16. Genevieve

SIXTEEN

Call me paranoid and suspicious if you want, but Damien's offer to explore the second floor… it feels like a trap.

I don't know what he's getting out of it. Like, if I slip out of the bedroom and nose around, will he use that against me? Or will he see me giving in as a victory in this war between us?

Or is this war as one-sided as it seems?

Let's put it out there. We're almost at the week mark since my life got flipped upside-down. And apart from the flash of temper he showed after my escape attempt, he's been nothing but cordial. He's been kind.

And, damn it, he's been seductive.

Is this Damien's way of getting back at me for how I made it seem like I was into him so I could steal his knife? For a split second there, even I'd admit there was a spark… some chemistry even… before my revenge list popped into my brain and I remembered in the next instant who I am—now—and why I was as close to him as I got.

I've run that altercation in the alley over and over again. Hundreds of times since I've been basically trapped in Damien's manor. I don't doubt that he was attracted to the vibes I was giving off. But after I stabbed him?

The crazy bastard seemed even more attracted…

How else can I explain the way he's treated me since. With fresh stitches in his side, he would've fucked me that same night if I didn't refuse. The fact that I did and he didn't push it? That sex owuldn't have been a punishment, not like the way I thought of him fucking my mouth. It would've been because getting stabbed was like foreplay for him, and since I was the one wielding the knife, Damien Libellula locked on me.

But it's only been a week. To my shock, he's done everything he could to make me feel comfortable here. Mainly because the mafia leader one hundred percent means it when he says that he won't allow me to leave him. If I'm his prisoner, at least I'm a well-treated one.

Consider I tried to assassinate him? I should be lucky he hasn't just gotten sick of me, summoned Vin, and left him to it.

I haven't seen the big guy since since that first night. I don't think that's a coincidence, either. Now that I have a tracker in my arm, it's not like I need to be guarded, right? And if he's still pissy over Damien's stab wound, oh well. Damien doesn't seem to care.

Oh, no. Because my ‘husband' has finally caught on to the fact that I'm amazed by the body he hides beneath his suits, he spends more time parading around our room both before and after his share than is good for my mental health. He preens like a fucking peacock—and it works. I can't deny I find him good-looking, and when he checks his stitches and changes his bandages, looking at the slowly healing wound with something that might shockingly be pride, I don't know how I feel.

So I do what I did when shit got rough in prison. I shut down, keep my mouth shut, and just try to survive.

Having Orion near helps. Being able to finally shower, brush my teeth, and change into fresh clothes helps even more. I know this can't last. One way or another, something has to give. I can't spend the rest of my life in Damien Libellula's bedroom, even if he sees that as a just punishment for my attempted murder on him.

In the end, it's because of Orion that I finally get the nerve to leave the room. After two days of him exploring every corner of the bedroom, my curious cat finally figures out that the door to the bedroom is different from the one in my apartment. At the apartment, he knew better than to leave so he rarely scratched at that door.

Here? Because of Damien comings and goings, plus his staff coming in to bring food or make his bed or put the grown man's laundry away, the single brain cell in my orange and white cat's head flares as he discovers that there's more to this place than this one room.

And once he does, he wants to explore out there.

Since I'd rather not see Orion scratch the shit out of Damien's fancy wood door—or have my ‘husband' tell me how I can make it up to him since I sure as hell can't pay for any damage—I open the door. He bolts, I chase, and the rest is history.

It didn't take me long before I saw my mistake. Damien warned me away from the first floor by mentioning that Vin resides down there, but he was very clear: the third floor is off-limits. And where does Orion go as soon as my fluffy idiot as free rein of the house?

Right up the stairs to the third floor.

I can't let him. Music is filtering down from upstairs, and during one of the dinners Damien insisted we share, he let slip that his sister is a professional dancer. Her studio is kept on the third floor, and when I hear music, it means she's rehearsing.

Here's hoping that she can't hear me running up the stairs, hissing my cat's name over the sound of?—

Shit.

The music turns off the exact moment that Orion reaches the landing.

"Orion! Get over here."

He looks behind him at me, sees I'm chasing, and decides it's a game. I swear, he has a grin on his face, whiskers twitching, before he starts to run down the hall.

Orion, you asshole.

On the plus side, he doesn't get that far—but that's the downside. Because, just as he's about to dash past an open doorway, someone comes walking out of it.

It's a stranger. Orion's gotten used to Damien being in our space—because, to my cat, that room is our space—but he wasn't expecting someone else to move in front of him.

Especially not someone who looks down, squeals, and immediately drops to pet him.

