Page 12 of Treasured By Them
Mom mutters a curse in Russian and hurries back to the party. Rather than fight my way through a living room crowded with people I barely know, I leave through the back door.
Dad and Malcolm stand on the deck. They jolt in surprise when the door slams closed behind me. Malcolm drops something on the ground. The thick scent of pot fills the air.
“Dad, really?” I shake my head in mock outrage. “You’re gonna get in trouble with Mom.”
He and Malcolm laugh, seemingly giddy at being caught, and Malcolm picks up the joint he dropped.
“You guys are worse than teenagers.”
They laugh louder.
Chuckling to myself, I adjust my scrapbook and notebooks under my arm and go out front.
A few guys from Granddad’s security team are stationed in the driveway. One of them leaves his post by the front porch to walk me to my car.
“Thanks,” I say as I climb inside, and he gives me a brief, professional nod.
I send a text to Edmund and Troy. Leaving now. When will you be back from Mirarosa?
Edmund texts back immediately. On our way. When u get home, take off ur clothes and get in my bed.
I only get naked for guys who spell things correctly in their texts, I write back. Before now, he’s always used regular spelling.
Yeah, in a hurry. R u being a brat?
I laugh and start my car.
The drive back to their place is easy. The parking garage spooks me a little, especially because I’m holding this scrapbook—something about it has my anxiety climbing higher. I won’t look through it tonight—I can’t.
When I get up to the penthouse, I stuff the scrapbook into the bottom drawer of my dresser. I get ready for bed and check my phone one more time.
Edmund texted again. Are you home?
Home. His apartment is starting to feel that way, especially with Cackle twining around my ankles and acting like he’s never been fed once in his whole entire life.
I write back, Yeah, I’m home. Thanks for spelling out “you.” Looks like you can be trained.
Trained? Make sure you’re all the way naked. Not a stitch of clothing. And text me a photo.
After feeding Cackle, who has apparently been starving for an eternity and a half, I find my winter clothes at the back of the dresser. Everything is still organized because I just moved. Give me a couple more weeks and I won’t be able to find anything—something about my dressers exacerbates the second law of thermodynamics—the natural tendency of things to move toward chaos.
I pull out my bulkiest sweater, a scarf, and a beanie. I put them on and jump onto Edmund’s bed before snapping a pic and sending it back to him.
He texts back one sentence. You’ll pay for that, brat.
I’m counting on it.
5
Troy
Dani is only pretending to sleep when Edmund and I get home. She rolls over and makes a low “mmm” sound when we step into his room.
“Hey, little girl.” I walk up to the side of the bed and lift the sheet. “I know you’re awake.”
“I was asleep.” She blinks up at me. “Fast asleep.”
“She’s naked, at least.” I flick a quick glance over to Edmund, who’s busy with the nightstand.
