Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SAVVY
It’s blisteringly hot when I open my eyelids. They scrape like sandpaper. It’s made worse by my stomach grumbling, reminding me that I’ve fallen into old habits over the last few days.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’ve probably been sliding into self-destruct mode for over six months, but I can control it—I always have before.
It’s the marching band of monkeys jumping around in my skull that’s really ruining my day before it’s even started, so I allow my eyes to drift closed.
“Here.”
My possum game is strong, and I play dead for a full thirty seconds before opening one eye again.
Grey is fully dressed in a three-piece suit, with his jacket unbuttoned, sitting against the headboard beside me with a plate of something that smells divine, but as I squint at it, my mind falls into old habits.
If you give a mouse a cookie…
That’s how I spiral.
One bite craves two, and two turns into everything in the fridge. One is never enough. If I eat whatever’s on that plate, I’ll want more, and that will lead to obsessing about something else, until I’m binging and purging and hating myself for being weak.
It’s just easier not to eat at all—at least then I can be proud of my self-control instead of loathing my weaknesses.
He narrows his eyes as if he knows exactly what I’m doing.
Fuck, fuckity, fuck.
What happened last night?
That shrew Bethany comes to mind first, and then the floodgates open. Rent-a-womb, the threat against Clover, a decree of marriage, wine, and then…nothing.
Groaning, I sit up. Last night was an anomaly. I don’t lose control…ever. But I suppose even ice queens have their limit of shit they can take.
The record scratch in my mind is loud enough that I flinch. I haven’t had Riley’s voice in my head in years, but he’s the only one who ever called me ice queen.
Mental note—call my attorney and confirm that Riley is accounted for. He should have restrictions that keep him in Vegas.
“Monroe, take it.” Ah, he’s back to being Drill Bit today—half drill sergeant, half pushy asshat forcing himself where he doesn’t belong. His gaze, full of pity that I hate, finds mine.
And there’s the panic I know so well—the shame and fear that always arrives after the fun of too much alcohol. What the hell did I do to upset him now? I know better than to drink on an empty stomach, but come on.
Yesterday was a lot for anyone.
Apparently, I’m too slow for Drill Bit’s liking, because the next thing I know, a piece of mouth-wateringly delicious-smelling bacon bangs against my lips.
“Are you—” He shoves the entire piece of maple-flavored bacon past my lips, then pushes my chin up to close my mouth.
I haven’t even begun to chew before he’s straddling my hips and staring at me so intently, I break out in goosebumps all over my neck and chest.
What did I do? Fall out of bed and give myself a black eye?
“Chew.”
I do, but only because I don’t truly want to hurt myself. Well, not any more, anyway.
Maple bacon is quite possibly the best thing ever created, and a moan escapes after I swallow. There’s no way he knew of my slight obsessions with this particular meat. Madi must have had it in the kitchen already. Or, more likely, she cooked, and that’s why it smells so good.
Grey’s eyes glow like fireflies when he’s angry, but they’re positively electric when he’s turned on. And judging by the Grinch growing against my thigh, I’d say it’s the latter.
He holds up a piece of avocado toast, and I swear my eyeballs might roll to the back of my head. It’s even topped with fresh watermelon salsa—a pain in the ass to make, but worth every delicious second.
“Why do you have all my fav—”
Again, he feeds me. The first time took me by surprise—now I’m getting suspicious. But as annoyed as I am, Grey looks pissed off, so instead of picking a fight, I aggressively bite off a large piece of the toast.
Shit. What did I do last night? I’m sure I’m responsible for his behavior this morning, I usually am, but generally, I know what the hell I did.
I may have perfected the art of playing possum as a small child, but my shame-spiral game is next-level too, and it’s taking center stage now.
Holding my hand over my lips, I say, “I can feed myself.”
“Can you?”
I frown.
He tilts his head as though he’s truly waiting for an answer.
“I’m thirty years old, Grey,” I say through a mouthful. “I’ve been doing a lot of shit on my own for a very long time. Feeding myself is one of them.”
The fireflies I love so much narrow as his blue eyes harden like frost. He leans in, his lips ghosting above mine.
“But the question is, will you?” There’s venom and possibly fear in his tone that takes me by surprise, and my throat becomes impossibly tight, causing the avocado toast to scratch and tear on its way down.
“Can you move?” I ask. He doesn’t. “Please.”
Instead, he holds the toast to my lips again, and now that he’s thrown down the gauntlet, I clamp my teeth shut tight.
“You promised not to fight me.”
