Page 96 of My Dark Prince
No, not empty.
Angry.
Chapter Forty-Three
Briar
The storm inside me refused to recede.
It thundered between my ribcage, dark and roiling, as I breezed back into the house an hour later, careful to hide my emotions. If I released them, they would drown us all, heavy and suffocating like stubborn clouds clinging to their shape.
Oliver met me in the foyer. He’d just walked into the mansion, too, obviously returning from a run. If he noticed the tempest inside me, he didn’t comment on it.
A bead of sweat dripped off his temple onto his drenched wifebeater. He wiped his forehead with the hem of the shirt, revealing lean abs and a deep V. He could pass as a demigod. The wink he sent me after he caught me staring told me he knew it, too.
Suddenly, an idea rammed into me, almost knocking me over with the weight of its stupidity. It was horrible, and brilliant, and petty, and perhaps the only thing that could calm my storm.
“Well, well.” Oliver smirked around the rim of his Stanley, pausing to chug water. “If it isn’t my personal vegetarian climate warrior.”
He discarded the bottle onto the kitchen island as he passed it, his eyes raking my body up and down.
“Well, well.” I mirrored his movements, sweeping my own eyes up and down his body. “If it isn’t my personal unemployed sex maniac.”
He clutched his heart. “Don’t tell me you Googled me.”
“I did.” I smiled, catching up with his long steps, trying not to snort as he almost stumbled at my confirmation. It would ease his mind to inform him exactly what I’d learned, which was precisely why I didn’t. “No mention of me. Do you normally hide me in the attic?”
“I’d never.” He released a dramatic gasp. “That’s where I keep my mistresses. Nah, you just don’t like the spotlight.”
“You never did, either.”
That didn’t mean he didn’t command it. People stared whether or not he wanted them to. Came with the territory of possessing a level of attraction better suited for a magnet.
“Wanna order in?” He tossed a workout towel over his shoulder. “Or is it too great a carbon footprint to hire a DoorDash driver to lug our dinner all the way here?”
I wondered if the women who had come after me thought they could fix him. They must have. Oliver von Bismarck was rich, handsome, and funny. He must’ve had enough women chasing him to form a football team at a moment’s notice.
“Ordering in is fine.” I waved him off, a breezy grin on my face. “Where are you headed?”
“The shower.”
“What a coincidence. I’m planning on doing some hot yoga in the bathroom. I’ll join you.”
On instinct, his eyes swept over me before he averted them. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
We climbed the stairs up to the master bedroom, side-by-side. I made sure to bump my arm against his, though he offered me enough berth to stay away.
“Agree to disagree.” I stole his towel, wiping the nape of my neck. “I love the steam from the shower. Helps me breathe better, and your presence there won’t interrupt me.”
“You’ll interruptme.”
“You’ll survive, honey.” I patted his iron buns with a wink.
He jumped, staring at me wide-eyed. “Did you just pat my ass?”
“Yes. Why? Did I make you feel uncomfortable?”
He shook his head, almost gaping at me.
