“I didn’t want to be treated any differently! You think I like being Abalone’s daughter? You think I enjoy having no choices, no freedom, no—”
“So I was just part of an ‘exploration’ phase of yours? Great. Well, it’s over on my end. No more trying out different versions of yourself on me—you’re going to need to find a new piece of equipment. You know, Boone is probably available. He looked like he was seeing God for the first time as Novo was grinding on him last night.”
Paradise burst up and walked around her room. “I cannot believe you’re being so closed-minded.”
“Closed-m—are you fucking kidding me?” He cursed. “Okay, let’s try on this hypothetical. That ball, which is going to be at your house in a week—you were obviously going to ask me as your date, right? You were just waiting to tell me about it so I could go as your—oh, shit. It’s called an escort, ain’t it? I’d better get these details down before you introduce me to your father, and I soak fifty bucks into renting a tux.”
When she didn’t say anything, he laughed again. “Guess that wasn’t part of the plan, huh. Oh, in case you’re wondering, Axe overheard you guys talking on the bus. He told me about it after I got back to the training center and he tried to give me a hard time about dating you. I explained to him that you and I were not, in fact, ‘dating,’ but that I was fairly certain that if your car needed to be washed, you’d let me have at it with a bucket and a sponge.”
“You are way out of line.”
“And as an aristocrat, you are certainly in a position to tell me that, aren’t you.”
“I’m in love with you, you asshole.” At least that shut him up. “That’s right. I said it—where I come from, you’re not allowed to say that first because you’re supposed to wait for the male to do it. Oh, and you want to know what else I can’t do? I can’t be in the presence of any male without a chaperone. I’m not allowed to work or have a career—I was in that receptionist job solely because my father was desperately in need of help and I was the only one he could trust. I had to fight my way into the training program—and only got permission because I lied and told my father I would never fight in the war. I am expected to needlepoint, run a house, and get pregnant—and you’re bitching at me that I’m the problem?”
“Cry me a river, okay?” he bit out. “You have never had to worry about where your next meal is coming from, you live in a fucking museum showcase of beautiful things—and pardon me, but you don’t know what it’s like to have people look down on you because you lost the DNA lottery!”
“You’re looking down on me!” she hollered back. “Are you fucking kidding me right now! You’re judge and jury, you’ve made your mind up and to hell with me! You’re no different from the glymera—look in the goddamn mirror, Craeg. You’re just as superior-acting and judgmental as they are.”
As she fell silent, she was breathing hard, and her free hand was cranked into a fist, and her heart was pounding.
“This is getting us nowhere,” he muttered after a moment.
“You’re absolutely right. So fuck off. Have a nice life—hope all your holier-than-thou keeps you warm during the day.”
Paradise cut the connection and wheeled around, lifting her arm over her head, prepared to fire the phone at the wall.
But she stopped herself. Calmed herself. Refocused.
Wow. Losing her virginity and having her first knockdown/drag-out in a relationship. Oh, and first breakup, too.
Big twenty-four hours.
Going so well.
Just great.
It took a good hour before Paradise was even back in her own body, she was so angry. And her first cogent thought was that she was not going to spend the whole night stuck in her room.
Hell, no. She had all day to look forward to for that kind of prison.
Going over to her satchel, she waded through the thing to look for her wallet. She was going to meet the other trainees at that Italian restaurant and have a drink with them—even if she only ordered a soda. And if Craeg happened to be there? Fine. Whatever.
She might as well get used to being around him.
As her hand gripped her wallet, she was about to head out—but stopped. Pulling the thing out, she put it aside on her antique French desk. Rifling through the bag, she looked through everything—and even unzipped the front pocket and checked in there.
Frowning, she headed over to her walk-in closet and proceeded to where her coats were. The one she had worn the night before was hanging with her others, and she went into the pocket on the far side.
The Polaroid she had tucked in there at the apartment was where she had left it.
Staring at the image, she put her hand over her mouth.
Back at the satchel, she double-checked one more time. Nope, the original image, the one she’d found on the bus, was gone.
She thought back to when she’d searched the satchel at the training center and found her phone in the wrong place.
Someone had gone through her bag and taken the photograph.
Maybe because it tied them … to a murder.
Returning to her phone, she called Peyton. “Hey,” she said when he answered.
As she fell silent, he prompted, “Hello? Paradise?”
“I think…”
“You’re breaking up.”
“No, I’m not talking.”