Page 8 of Partnering with the Artist

My nose wrinkles in a sneer.

“Youcanhelp me make dinner, and tell me about how your con went, though.”

“Sunny Con went great,” I provide. “I met a beautiful woman there.”

Viktor heaves a sigh and shoots me a look that I blame fully on the evil onion juices. Surely, onions don’t just make your eyes water. They also make you a butt.

Nevertheless, there are very few places I feel comfortable being anything less than the epitome ofgrace. Around my brothers is one of them. Especially around Viktor, who lets me mope and pout and grouse. Even when he’s a butt.

Today, however, someone made me laugh within minutes. A complete stranger had me struggling for air in a storage room, because after a brutal breakup, she actually went throughweekswhere she woke up every day and said,yes, wearing a fursuit is the answer, then proceeded to work on making one.

Like—

I’m sorry—

What?

I very desperately would like more of that in my life.

And Viktor won’t let me have it.

“What’s for dinner anyway?” I mutter, crossing my arms.

“Salisbury steak. Mashed Potatoes. And a vegetable. You can pick the vegetable.”

Good ol’ Viktor, and his balanced meals. He’ll be lucky if I don’t pick okra. He hates okra.

“Is your darling fiancée going to be joining us?” I ask.

“Crisis is having dinner with Crimson while they go over more wedding plans.”

With the way those two act, you’d think they’re marrying each other.

I hum recognition as I push off the stove to peer in the freezer, at our veggie stash. Which appears to be more of a veggie explosion at the moment. The freezer could use a good reorganization. But. I’m definitely not going to do it, neither is Lukas—who’s still on tour anyway—nor Kyran, for we are the trinity ofclutter is your friend. Outside our triangle, Viktor’s too busy…and Kaleb. Well, when Kaleb first rejoined our family after our rotten parents died in a horrific accident seven years ago, he tried to keep things organized in shared spaces like the kitchen.

Shame that Kyran, Lukas, and I did not exactly assist in those efforts. The only thing Kyran keeps clean is his bedroom, and that’s probably because there’s nothing in there. His game room? Atrocious. And don’t get me started on anything Lukas touches. If Viktor didn’t work out with him often enough to put the equipment back where it belongs, the workout room would be a hazard.

“Why don’t we keep any staff—still?” I mutter, pulling out a bag of peas and throwing the freezer door closed. “Our parentsare so dead I bet their bodies have almost entirely rotted away by now. No prying eyes are gonna seeushitting each other if we get a little help around here. I bet unused rooms on the far side of the manor are breeding new species of spiders as we speak, possiblycrossbreeding. With the rats. We don’t have enough cats or staff to keep the impending spider-rats at bay.” I pull out a steamer pot and fill it with water while Viktor begins caramelizing the onions. “We should have at least a cook, and a maid—severalmaids, actually. For spider-rat control and managing what we do occupy. Just look at the size of this place.” I drag my attention around the kitchen. The high ceiling boasts a spare few lights that keep it lit…atmospherically. The entire Bachelor property—consisting of a manor with more rooms than I’ve ever been able to count and more buildings than I’ve ever been able to find—was once built to the exact specifications of a great-great grandfather or something.

That great-great grandfather, or something, really loved shadows.

Plop parents who regularly made their kids bleed into this place, and all the luxury looks like little more than a dreary prison.

“Did you hear me?” I ask.

“I’m not validating the question with a response.” Viktor sighs. “You know Lukas won’t be on tour forever. He doesnotneed a harem of pretty little maids to mess with.”

“We can get a handful of little old lady maids. Lukas is nice, and onlysometimesa flirty bully, with little old ladies.”

Viktor, bless, glares at me, so I lift my hands in defense and start peeling potatoes.

My surrender lasts only a few moments. “Malemaids.”

“The last thing this place needs is more testosterone, Zakery.”

“Right. Exactly.” I point my peeler at him. “That’s what I’msaying. Let me have a pretty little splash of estrogen, all to myself, safe from Lukas’s Lukasness, in my bedroom.”

Viktor,bless, glares at me some more, tossing seasoning into his skillet without looking at it.

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