Chapter 10 Presley
Presley
I followed Etienne down a hallway that stretched forever, my sock covered feet silent on hardwood floors that gleamed like honey. The walls were decorated with art, not the prints and the ceiling was so high I felt like I was walking through a cathedral.
"This is the guest wing," Etienne said over his shoulder. "Your room is at the end. Private. Quiet." He paused. "Safe."
There was that word again.
He stopped at a door, painted the softest shade of cream and pushed it open.
The breath left my body.
The room was painted a pale lilac that reminded me of the lavender Mum used to grow in the window boxes before she got too sick to tend them.
White curtains cascaded from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls, pooling in elegant folds on a carpet so plush my feet sank into it with each step.
Cream and gold accents caught the light from a crystal chandelier that looked like it belonged in a palace.
But, it was the bed that dominated the center of the room.
It was a king-sized cloud of white linens and pale purple throws.
Pillows were stacked against a tufted headboard, and there were dozens of them in varying sizes and textures, velvet and silk and something that looked like it might be cashmere.
Blankets were layered at the foot, each one more luxurious than the last.
I could float on that bed. I could sink into it and never come out again.
"Is this..."
"Yours," Etienne said. "For as long as you're here."
I walked forward in a daze, running my fingers along the edge of a duvet. The fabric was impossibly soft. Cool against my fingertips.
"The bathroom is through here." Etienne moved to a door on the far wall and opened it. I followed, and—
Oh.
The bathroom was beautiful.
Carrara marble covered every surface. The floors, walls, the vanity with its double sinks and gold fixtures that gleamed under recessed lighting.
In the center of the room sat a rolled-top bathtub, also gold, positioned like a throne.
The moment I was alone, I was going to soak in it for hours with water up to my chin, and steam rising around me.
Beyond the tub, a walk-in shower took up an entire wall—multiple heads, a rainfall fixture, what looked like jets embedded in the marble. Glass doors stretched from floor to ceiling.
And through a door that was ajar, I glimpsed a separate toilet, because of course even the toilet had its own room.
"This is..." I trailed off again. I was going to need new words. My vocabulary hadn’t been designed for this level of luxury.
Etienne moved to the vanity and crouched, opening the cabinet beneath the sinks. He retrieved two bottles. One shampoo, one conditioner, and pressed them into my hands.
I looked at the labels.
"This is—" My voice cracked. "This is the brand the royal family uses."
"Oui." He said it like it was nothing. “I thought you would like the lilac scent."
I turned the lid of the shampoo bottle and smelled the contents. “Mmm. It’s really good.”
"Make yourself at home." Etienne smiled as he watched me. There was something kind in his expression. "Dinner will be ready in an hour. Take your time."
He left, closing the bathroom door behind him, and I stood there clutching the royal shampoo in a marble bathroom that was bigger than my childhood bedroom.
Then I looked at the bath, but decided I’d have a long soak later. I turned on the shower.
The water pressure was perfect as I stood under the rainfall head only a few minutes later.
I let the water pound against my shoulders, washing away the helicopter travel, the greasy cafe, the nervous sweat and the persistent chill that had lived in my bones since the British weather has started to worsen in October.
I poured a large dollop of shampoo that smelled like heaven. I used too much of it. I didn't care. I was now earning five grand a week, I could afford to buy the next bottle myself.
By the time I stepped out, my skin was pink, my muscles liquid, and I felt more human than I had in months.
I wrapped myself in the plush fabric of the fluffy white dressing gown that hung on the back of the door before I twisted a matching towel around my wet hair as I stared at myself in the mirror.
The woman staring back looked different. Still tired, pale, and still showing the shadows under her eyes. But, she was cleaner, somehow lighter. All I had to do was give them a baby and I’d always feel this good.
A baby–
My teeth scraped across my bottom lip, and before I could think too much about that a knock at the bedroom door made me jump.
"Princesse?" Etienne's voice, muffled through the wood. "Dinner is ready. First I have something."
