26. Anastasia
Chapter 26
Anastasia
Bash’s house is four stories, five bathrooms, three half baths, and four guest bedrooms. There’s a gaming slash movie theater room, a pool in the basement, and even a quarter-sized basketball court. If it wasn’t for all the toys and babyproofing, it would be the definition of man cave. Snooping through someone’s house while they are away…well, it’s not my finest moment, but my brain’s spinning a mile a minute, a demanding need for me to do something. I need to figure out how to get that stupid tiara and get my brother back. It doesn’t matter how many times I remind myself that I am doing something.
I made a deal with Sebastian Everette. He’s practically the devil incarnate to save my family.
At least, that’s how I used to see him… After last night, seeing him with his nieces and nephews like that, I’m not sure I know anything about him at all. There’s a small squeeze in my chest. Maybe I understand him better now than most.
It only took an hour of sitting on the couch for my mind to spiral into a million thoughts about how I should be looking for anything that might help. Asking Bash for help is just one thing I can do.
It doesn’t matter that I have no clue where to start. If my anxiety had its way, I’d be knocking on every single door until I’m handed that freaking tiara. So to ease some of the anxiety, I’ve spent the last several hours rifling through Bash’s things.
I can’t say I’m surprised at what I’ve found since I already saw how Bash interacts with his family, but that didn’t stop the way my heart fluttered when I opened the decorated rooms he has for each of his nieces and nephews.
The more I get to know him, the more I see that the facetious person he presents to society is a mask. Underneath, he’s all stuffies and Barbie dolls.
I close the door to the laundry room behind me and make my way down the hall. I’m on the second floor, just a few doors down from where I spent last night. My cheeks heat, and I’m eternally grateful no one’s here to see it.
Bash has been burrowing his way through my defenses like a deranged squirrel on a mission. Every time I catch my breath, he’s there doing something else to throw me off-kilter.
There’s something off about the next door. It has the same trim, same size, same paints as the others, but… I rest my palm on the solid surface. It’s cold to the touch and smooth against my hand as I slide it down. It may look the same as the other doors, but instead of warm wood, this one is steel.
Finally.
I twist the knob, and a little jolt of excitement trickles down my spine when it opens inward. Wood shelves line all four walls, giving it the warmth of a welcoming library. Upon closer look, there’s more than just books on the shelves. Bash has several large framed sports memorabilia pieces. No doubt each costs more than a house.
Actually, if this entire tiara thing doesn’t work out, I can just grab a few of these and take off with my brother. Likely set us up for life, so long as Bash never catches us.
I swear the marks he left on my thighs tingle at the thought of him coming after me. Not the appropriate reaction…
In the center of the room, there’s a steel airplane wing–shaped desk. Metal rivets holding the pieces together make it look like it’s been pulled right out of a WW2 movie. I cross the floor and settle myself into the giant red leather chair. The computer screen’s black, standing silent in the middle of the desk.
I shouldn’t turn it on. It’s the absolute last thing I should do. There’s probably nothing on there, anyway… This is Bash’s computer, after all. He’s not exactly known for all the things he takes care of in the Order of Saints… If anything, he’s the irresponsible little brother. But…
The Lords of the Order of Saints have a level of access into the world that I’ve never seen before. My brother speaks about them as if they are equally the most revered and feared people on the planet.
Thoughts of the Everette family overrun by rowdy children really put the whole feared thing to the test. Except I don’t doubt they’ll do whatever they need to protect each other.
Even the thought of anything happening to those joy-filled, chubby faces has a chill running down my spine. Somehow, their parents have pulled off the impossible and sheltered those kids from the twisted society we live in. By their age, children are expected to be molded into the image of the ideal heir, whether that be willingly or not.
The children I met last night are wild, joyous creatures who have maintained the light the society wants to snuff out. A light that their parents have carefully protected.
So they can’t be that scary. Right?
I tap my fingers on the space bar. Just a quick peek.
The screen lights up. A rectangle sits in the center, prompting for a password.
I rub my hands over my face and exhale. This isn’t a surprise. No one leaves their electronics unlocked.
I just need to think like he does. What would Bash use as his password? I groan. It could be a million different things. I wouldn’t put it past him to have something ludicrous about his dick size. Humongousween101
I type it in, and I’m only slightly disappointed when it doesn’t work.
I saw a post about how CEOs of multimillion-dollar companies are reminded constantly not to use the word password in their login…
Worth a shot.
I start with Password1 and make my way all the way to Password4 before my phone vibrates on the table.
Future Husband: Are you bored, Princess, or do you always spend your days rifling through your boyfriend’s office?
My fingers fly off the keys, and my hands pause in the air as I stare down at the text preview.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Bash may be playful, but I’m not sure even he can overlook me breaking into his things. Although, his text doesn’t sound all that threatening…
I’m nothing if not stubborn, so I go on the offense.
