Chapter 21 Exhibit A
EXHIBIT A
LILA
By the time I make it back to our room, my feet feel like lead weights.
Evelyn’s “planning day” turned into a full-blown hostage situation with linen samples, menu debates, and three separate arguments with herself about which donors should be seated near which other donors.
Emily bailed twice to hide in the bathroom for way longer than necessary. I probably would have followed her if I knew I could have gotten away with it.
When I close the door behind me and twist the lock into place, the room is completely dark except for the faint glow from the alarm clock on Theo’s nightstand. He’s asleep on his side, the covers twisted around his waist. Something in my mind quiets at the sight of him so unguarded.
I pull off my shoes and set them down gently next to the bed. He doesn’t stir. I’m relieved he’s getting some much needed rest, but there is a small part of me that wishes he’d wake up just long enough for me to kiss him goodnight.
The shower gives me ten blessed minutes to breathe, to let the steam blur the last twenty-four hours into something almost manageable.
When I step back into the room, I towel my hair dry and keep the light off. Theo shifts once, barely.
I crawl into bed on my side of the mattress, careful not to jostle him too much. My body sinks into the sheets, utterly exhausted in every way.
Still, every cell in my body is hyper-aware of him. The weight of his presence, close enough to feel, far enough to pain me in every way. But not so far that the ache he puts between my thighs subsides in the slightest.
I stare up at the ceiling, hoping it might offer some kind of cosmic clarity, but all it has is a thin crack in the corner. One I never noticed before.
It matches the one forming in my composure.
I am frustrated. In all the ways.
God, I want to kiss him again.
My skin is still hot in all the places he touched. His hands, his mouth, the press of him. It’s all still there, imprinted on my bones. I can still feel the slide of his palm up my back, the squeeze of his hands on my hips, the heat of his breath against my skin.
Sleep? Impossible.
I roll over. Then back again. Try not to breathe too loud. Try not to wonder how hard he sleeps. Wonder if I’m selfish enough to wiggle around enough to wake him.
After twisting and turning for what feels like an eternity, he doesn’t budge. I’m alone with my thoughts.
And the problem.
Which is... me.
And also the vibrator buried discreetly beneath the clothes still folded in my suitcase.
I wasn’t expecting to have to share a room with him when I came here, though maybe I should have.
It wasn’t even remotely on my radar with everything else running through my head about this visit.
If it had been, maybe I would’ve packed differently.
More conservatively. But I didn’t. Because a girl has needs, and let’s be honest—I don’t travel without certain essentials.
It’s not like I thought I’d be using it with anyone else around. Definitely not with him in the same room. But here we are. Sharing a bed. After that kiss. And now it’s basically mocking me from the bottom of my bag.
Do I feel anxiety ridden slipping into the bathroom with it? Absolutely.
Do I do it anyway? Yes.
There’s no way I’m going to sleep without relieving some of this tension.
It’s clinical (except the part where I imagine Theo bruising my esophagus). Quick. A means to an end, because I need to clear my head before I wake up tomorrow and say something like “So about that kiss—do you wanna fuck now, oooorrrr?” at breakfast.
I lock the bathroom door behind me and sit on the edge of the tub, one hand braced against the cool tile as I press the other between my thighs, the tiny hum of the vibrator already a small mercy.
I’m not in the mood to draw it out. I can’t afford to.
Not when every cell in my body feels like it’s buzzing with unsaid, untouchable things.
I close my eyes, and he’s there. That ridiculous intense look he gives me when I say something intentionally infuriating just to get a rise out of him. The way his entire demeanor changes. His mouth—god, his mouth—when he looks at me like he already has me figured out.
I try not to imagine his hand where mine is now, but it’s impossible. My brain’s already gone off the rails.
And now I’m thinking about that same hand in my hair. About what it would feel like if he lost his restraint, held me there, fucked my face until he came down my throat.
It’s obscene. It’s glorious. I want it. Badly, shamefully, and I’d thank him for it after.
I let my head fall back against the wall, biting my lip to keep quiet. This is about not losing my grip, I remind myself. About focus. It’s not indulgence—it’s damage control. Emotional triage. Preventative care, basically. Whatever makes it sound less pathetic.
And still, when I come, it hits harder than I expect. A sharp, hot snap through my core that makes me press my wrist to my mouth just in case a sound sneaks out.
Once I’m finished, I clean it quickly. I’m afraid if I take too long, I’ll start thinking about what it means. About why I needed it so badly in the first place. After all, it was just a kiss. I rinse it under warm water, then I flick off the bathroom light, and pad back to bed.
I am apparently being less cautious about tiptoeing around in my post-orgasm haze, because after all that, Theo stirs at the sound of my footsteps. I nearly launch myself into orbit, whipping around and instinctively shoving the vibrator behind my back.
He squints at me through sleepy eyes, hair mussed, not fully here yet. God, he’s so hot. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I blurt, my voice doing this weird squeaky thing I immediately regret. I shift awkwardly, casually-as-humanly-possible sliding the vibrator into the waistband of my sweatpants. “You just scared me. I thought you were asleep.”
“I was,” he murmurs, “But I’m a little awake now.”
Great.
I nod like a normal person—not someone who’s hiding a sex toy and on the brink of spontaneous combustion—and shuffle back to the bed in slow motion.
