Page 15 of The Serpent's Bride
“Out,” I said. She hesitated. Then obeyed.
The lobby swallowed us whole, all marble, black glass, gold that wasn’t decoration but a statement. Ownership pressed into every surface. Chiara slowed beside me, eyes flicking over everything, taking it in whether she wanted to or not.
“This is your building?” she asked.
I nodded.
Her gaze lifted, tracing the height of it. “How many floors?”
“All of them.”
That shut her up.
The elevator took us straight to the top. No stops. No interruptions. Just the quiet hum and her breathing, slightly uneven now. When the doors opened, the city spilled out in light beneath us, the penthouse wrapped in glass and silence.
She paused. Just for a second. Then she remembered herself. “Where am I sleeping?”
How cute and direct. I walked past her. “Follow me.”
I opened one of the guest rooms and stepped aside. She didn’t move at first. Just stared into it, like she was expecting something worse waiting inside. Like I’d led her straight to the snake pit.
“You’re not sharing with me?” she asked, suspicion threading through her voice.
“No.”
A pause. Then a soft gasp, almost like it slipped out of her. “Oh.”
Relief.
I stepped closer, just enough to feel it shift into tension again. “Disappointed?”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “Not in the slightest.”
“Good,” I said. “Because when I decide I do want to share a bed with you, it won’t be optional for you.”
Her breath caught. I stepped back before she could recover. “Inside.”
She walked past me quickly this time. She stood in the middle of the room, looking smaller now, like the fight was starting to wear thin at the edges.
“Sit,” I said.
“I’m not your dog,” she hissed.
“No,” I said. “You’ll still do as I say.”
She glared, but sat on a plush armchair, and when I reached for her, she stilled.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice sharp, but thinner than before.
“Sit still,” I said quietly.
“I am sitting still!”
My fingers brushed the back of her neck. She froze. Completely. I felt it. The way every muscle in her body locked under my touch, like she didn’t know whether to fight or bolt. Good. That hesitation was mine, just like the rest of her.
“What are you doing?” she repeated, softer now. I didn’t answer.
My fingers slid higher, finding the first pin holding her hair in place. Careful. Precise. I pulled the first pin free. A single strand slipped loose.