Me: I had you blocked.
Future Husband: I know. It hurt. *broken heart emoji*
I click into my contacts and switch his name.
Me: You said you’d help me get the tiara. I’m just taking the initiative.
Mr. Delusional: Password is Princesssayplease1
What the actual hell? My hand curls into a fist. I’m going to kill him when I see him.
I type in the first few letters, then hesitate with my fingers poised over the keys. “This won’t blow up on me, will it?”
Mr. Delusional: Who’s being paranoid now? Don’t you trust me?
As much as I hate to admit it, I do trust him. At least enough that I don’t think he will explode his house just because he caught me snooping. He’s had plenty of opportunities to get me into trouble if he wanted to, but somehow, he’s always played along instead. At first, I chalked it up to him finding me amusing. A new plaything to help him cope with the tedium of the day-to-day. The girl dressed like her brother trying to steal from the Order Of Saints, interesting enough to keep him occupied for a while.
After last night…a naive part of me can’t help but think that he invited me to hang out with his family because he sees me as something other than just a way to ease his curiosity. Well…he didn’t really invite me.
“Oh my God. Did I just barge into some super-intimate family gathering, and was he just too nice to say anything?”
Mr. Delusional: You know I’m not a nice guy, Princess.
Before I can respond, I hit the final key, and the monitor flashes on. My mouth falls open when an image of Bash naked, bits covered only by a particularly large eggplant emoji, is multiplied by one hundred over the screen. They’re all swaying side to side, and there’s confetti falling down from the top.
Struck stunned, I stare, hand hovering over the mouse. Suddenly, music blasts through the speakers, and I jump in the chair, heart rate through the roof as I scramble to mute it.
My lips hurt from smiling, and my voice shakes with laughter. “How did you even do this?”
Mr. Delusional: Canva
Me: You’re a loser
Mr. Delusional: You think I’m funny.
Me: In your dreams.
Mr. Delusional: You are not ready to hear about my dreams with you on that desk.
Me: It’s never happening again.
Mr. Delusional: You’re the one that promised next time.
“I did not!”
Mr. Delusional: Would you like me to rewind the tape?
Me: There better not be a video
Mr. Delusional: *angel emoji*
There’s a loud bang when my forehead lands on the desk, and I groan when I check his next text.
Mr. Delusional: You look cute, disheveled like that.
My gaze snaps up as I search the ceiling, walls, shelves, every inch of every surface, but I don’t spot a camera. My stomach sinks at the realization that he’s been answering me when I spoke out loud.
Covering my mouth, I whisper, “You’re… You are watching me?”
A message box pops up on the computer screen:
Princesslovesme: Obviously.
Argh. I power off the computer and scramble to my feet. I’m nearly out of there when my phone rings from where I forgot it.
My footsteps are loud as I go back to grab it. I hit Answer.
“Stop watching me,” I growl, voice low in warning. I absolutely refuse to acknowledge the small thrill humming inside of me.
“You’re in my office, Princess.” The way he purrs my nickname has unwanted heat flooding my core.
I huff. “Is this the only place you have cameras?”
My question is met with silence. There’s a prickling sensation crawling up my neck, one that feels like it might lash out on its own if I don’t do something.
“Tell me where they all are. All of them,” I demand.
He chuckles. “I don’t think that’s in my best interest.”
“If there’s one in the bathroom, so help me God.” Each word rises in pitch until I’m practically screeching the end of the sentence.
“There’s not. Even I’m not that big of a perv.”
“Jury is still out on that one.” I inhale calming breaths. He may be watching me, but I refuse to give him the show that he wants. It takes time, but I manage to get a facade of indifference to mask my expression. I flip through a random book from the shelf casually. There are images of an engine broken down into parts, with each item labeled.
“What do you want?” I ask and replace my current book with a thin red one. This one has mathematical equations written out in pencil. The handwriting is so bad I can hardly make out the numbers.
“I wanted to make sure you were doing okay in the house. I didn’t enjoy leaving you there this morning.”
My fingers stay at the tip of the half-turned page. “You were checking on me?”
“I’ll admit I hadn’t expected to find you trying to break into my computer.”
My cheeks flush as heat climbs my neck. He couldn’t pretend not to see that.
“Were the guards nice to you?” he continues. At least he’s showing some mercy, changing the subject.
He asks it plainly, but there’s obvious concern in his voice. As if all it would take was a bad review from me, and the two extremely polite guards would have the worst day of their lives.
“They were nice.” I’ve met Carter several times now, and I was more than happy to take him up on his offer to get me coffee instead of me going out. It’s hard to admit that I felt safer when one guard stayed behind.
“Weren’t you watching?” I ask.
“Every minute.”
“I’ll be staying at my place until you remove the cameras, Bash.” I hang up, cutting off his response.