Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Nyxx
The first thing that registers in my groggy mind is the incessant chirping of birds.
Way too cheery for this ungodly hour. My eyes crack open, immediately assaulted by sunlight streaming through gaps in the curtains.
Groaning, I bury my face in the pillow, trying to remember why my back feels like a marching band pummeled it.
Then it hits me—right. The cottage. The uptight flutist. The couch from hell.
“Good morning, Mr. Night.”
The crisp, proper voice jolts me fully awake. Blinking away sleep, my gaze focuses on the prim figure of Anastasia Ashcroft, standing over me like some disapproving schoolmarm.
She’s pulled her blonde hair into a tight bun, not a strand out of place. She’s wearing a pressed blouse and slacks, looking ready for a board meeting rather than a casual day in a forest cottage.
“Jesus, Ana. What time is it?” My voice is little more than a croak.
Her lips purse. I’m not sure whether it’s due to the nickname, the curse, or the fact I’m breathing air on planet Earth. “It’s half past seven, and we have matters to discuss.”
Rubbing my eyes, a yawn escapes. “Can it wait until I’ve had coffee?”
“I’m afraid not,” she says, her tone brooking no argument. “We need to establish some ground rules if we’re to cohabitate peacefully until this situation is rectified.”
Pushing myself into a sitting position, the blanket falls away, revealing my bare chest. Anastasia’s eyes widen slightly before she quickly averts her gaze. I catch the flicker before she looks away. Yeah, I saw that.
“Rule number one,” she continues, her voice a touch higher than before. “Quiet hours are from 9 PM to 9 AM. No music, no television, no phone calls during that time.”
She reels it off like she’s reading commandments. I’m tempted to break every single one. “Whoa, hold up there, princess,” I interrupt, swinging my legs off the couch. “You can’t just dictate rules without any input from me.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m merely suggesting reasonable guidelines for harmonious cohabitation.”
“Harmonious?” A laugh escapes me. “There’s nothing harmonious about a twelve-hour quiet period. Some of us do our best work at night.”
Anastasia’s posture stiffens even more, if that’s possible. “Well, some of us have careers, not a soundcheck masquerading as art.”
Her words hit sharper than they should. Arrogant. Dismissive. God, she’s got no idea what it costs to bleed for a song. I tell myself I don’t care—but something hot and mean twists in my chest, anyway.
Needing to move, I stand and give a long, deliberate stretch, just to see how long it takes her to look. Not long. Her gaze darts south, then jerks up so fast she could’ve pulled a muscle.
“And some of us create chart-topping hits by embracing chaos. Ever heard of creative discord?”
She scoffs. “I highly doubt anything you produce could be considered ‘groundbreaking’ or ‘chart-topping.’”
The words shouldn’t sting, but they do. Maybe it’s the way she says it—like talent only counts if it’s dressed in a tux and performed in a marble hall. I bite back the urge to remind her that chaos built empires while perfection bored crowds to death.
“Six platinum albums say otherwise, sweetheart,” I retort, padding toward the kitchen. “Now, about that coffee…”
Anastasia follows, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Shoes? She’s wound so tight she’s not even going barefoot.
“We’re not finished discussing the rules, Mr. Night.”
“Nyxx,” I correct, rummaging through cabinets for coffee supplies. “And I told you, no serious conversations before caffeine. It’s uncivilized.”
She huffs, clearly torn between throttling me and alphabetizing her rulebook. I try not to smirk. This week might be hell for her—but it’s going to be entertainment gold for me.
“Fine. Make your coffee. But please put on a shirt and pants while you do so.”
Turning, I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. “Why? Does my state of undress make you uncomfortable, Ana?”
Her cheeks flush slightly, but her gaze remains steely. “It’s inappropriate and unprofessional.”
“Good thing we’re not in a professional setting then, isn’t it?” I wink, enjoying how it makes her bristle. “Relax, princess. It’s just a bit of skin.”
“It’s Anastasia,” she corrects sharply. “And some of us prefer to maintain a certain level of decorum, regardless of the setting.”
The coffee maker gurgles to life, filling the kitchen with its rich aroma. “Decorum, huh? Is that what you call the stick up your ass?”
Her jaw drops as she gasps. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” I say, grabbing two mugs from the shelf. “You’re wound tighter than a guitar string before a solo. When’s the last time you let loose and had fun?”
