14. Robin
Robin
A fter we’ve herded the kids off to bed—Maisie protesting she’s not tired until she yawns so widely I worry her jaw might unhinge, Alicia chattering about tomorrow’s plans until Adrian finally steers her toward the stairs—I notice Eva lingering by the dying fire.
She’s quieter than usual, her smile softer around the edges but somehow sadder too. Her fingers trace the rim of her wine glass in slow circles, and there’s a distant quality to her gaze that makes my chest tighten with concern.
“You okay?” I ask, settling beside her on the sofa.
“Fine.” The answer comes too quickly, too smoothly. “Just thinking.”
I study her profile in the flickering firelight. The line of her jaw, the way her dark hair shines with amber highlights in the golden glow, the slight furrow between her brows that appears when she’s wrestling with something she doesn’t want to voice.
I know her well enough now to recognize when she’s carrying weight she won’t share.
The confrontation at the pub earlier clearly affected her more than she’s willing to admit, but pushing Eva Novak to talk before she’s ready is like trying to force a wildflower to bloom—it only makes everything wither.
“Well,” I say finally, standing and stretching, “We should probably get some sleep too.”
Eva’s head snaps up. “Actually, I need to do a bit of work first. Uncle Stefan is arriving tomorrow for a meeting, and I should review some files before he gets here. Dimi is coming too—perhaps you and he can take the kids down to the village again.”
“That would be nice.” But the mention of business sends a small flutter of unease through my stomach. I push the feeling aside and keep my voice light. “Hey, would you mind if I came to the study with you? I could bring a book, keep you company while you work.”
Something shifts in Eva’s expression—surprise melting into genuine warmth. It’s like watching clouds part to reveal sunshine.
“Of course,” she says, and this time her smile reaches her eyes. “I’d like that.”
The study feels different at night. During the day, it’s imposing but welcoming, all dark wood and leather-bound books. But in the lamplight, with shadows resting in the corners and the fire crackling in the hearth, it becomes something more intimate. More personal.
Eva settles behind her massive oak desk, and I pull over a cushion to sit on right next to her on the floor, tucking my legs under me with the paperback I grabbed from my room.
It’s a romance novel I’ve read a thousand times before—a comfort read that feels slightly ridiculous in this grand setting, but Eva doesn’t comment on my choice.
For a few minutes, we exist in peaceful parallel, Eva clicking through her laptop, me lost in a story about a small-town baker and the mysterious stranger who keeps buying her muffins.
There’s something unexpectedly soothing about sharing space like this, not talking or touching, just… being together.
Then Eva opens a program on her laptop, and suddenly the large monitor on the wall lights up with a grid of security camera feeds.
I stare with dawning horror.
There are dozens of them—hallways, gardens, the main entrance, the kitchens. And there, in the bottom right corner, clear as day, is the bedroom I stayed in the last two times I was here. The room where I slept, changed clothes, wandered around naked in, thinking I had privacy.
“Have you always spied on me?” The words come out sharper than I intended, but I can’t bring myself to care.
Eva’s fingers still on the keyboard. For a moment, she doesn’t respond, and I can practically see her weighing her options, deciding how much truth to reveal.
“The cameras are important,” she says finally, slipping into that cool tone she uses when she’s trying to maintain control.
“That’s not what I asked.” I stand, slapping my book down on her desk with more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “I asked if you’ve always watched me. In my bedroom. While I sleep, while I dress, while I?—”
“It’s for security,” Eva interrupts, standing as well, but there’s a defensive edge to her voice now. “This castle has been my family’s stronghold for generations because we know everything that happens within these walls.”
“That’s not an answer either.” I pace to the dark window, needing distance from those glowing screens. “Just tell me the truth, Eva. Have you been watching me?”
The silence stretches between us like a live wire. When I turn back to face her, Eva’s mask has slipped enough that I can see the guilt written across her features.
“Yes,” she admits quietly. “But not…this time.”
“But you have in the past?”
“Yes.”
The simple honesty of it hits harder than any elaborate justification would have. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed despite being fully clothed.
“That’s incredibly violating,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Do you know how that makes me feel? To know that I’ve never actually been alone here, that every private moment has been…observed?”
