Page 7 of Whispers of Wisteria
“Bianca,” Damen said as a knock echoed through the room.
The usual morning wake-up call caused a ripple of panic through me. I sat up, hugging the blanket, and stared at the closed door in terror.
“Are you awake?” he asked. “We’ll have to get going soon.”
“Yes!” I yelped, pulling the blankets to my chin. “It’s fine, don’t come in!”
There was a short pause before he said, “I wasn’tgoingto come in.” I could practically feel his scrutiny. “But why?”
What a liar—he came ineverymorning, all flamboyant and cheerful. There’d be no reason why today he’d chosen differently.
“No reason,” I replied, my voice too shaky. My answer wasn’t even convincing tome. “Just stay out.”
I could visualize the doubt passing over his freshly scrubbed, chiseled face. He’d frown ever so deeply, his eyes would glitter in suspicion, and he’d not be able to contain that nosy part of him that wanted to go:
“What’s ‘fine’?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
The doorknob turned, and my heart leaped into my throat.
“Don’t!” I jumped from the bed to stop him, but my feet were twisted in the sheets, and I tumbled to the floor, blankets and all.
I rolled over, trying to get up, but I only managed to trap myself further in a blanket burrito.
“What was that sound?”
I watched from my upside-down position as Damen, without so much as an official welcome, pushed open my bedroom door and strolled into the room like he owned the place.
Which he technically did, but that wasn’t the point.
The pointwasI was currently vulnerable and frumpy. And, of course, he’d look impeccable in his fancy suit and freshly groomed hair while I was a blood-covered, smothered mess on the floor.
“Bianca, you…" He surveyed the room once before finally focusing on me. His features softened, and his eyebrows rose curiously.
“What in the world are you doing, baby girl?” he asked, crouching in front of me. “If you wanted me to buy you a sleeping bag, you could have just asked. Are you planning another slumber party?”
“I don’t want a sleeping bag!” I snapped. It was probably an overreaction, but I couldn’t tell if he was joking—that too-bright smile, on top of everything else, made me irritable. “I’m stuck.”
Damen’s mirth faded, and he frowned at me, taking in my expression. Then, to my utmost horror, he slowly moved his attention to my bed, where the evidence I had momentarily forgotten lay.
Don’t look! I wanted to scream, but of course, my voice remained frozen in humiliation.
His brows drew together, and his frown deepened. I hoped that this was the part where he’d run away.
But he didn’t.
“Wait here,” he told me—as if I could go anywhere—then he got to his feet, brushed off his knees, and slipped from the room without another word.
I wanted to scream after him. Had he not noticed that I was trapped? But there was no use being annoyed with him. My energy was better spent twisting around on the floor, squirming for freedom.
I’d managed to roll onto my stomach by the time he returned, and I craned my face up, pressing my chin into the thick carpet as I watched him. He was carrying fresh sheets, two folded towels, and a few more things I couldn’t quite see from my current position.
He put the items into a pile on the floor and dropped to his knees beside me. “Here,” he said, shoving a piece of chocolate into my mouth before I could even protest. Then, as I chewed the sweet in stunned silence, he helped me sit upright on my folded knees and untwisted the sheet holding me prisoner.
We stood, and he grabbed one of the large, fluffy towels and held it between us.
“Take off your clothes,” he commanded.
“But—” I looked toward the door of the in-suite bathroom. There was no reason why I couldn’t just go in there.
