speaking, Syn takes off the long, black, wool coat he’s wearing and practically tosses it at the woman. She drapes the coat over her arm like he handed it to her and then walks over to me.

“May I take your coat, señorita?”

I’m not sure which central or south American country she’s from, but as I only recall a few sentences from my high school Spanish, I hope for the best as I hand over my coat. “Gracias.”

Syn finally walks back to me, completely ignoring the woman. “This way, darling.” He holds out his hand.

There’s no denying Syn is exceptionally attractive, but considering what a dick he is, I’ve never understood theattraction girls have to him. But then again, I’ve never been on the receiving side of his charm until now. Without him looking at me like I’m the most vile person on the planet, and with an actual smile directed at me, I finally see it.

Only, unlike the other girls, I know this is just an act.

And for the sake of appearances in front of the staff—people who, if not loyal to Mrs. Keyingham, are still probably under strict instructions to watch me like a hawk and report back—so, I take the offered hand and allow Syn to lead me upstairs.

Before we lost everything, we used to live in a Brownstone in Manhattan. It had three stories and four bedrooms, and compared to the apartment my mom and I had to move into when my dad left us, it was a palace.

Syn’s home makes that palace look like an average house. There’s nothing about the interior that makes this place feel like an apartment—even a penthouse apartment—except for the views from the windows.

The stairs curl up to the next floor, and to the top of the Christmas tree. Up close, it looks like it’s made of metal—probably real gold—but I don’t care enough to ask Syn. Instead, I continue to follow him down the hallway.

The thick cream carpet continues up the stairs, and my shoes sink into it. Up here, the hallway is lit up by bright lights, but above us, long stretches of glass reveal the darkening sky.

Large paintings of modern art in subdued colors hang on the walls between each door. I’ve never really held an interest in art like this, but I have a feeling they’re all originals—whatever they are.

Syn stops in front of one of the doors and walks in, holding it open for me. This bedroom is large and airy. But it also looks like a room that’s been dressed specifically for a magazine cover. Not really caring about the guestroom, I turn back to Syn.

He doesn’t say anything, but instead of leaving, he closes the door behind us and then walks over to the cream, leather couch under the window, and sits down on it. When I don’t move, he broadly gestures to the room. “We have a few hours to kill before dinner. You might as well make yourself comfortable.”

“Here?”

“If you want a grand tour, I’ll give you one.” Syn doesn’t make any effort to move other than to shrug. “Then you can spend time with my mother if you’d rather not be with me.”

An opportunity to pick my own torture… that’s so generous of him.

“I don’t mind staying in my room. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to stay with me,” I tell him with a flat smile.

Syn arches an eyebrow. “You meanourbedroom?”

Following my arms, I snort. “Ha, ha, ha,” I say with absolutely no humor. “Cute joke, babe, but this—” I hold up my left hand and point the large diamond in his direction, “—was only put on because you gave me no other choice, and if I have to act like I like you, it’s only going to be in public. You can head to your room now.”

“This is my room.” Syn settles back into the corner of the couch, crossing his legs as he stretches his arms out and drapes them over the back of the sofa. “Every year, my mother hosts a small get-together. The other guest rooms are full. Which is why I wanted to stay at college one more night.”

“Of course, this is my fault.”

Syn gestures towards the door. “You can leave if you want to.”

The contract might be null and void, but I still can’t leave just yet.

And he knows it.

One more night…

XIX

---