Page 17 of Devoted

“Just different,” I say neutrally, hoping she doesn’t press the subject. “He won’t be able to find us.”

Her plump lower lip trembles. “Roman can afford the right resources.”

“Not without raising flags he doesn’t want people to look at too closely.”

I leave her to change and sleep—without me. I miss having her next to me already.

I stretch out on the couch and throw an arm over my eyes. The large picture windows have drapes that I left closed while I was gone. No one needed to peek through the windows and see how empty the place was. But the fabric is the furthest from light-blocking there could be. There’s nowhere but the primary bedroom to hide from the sun.

Sleep doesn’t come. I’ve had little to no sleep for days, but I forgot how quiet my mountain cabin is. There’s no traffic. No horns or sirens. No seagulls.

I flip to my side. Try again.

Turn to the other side.

Minutes tick by and the plush couch I dropped a shit ton of money on grows more uncomfortable.

I flip, turn, and end up on my back like I started.

Goddammit.

I ditch the couch and storm down the hall. I stop at the door. I didn’t close it for her, and she didn’t find it important enough to bear weight on her ankle to shut it.

She’s still, curled on her side, the pose she adopts when her mind is overflowing with worry when she goes to bed. Her face is paler than it was at her mom’s, but she’s as lovely as ever. A beacon in my home. She cracks an eye open.

“I can’t fucking sleep,” I growl.

“Don’t worry.” She rolls onto her side, putting her back toward the middle. “The bed’s big enough.”

I regret leaving the extra blanket. But the bed is king size. I crawl beneath the covers and let comfort surround me.

Fuck, this feels good. On a quality bed. In my own house. Beautiful woman next to me. I’m asleep in seconds.

I sleep too fucking long.I sit up, and Penelope groans and shifts.

She bolts upright with a gasp. Her straight, fine hair is a messy halo around her head. She shoves her hand through the strands, and her gaze lands on me. “I feel like I’m late for something.”

“You’re stuck in this pond, swan.” I catch the tiny glint of pleasure she gets every time I call her swan. I swing my legs out of bed. “But it’s after noon. I’ve gotta get to work.”

“Is there something I can help with?”

“No, you need to rehab your ankle.”

She sticks her leg out from under the covers and carefully rotates it. She winces. “The bruises are starting.” She extends her legs and stretches out her arms, looking up and down each one. “My ankle’s not the only thing with black-and-blue marks.”

Irrational rage sweeps through me. Between the accident with the airbag and running from her old home, she’s bruised from head to toe. I picture hammering Roman’s body until he matches her.

She stands and laces her fingers, stretching them high over her head. Her pink T-shirt lifts and bares a strip of skin above the band of her cozy leggings. I can’t take my eyes off her. Good thing I’m still behind her.

I clear my throat and look away. “I can help you to the couch and grab some food.”

“Thanks, but I think I can limp and get some blood flowing to the area. Maybe I should ice it?” She uses the bed, then the walls, to make her way to the living room. “This is a really nice place.”

Five of these cabins could fit into that Tudor mansion she used to live in. Her childhood home in Beverly Hills was probably just as large. But pride nearly bursts through my chest at her compliment. She knows dancing and quality, and she likes this house.

In the living room, she skims the wall, using it as her crutch.

“Fuck, that hurts.” Pain tightens her voice. “Tomorrow will be better.”

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