Anastasia’s eyes flash dangerously. “I’ll have you know I have plenty of fun. Just because I don’t subscribe to your brand of debauchery doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy myself.”
Pouring the coffee, I raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What’s your idea of fun then? Reading the rulebook aloud till someone begs for mercy?”
“For your information,” she snaps, “I enjoy a wide variety of cultural activities. Museums, operas, fine dining—”
“Sounds thrilling,” I interject dryly, sliding a mug toward her. “Cream? Sugar?”
She blinks, momentarily thrown by the offer. “Oh. Um, just a splash of milk, please.”
After doctoring both our coffees, I take a long sip, savoring the bitter warmth. “So, Ana…”
“Anastasia.”
“Whatever. You were saying something about rules?”
She straightens, seemingly remembering her mission. “Yes. As I was saying, quiet hours are essential. I also propose we establish designated work areas. The bedroom will be my private space, while you can use the living room and kitchen.”
“Hold up,” I interrupt. “You expect me to sleep on this torture device masquerading as a couch for a month?”
She opens her mouth to fire back, then hesitates—just for a second. It’s the first real sign that the truth’s sinking in. A whole month. I can almost see the thought hit her like a bad note in a perfect score. For the first time, the ice queen looks… human.
“It’s only temporary,” she says dismissively. “I’m sure this mix-up will be sorted out on Monday.”
A laugh escapes me. “You really think they’re going to kick me out? Honey, my manager paid for this place in full. If anyone’s leaving, it’ll be you.”
Her eyes widen slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face before she schools it back into haughty indifference. “We’ll see about that. In the meantime, we need to respect each other’s boundaries.”
“Fine,” I concede, taking another sip of coffee. “How about this: we each get the bedroom every other night. Shared spaces are fair game, but we give each other a heads up if we need quiet time for work.”
Anastasia considers this, her brow furrowed. “I suppose that’s… somewhat reasonable… the shared spaces part, but the bedroom is mine. What about your music? I can’t have you blasting that noise at all hours.”
“That ‘noise’ pays my bills, princess,” I retort as I walk out the sliding door to the spacious backyard. “Dibs on the gazebo, Ana. I’ll practice there.”
“There’s a gazebo?”
Through the sliding glass door, a white wooden gazebo sits at the edge of the tree line, maybe thirty feet from the cottage. It’s octagonal, with latticed sides and a peaked roof—open enough for sound to carry, private enough to escape Ana’s judging eyes.
She looks shocked… and butt-hurt. Did she say she’s been here three days and hasn’t even looked out the back door?
“I’ll play out there. Bonus: if I need to listen to backup music, I’ll wear headphones. Happy?”
She nods reluctantly. “It’s a start. Now, about personal hygiene and cleanliness-”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I groan. “I’m not a slob, alright? I’ll keep my stuff tidy. Anything else, Your Highness?”
Her lips purse at the sarcasm. “Just one more thing. I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from walking around half-naked. It’s… distracting.”
A slow grin spreads across my face. “Distracting, huh? Didn’t realize you found me so captivating, Ana.”
Her cheeks flush crimson. “That’s not… I simply meant…”
“Relax,” I chuckle. “I’m just messing with you. In deference to you, I’ll wear pants at all times.”
“Starting now?” Her haughty demeanor has faded, and she sounds almost desperate. I’ll have to remember that I have a secret weapon if future taunting becomes necessary.
“I’ll try to keep the shirt on, but no promises. I get hot when I’m composing.”
Anastasia takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring as she visibly tries to regain her composure. “Very well. I suppose we’ve covered the basics. I’ll be in the bedroom working on my symphony. Please try to keep the noise to a minimum.”
As she turns to leave, a thought strikes me. “Hey, Ana?”
She pauses and looks at me, lips pursed in irritation. “Yes?”
“What do you say we call a truce? Maybe grab dinner together later? I make a mean pasta.”
For a moment, surprise flickers across her face, softening her features. Then the mask of cool indifference slides back into place. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Night, but I prefer to dine alone. Good day.”
With that, she sweeps out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with my cooling coffee and the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air.
Shaking my head, I drain the last of my drink and set the mug in the sink. This situation is far from ideal, but damned if I’m not intrigued by the challenge. Anastasia Ashcroft might think she’s got me all figured out, but she’s in for one hell of a surprise.
Smiling to myself, I head to my duffel to grab my flute. Time to see just how committed she is to those “quiet hours” of hers. Let the games begin.