He watches me intently, either not noticing the way I’ve gone rigid, or pretending not to. “Have you been having a nervous breakdown all day too?” he asks as he rolls toward me, propping himself up on one elbow.
“Unfortunately,” I pull the blankets tighter around me, a barrier against the avalanche of things we still don’t know. Or maybe against how close he suddenly is. Hard to say.
“I still can’t wrap my mind around any of it.” He’s more alert now, that deep focus flickering behind his eyes. “I’ve Googled an inordinate number of hyper-specific questions to try and figure out if there is any record of an orrery worth as much as what we’ve been told.”
“Yeah. I’ve been wondering the same thing. It’s completely bonkers.”
“Indeed,” he says, yawning.
“There’s probably no real way to know,” I yawn in return.
“It’s a thing of myth and legend.” He lazily brandishes a hand in the air.
I glance at him, my heartbeat finally calming and my mind finally somewhere other than on my throbbing clit.
He goes on, tossing out thoughts—“Not an impossibility. I didn’t find anything about an orrery, but I did find a record of something equally as bizarre.”—and I start to relax. The buzz of embarrassment fades, replaced by genuine intrigue.
“The internet is a wasteland, by the way. Someone out there owns a coffee table made out of a meteorite that went for seven-and-a-half million dollars.”
I shift subtly, slipping the vibrator from my waistband and, under the blessed distraction of his rambling about diamond encrusted toilet seats, slide it under my pillow in one smooth motion.
“People with that kind of money,” I say, “never use it for anything worthwhile, do they?”
“Nope,” he replies.
I finally ask the question that’s been gnawing at my brain for most of the day. “Do you think what Tillie and Giles said about Victoria is true?”
“If I’m being honest, I want to believe it is.
To finally have an answer after all these years—” he trails off.
“When we came here, I wasn’t convinced we’d find anything at all.
Not because we weren’t capable, but because I’d spent so much time trying to figure it out from a distance myself.
And then even longer trying to forget about it altogether. ”
I play with the hair that curls around the bottom of his ear, giving him an understanding look.
The conversation rolls on from there into theories about what else is hiding in this place, the estate’s weird-ass traditions Evelyn told me all about while I was helping her, and somehow, her collection of hats that look like cursed pastries.
“She owns a fascinator shaped like a croissant,” I say at one point, half-yawning. “I’m not even making that up.”
“I believe you,” Theo says, amused.
“I’ve seen her wear a literal bird nest,” I add.
My nerves dissolve completely, replaced by a warmth that settles low in my belly and makes my chest feel the best kind of full. Exhaustion creeps in. I stretch out beneath the blankets and let my eyes fall closed.
His last words before sleep takes both of us are, “We’re gonna crack this, you know.”
And mine, barely whispered, are, “I know.”
The last thing I register before sleep pulls me under is Theo’s arm sliding around my waist, drawing me in until our bodies settle together, and then his lips pressing softly against my forehead.
I wake up slowly. The sun’s already up, slanting golden beams across the floor. Theo’s side of the bed is empty and cool.
There’s a folded note next to my pillow in his handwriting.
Went for a walk. Try not to get detained by the pastel polo guys without me. —T
I smile like an idiot. Stretch. Feel marginally more sane than last night. And I definitely do not think about all the things I want this man to do to me if given the opportunity.
Nope. Brush teeth. Dress for the day. Leave those thoughts behind so I can get ready for my brunch date with Evelyn and Emily.
The picnic setup by the pond is classic Evelyn taking advantage of a rare warm day.
Blanket, parasol, tiny sandwiches cut into perfect triangles.
Emily brought lemonade. She’s also brought her knitting—her newest hobby—and though she’s undeniably terrible at it, she keeps poking at the tangled mess of yarn in her lap with cheerful determination.
Whatever keeps her mind occupied, I suppose.
I do my best to focus on the conversation, even when Evelyn spends thirty minutes complaining about the estate’s salamander problem. But mostly, I sit, chew my cucumber sandwich, and think about Theo’s handsome, smirky face.
Except, as I pop a grape in my mouth, my phone buzzes next to my leg.
Theo: Did you lose something?
I pause mid chew. Frown.
Lila: …what?
Theo: Small. Pink. Buzzes.
He sends a picture with the words “Exhibit A” typed out beneath the offending evidence.
Oh no.
Lila: STOP
Lila: NO
Lila: YOU DID NOT
Lila: WHY WERE YOU LOOKING UNDER MY PILLOW
Theo: You’re deflecting.
Lila: I was tired!!! I meant to put it away!!!
Theo: That’s a lot of exclamation marks.
Lila: I hate you.
Theo: Liar.
I throw my phone back onto the blanket and bury my face in my hands, groaning loud enough to scare the ducks floating about in the pond. Of all the things I’ve done lately—trespassing, theft—this is what finally takes me out.
My phone buzzes again.
Theo: Did you seriously use this right next to me?
Lila: WHAT. NO. I’m not a perv.
I am totally a perv.
Theo: …Bathroom?
Lila: Yes!! Obviously.
Theo: So you left our bed to get yourself off, but didn’t think to ask if I wanted the job?
I choke on my lemonade, my face flaming.
“What?” Evelyn asks.
“Nothing,” I lie, coughing. “Just went down the wrong way.”
Exactly like everything else that’s happened over the last two days, apparently.