I made my way out of the ensuite and across the plush carpet, before I cracked the door open, peering through the gap.
Etienne stood in the hallway holding a small stack of fabric. His eyes dropped to my dressing gown, then traveled slowly back up to my face. Something flickered in his expression but he controlled it. I pushed whatever it was away too.
"May I?" he asked.
I stepped back toward the nest, letting him enter the room.
He moved toward me with purpose, his fingers touched the tie of my dressing gown.
“Oh.” I went still as every muscle locked, and every nerve ending was suddenly, painfully alive.
"What are you—"
"I have clothes for you." He untied the knot slowly.
His fingers were warm and my skin was starving for touch. I'd been cold for so long, and when his knuckles brushed against my stomach I wanted something I’d never thought I’d ever need.
No! This is an arrangement. He’s being kind. You need to be professional.
He parted the robe a few inches and stared at my body. Probably imaging the baby this pack wanted so badly growing inside me.
“Let’s get you into these pajamas.”
“I can do it myself.” I stared at the silk pajamas rather than his face. They were a beautiful shade of cream and had a delicate lace trim at the collar and cuffs.
"Lift your arms," he said more forcefully.
I did. I didn't know why. Perhaps it was a combination of shock and exhaustion and the way his accent wrapped around every word like velvet.
The robe dropped to the floor and I stood in the middle of the room naked.
He groaned.
“This isn’t a good idea,” I told him.
“I’m your alpha, Presley. We’re yours…”
“It’s temporary. It’s an arrangement.”
He hummed as he slipped the top over my head, guiding my arms through the sleeves, his fingers grazing my skin in ways that felt deliberate. Then he crouched, holding out the bottoms. His eyes level with my pussy.
“Oh God.”
“Yes, Princesse.”
I chuckled, loving how he lightened the mood.
“You expect me to open my legs and step into the pajamas?”
“If you’d prefer I can break the tension by taking you to bed and you’ll find living with three alphas so much more pleasurable.”
“Pleasurable.”
“Fucking is pleasurable.” We locked eyes.
“I wouldn’t know.”
He growled as I stepped into the pajamas one leg at a time. I ignored the slick that was building there. I also ignored the way Etienne’s back rose as he took in a deep breath.
“Have you ever been scent profiled?” he asked. “To find out if you were matched to an alpha?”
“Do I look like I can afford a few thousand pounds to have my scent profiled?” I didn’t want to ask why he wondered.
“Princesse.”
We were close enough that I saw gold flecks in his hazel eyes.
"Dinner," he said, stepping back, breaking the moment.
“Dinner.”
He gestured toward the door like nothing had happened. "The others are waiting."
I walked to the dining room on wobbly legs.
The silk pajamas whispered against my skin with every step.
My hair was still damp but combed. I felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with clothing and a lack of make-up.
It had everything to do with the three sets of eyes that locked onto me the moment I entered the room.
All three of them stared.
Hastings was seated at the head of a long marble table. His suit jacket was discarded, his shirt sleeves were rolled and showed his corded forearms. His gray eyes tracked me from doorway to table with an intensity that made my stomach flip.
Fritz was mid-sip of wine, but the glass had frozen halfway to his lips. His dark blond hair was slightly rumpled, like he'd been running his hands through it. His gaze dropped to the lace at my collar, then snapped back up.
And Etienne, who had followed me in, moved to stand behind an empty chair, pulling it out with a gesture that felt almost reverent.
"You look..." Fritz started, then stopped. Cleared his throat. "You look good."
"Different," Hastings said, his voice rough. "Without the sweaters."
"I can put them back on if you'd prefer." The joke fell flat, my voice too breathy to land it properly.
Nobody laughed.
The silence stretched, thick and charged, until Etienne broke it by pushing my chair in as I sat.
"Let's eat.”
As platters were uncovered and wine was poured, I felt their eyes on me. Watching and waiting like wolves circling prey.