Page 35 of Rubies and Revenge

I sigh, shoulders easing. “In here!”

They step inside, checking the room as if someone might be hiding under the bubbles with me, and close the door behind them. They lean against the vanity with their hands stuffed in their pockets, the mirror reflecting their perfectlycoiffed bun as they peer down at me with bright-blue eyes that may as well have X-ray vision. “So we’re hiding.”

“I’m soaking.” I lift my hands out of the water with a pointedduhlook.

Pat snorts. “You took an hour-long shower last night. Not clean enough?”

“Not after sharing a bed with your nasty ass.”

They cross their arms with a squint. “Mmhm.”

“Shut up.” I slide down until my chin touches water.

“My mouth was closed.”

“And yet sound still escapes,” I grumble.

They take in a calming breath, like I’m the annoying one. “You’ve had twelve hours.”

“For what?” I ask.

“To process. Now, explain.”

I wish I had wine, but it’s ten in the morning and I refuse to leave my room until Tamayo leaves the house. “Explain what?”

They blink without amusement. “Zarina Giovanna Gallo.”

My full name? “Jesus.”

“He’s at church,” they quip. “And I assume we’re not meeting him there.”

“Fine! Fuck, just—” I stand without decorum, bathwater sloshing onto the tiles and bubbles clinging to my skin. I can’t be so exposed for this conversation. Pat hands me the towel off the hook before I can reach for it, and I murmur thanks as I wipe myself mostly dry before slipping into a fluffy robe.

“Start with the easy part—the Council.” They hug their waist, opposite elbow resting on their wrist and knuckles under their chin. Their blonde hair is bright in the gray sunlight, and I focus on that rather than meet their gaze.

I snort. “Sure, the easy part.”

They arch a brow, their lips twitching. “We can start with the end, if you prefer.”

“I do not prefer.” The mere mention of the end of last nightsends a shiver straight to my core. I let my hair down from its messy bun, finger-brushing through the strands, and ignore my body’s inability to control itself.

“The Council, then,” Pat prompts.

“Four stodgy old men with more power than sense.” I shake my head and explain what happened—how Marcus Accardi was overconfident, how David Capone was a sexist dipshit with a bad tailor, how my own fucking father wouldn’t even look at me until I pulled out Tamayo’s engagement ring. The same ring that made me invisible to every man in that godforsaken church the moment it was slipped onto my finger.

None of them see me as anything other than a pawn to be owned. Not even Father.

“And Marcus?” Their voice is soft, like the utterance of his name is a trigger.

I pick through the basket on the vanity stocked with high-end face lotions, serums, body butter, and even genderless body spray. I pull out what I need. “He’s never seen me as more than an object.”

They watch me in the mirror. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” I ghost my fingers over the light-red bruises dotting my chin. Pat doesn’t move, doesn’t reach to comfort me. There’s no need. The void lined with greedy teeth inside me has already gobbled up all the pain, and all that’s left is cold, calculating rage. I drop my hand to the counter and turn away from my reflection to grab the body lotion. “He’s the same barbarian he’s always been. Not much to tell.”

They wait as I open the body butter and moisturize my feet, my calves, my knees. But I don’t continue. I move up my body, feel each inch and remember it’s mine. Only mine.

“Are you okay?” Their voice is quiet, but it still bounces off the walls, reverberates in my ears.

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