Page 172 of Dance of Madness

Wealth—an obscene amount. Power: also at an obscene level.

Good genetics, a brain that works overtime even when I try to silence it, great friends, good schooling… There are times I’m not sure I deserve any of it.

But of all the privilege that’s been heaped upon me, there’s one part that Iknow, without doubt, I don’t really deserve.

Especially after what I fucking did to her.

It was the middle of the night when I brought her to the bath. By the time we staggered into the bedroom, it was almost dawn.

Milena’s been asleep for the last hour, but I haven’t slept at all. I’ve just been lying here with her in my arms, her cheek to my chest.

Looking at her. Wondering how the fuck I got her.

Twice.

I stroke her hair, my other hand clutching her tightly, like I'm afraid the next breeze might blow her away from me.

That sure as shit isn’t happening.

Nothing’sgoing to take her away from me.

Eventually, I go to move her off me onto the pillow beside us. Just as I do, she stirs, frowning as she opens her eyes. Her hands instantly clutch at me, a small grin on her lips as she kisses my chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she murmurs lazily.

“I know this is a house full of creature comforts,” I grin, winking. “What with the hot water and dubious electrical system?—”

“Not to mention thecagein the basement,” she grins impishly at me.

“You know, I’d forgotten about that?—”

I choke, laughing as she flicks my nipple.

“But the one thing we don’t have here is a coffee machine. So I’m going to go down the block and get one.”

She groans. “Get one for me too, and I’ll let you leave.”

“Splash of milk, no sugar,” I nod.

She frowns. “Should I be concerned that you know so many little details about me?”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” I grin as I lower my mouth to kiss her.

When I’m dressed, I head outside and walk the block and a half to the nearest Starbucks. I order Milena’s coffee, then get a triple espresso for myself because I’mbeat. I reach for my phone while I’m waiting, then scowl when I touch an empty pocket.

Shit. Left it back at the house.

Whatever.

“No no, like this.”

I glance up when I hear the barista’s voice before I realize he’s not talking to me.

“Sorry,” a girl with blue hair standing beside him frowns, her shoulders sagging. “I suck at this.”

The guy laughs. “Don’t sweat it. This is why we train you. The trick is to pull the shot first,thensteam the milk. That way, the espresso settles while you’re frothing milk, rather than the milk getting cold while you wait for the shot.”

The blue-haired girl nods. “Cool, that makes sense. Shot first.”

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