Chapter 4: Separate Rooms

I moved in with two duffel bags and a houseplant.

The plant was Lily's idea.

"Something alive," she'd said, pressing it into my arms. "In case he's a vampire."

"He's a CEO."

"Same thing."

I carried it up in the elevator myself.

Marcus took the bags without asking.

"I've got them, Ms. Sinclair."

"Ava. Please."

"Ava." He nodded, and I could tell it cost him something to say it. "The guest wing is this way."

The photograph was in my coat pocket.

I had not taken it out since the snow.

I had not decided what to do with it.

Damien met us at the end of a long hallway.

No jacket now. Vest, white sleeves rolled to the forearm, the silver cuff links gone.

I noticed that.

I hated that I noticed that.

"Your wing," he said.

He opened a door onto a bedroom larger than Lily's whole apartment.

A bed with a gray quilt. A reading chair by the window. Central Park, white and dark, filling the glass.

A private bathroom with a tub.

On the inside of the door, a brass deadbolt.

I turned it.

It slid home with a clean heavy sound.

"I had it installed this afternoon," Damien said. "The key is yours. Nobody else has one."

"Not even you?"

"Especially not me."

Marcus set my bags on the luggage rack and left without looking at either of us.

Damien stayed in the doorway.

He didn't step over the threshold.

"Dinner is at eight. If you prefer, I'll have it sent to your room."

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