Eva’s facade crumbles entirely. She drops back into her chair, looking suddenly vulnerable.
“I…yes, I can see how that would feel invasive. Is invasive,” she adds, as I give her an incredulous look. “It’s just...” She sighs. “I’m used to having complete control over my environment. It’s been my default mode for so long, I didn’t even consider how it would affect you.”
“But you see it now?”
“I see it now.” Eva meets my eyes directly, and I catch a glimpse of uncertainty, maybe even a little fear. “I’m sorry, Robin. You deserved privacy, and I took that from you without your knowledge or consent. It was wrong of me.”
The apology catches me completely off guard. Eva Novak doesn’t apologize often, and when she does, it’s usually calculated, strategic. This feels different. Raw.
Real.
“What are you going to do to make up for it?” I ask, unwilling to just smooth things over. “I don’t want my family under surveillance while they’re here, Eva.”
She’s already turned to her computer, fingers flying over the keys. On the monitor, I watch feeds disappear one by one—my bedroom, the kids’ rooms, the guest bathrooms, anywhere someone might reasonably expect privacy.
“The main corridors and public spaces must stay active,” she says without looking up. “But private rooms are off-limits from now on. I should have done this from the beginning.”
I lean back against the wall, processing this small but significant victory. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for doing what I should have done in the first place.”
There’s real regret in her voice, and I realize this is what growth looks like—not grand gestures or dramatic pronouncements, but quiet acknowledgments of harm done and concrete steps to do better.
I come back and settle on the floor beside Eva’s desk, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her body but not so close that I’m crowding her workspace.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Getting comfortable again. I guess we just survived our first fight as equals.”
“As equals,” she echoes. “Yes.”
“Yes. And if you’re going to work, I might as well make myself cozy.”
I lean back against her chair and open my book again, hyperaware of Eva’s presence above me—the soft sound of her breathing, the occasional click of keys, the whisper of fabric when she shifts in her seat.
It’s unexpectedly intimate, this quiet companionship.
Not the desperate passion we’ve shared during sex, but something calmer. More domestic.
For the first time, I can actually imagine what a life with Eva might look like beyond the drama and danger: quiet evenings like this, sharing space without needing to fill every moment with words or touch.
I like the idea of it.
After about an hour, Eva makes a frustrated noise, and I can’t help glancing up at her screen. Numbers swim across the monitor in neat columns—a spreadsheet complex enough to make my head spin just looking at it.
“That looks impossible,” I say, then immediately feel heat flood my cheeks. “Sorry, I swear I’m not trying to snoop. I just heard you growling at your computer.”
Eva laughs, the sound tired but genuine. “It wouldn’t matter if you were looking. This doesn’t make any sense anyway.” She gestures helplessly at the screen. “I’m not naturally detail-oriented, but the devil is in the details, as they say.”
I peer more closely at the spreadsheet, recognizing the frustration in her voice. “What is it?”
“Financial projections. Revenue streams, operating costs, profit margins—all the tedious mathematics that keep the Consortium running.” Eva rubs her temples. “There’s been a few…issues of late.”
“Dane’s fantastic with numbers,” I say with a chuckle. “That kind of spreadsheet would be like a puzzle to him. He’d probably find it fun.”
Eva’s hands still on the keyboard. When I look up, there’s a thoughtful expression on her face, the same look she gets when she’s processing new information and filing it away for future use.
“He’s fifteen ,” I say at once.
“Yes.” Eva’s tone is carefully neutral, but I can practically see the gears turning in her head.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Don’t get any ideas. He’s a kid, not a potential recruit.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Eva says with a small smile that suggests she’s definitely filing this information away for later consideration.
Before I can press her on it, she closes the laptop with a decisive snap.
“I’m done for tonight,” she announces, then leans forward in her chair, bringing her face closer to mine. “Now I want my reward.”
The suggestion in her voice sends heat spiraling through my belly, but I hold up a hand before she can kiss me.
“Not so fast, lady. We have something else we should discuss first.”
Eva’s expression flickers—a moment of worry, maybe fear, before she schools her features back to careful neutrality.
“What kind of discussion?” she asks cautiously.