I snort. I would never in a million years agree to that, but I know if I open my mouth, he’ll feed me again.
“You promised you’d try.” My gaze snaps to his. Is that… Did I hurt him somehow?
He sighs heavily and then does the last thing I expect him to do. He places the plate on the bed, then climbs to the floor.
He backed down.
Greyson Reyes backed down—for me.
Oh, God. I did. I hurt him somehow. What the heck did I do?
“No one pays the price for hurting yourself except you, Savannah.” My real name and his words sucker punch all the air from my lungs. “I know that firsthand. Eat the food, and—and I’ll be here for you if you want to talk…about anything. In the meantime, I have some fires to put out.”
Grey steps forward and leans down as though he’s going to kiss my damn forehead, but pulls back at the last second.
“And for the record, in case your memory is a little fuzzy, just because I don’t flirt doesn’t mean I don’t know how.”
My jaw flops open like a dead fish, and the asshole takes the opportunity to shove the piece of toast into my mouth.
He leaves it hanging when I don’t immediately chomp down on it, and I sit there, with avocado dripping down my chin and tiny pieces of watermelon landing on my chest, while he saunters out of my bedroom.
Our. Our bedroom. Our temporary bedroom. Who knew fake engagements came with so many…entanglements.
The unease of guilt and debauchery cause a riotously blinding headache behind my left eye.
I know I didn’t give him details of how I’ve punished myself because I’ve never told another soul, not even my therapist. But I have no idea what I did to cause this reaction from him, and I need to figure it out quickly so I can prepare my counterattack.
Grey and I will always be in a battle of wills…but in the war of me, I’m the only one who can play.
I stare at the door he just vacated, then down at the plate he left me.
How did he even know what my favorites were?
“Clover,” I mutter. She has a heart of gold, the courage of a scaredy-cat, and the mouth of Hagrid—she can’t keep a secret to save her life—except for her own.
I shouldn’t eat the damn toast just to spite him, but the truth is, I’m hungry and slightly hungover, and it’s exactly what I need, so I scarf it down as though it’s my last meal while thinking about anything but food, then go in search of my mouthy friend.
“What time was he down here?” I demand. Clover and Madi sit at the kitchen island, proud as peacocks, and my dread intensifies.
“I came down at six, and he was on his computer at the kitchen table, but slammed his laptop shut the moment I entered the room,” Madi says.
“I must have come in shortly after you.” Clover reaches for another pump of hand sanitizer, and I reflexively grab the moisturizer Madi keeps above the small desk in the corner, then place it in front of her.
The girl uses so much alcohol-based sanitizer, her skin is constantly cracking.
“Why were you both up so early? What the hell time did we go to bed?”
My best friends look at each other and then at me.
“What?” I ask.
“When Grey made Brax and Sage drag us out of your room, it was…early. I was in bed stuffing pizza into my face by seven thirty,” Madi chuckles. “Maybe we’re getting old.”
I don’t remember any of that.
“How did he know my favorite breakfast foods?”
“He kind of seems to…you know.” Clover’s evading the question…guilty as freaking sin.
“No, I don’t know.”
“He knows everything about you, Sav.” Madi hops down from the stool she’s sitting on, and her hand flies to her stomach. “Holy crap. This little potato is like a professional soccer player.”
She’s about five months along, so I’m not surprised, but I am caught off guard by the tiny sliver of jealousy that lands in my chest. Grey is messing with all the safeguards I put in place for my carefully crafted future.
“Oh my gosh, that’s amazing. Can I feel?” Clover jumps down and holds her hands out in front of her.
Madi laughs. “You can try—it’s probably too early for you to feel anything though.”
Human emotions are a funny thing. Experiencing ecstatic joy for someone else while feeling a little broken and sad for yourself at the same time should be illegal.
“That’s wonderful, Madi. Really.”
My friend looks at me, really looks, and I hate that flicker of sadness flashing in her eyes as she regards me.
My mask has slipped. It’s time to rebuild my fortress.
She nods as though she understands exactly what’s happening with my heart right now.
“Now, as for Grey,” she says. “He pays attention to details. He sees things most people don’t, so it didn’t surprise me at all that he already knew your favorite foods. But we did give him your recipe for watermelon salsa.”
“Wait,” I say as though I was just kicked in the chest. “Are you telling me that he made the breakfast…” I glance around the kitchen, checking for any signs of him, but find none. “Himself?”
“Yeah,” Clover laughs. “Apparently, he’s the cook in the family. We all know it’s not Braxton.”