Orion hisses, batting at the air because he's not a bad boy who'll actually scratch a human.

The girl laughs. "Nice to meet you, too."

And then, turning her head, she smiles at me. "And you."

Fuck. We're caught.

Even if I didn't already see her face countless times while she was out with Damien, or have the image of the blonde hair and horrified expression after she burst into his bedroom that first night, her outfit would give her away. She has on a pale pink leotard complete with a gauzy skirt, cropped tights that show off a pair of gnarly dancers' toes that are painted black, and a white towel draped around her sweaty neck.

Genevieve Libellula.

"Um. Hi."

"I know, I know. It's so awkward that we've been living in the same house and this is the first time we're really being introduced. That's because my brother told me not to bother you until I was sure you wouldn't be embarrassed about…" She makes a crude gesture, shaking one hand by her mouth, using her tongue to make her cheek bulge at the same time. "You know."

Oh my God. "Yeah. I know."

"Thought you would. And since I'm never forgetting that, I thought maybe we could finally meet on your, like, fiftieth wedding anniversary? I might be senile by then and it wouldn't matter. But I guess your cat— this is your cat, right? And you're Savannah?"

I nod.

"I'm Genevieve. Most people call me Gen. Vin calls me Genny." She pauses for a moment. "Don't call me Genny."

Okay, then. I gesture at the cat. "This is Orion."

At the sound of his name, his tail goes right up in the air, and he eases his way toward me as if realizing that he's a) in big, big trouble right now, and b) running in his condition was probably a bad idea, and now that he's stopped, he's feeling it.

Genevieve frowns. "What's wrong with your cat? Is she supposed to walk like she's bow-legged?"

"Orion is a he."

"Sorry. I didn't see any balls so I thought she was a girl." Lowering her voice, almost as an aside, she adds, "Don't tell Dame I know what balls look like. He might have a shit fit."

I swallow my laugh. I'm sorry, but how in any world is this girl Damien's sister? I'm not even talking about her being blonde while he has super dark hair. Their tanned skin is the same, so are their eyes and a few facial features, but their personalities?

Worlds fucking apart.

I like her. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I need to just pick Orion up and carry him back downstairs.

Or maybe…

"Maybe I should take him to the vet." I bent low, stroking his head. "You're right. I noticed he's been walking a little weird since your brother went to my apartment and got him for me." Peeking up at Genevieve, I check her reaction. Huh. She doesn't seem surprised that Damien would do that. Because she already knew? Or because that's just what kind of a man he is? I shake my head. "Now that I'm thinking about it, his litter box hasn't really been full. I thought it was the stress of a new place, but maybe he's constipated. A vet visits probably in order."

All of that is true. I wasn't worried because this isn't that unusual for Orion. When I got him as a kitten, he ended up so full of shit, I had to scrape my pennies together to take him to the vet for an enema. Talk about a three-hundred dollar shit by the time he was done.

But if I could convince Damien's sister that it might be essential to take him now? I'll keep her secrets, she can keep mine, and instead of taking Orion to the vet, I can get a headstart out of Springfield.

He doesn't give a shit about me. Not really. If I leave his turf, tracker or no tracker, he wouldn't chase after me. I'd only be a loose end if I stayed in the city, but even if I have to give up on my revenge, I'd do it if only to get away from Damien while I still can.

Lifting her towel, she dabs the underside of her jaw. "Know what? That's a good idea. We've got, like, six cars in the garage. I know where Damien keeps the keys, too, if you want to take him. I'd hate to see the kitty in pain."

"Really?"

"No."

It's the flat tone of voice that has me doing a double-take, especially since Genevieve hasn't lost her friendly smile.

"Um. Sorry. What?"

She reaches out, patting my arm.

"I'm not sure if Damien told you about me, but if we're going to get along, I should make something perfectly clear. My big brother still looks at me and sees a four-year-old in a tutu. He thinks I have no idea what's going on half the time, and I'm happy to let him. Yeah? Yeah. But you're not my big brother. Honestly, I'm not really sure who you are except for the woman who stabbed Dame."

Oh, shit. And to think I couldn't understand how these two were related. Right now, I see her brother in the way she's looking at me. Overprotective. Ruthless. Merciless.

"I—"

"Hey. Don't worry about. That's between the two of you. If he gets off with a little pain, I'd rather not know. Okay? You do you. But, please. Don't think because I let him treat me like a kid, that you can, too. For some reason, Damien wants to keep you around. I'd like to have some more estrogen in the manor for a change. So don't fuck it up, kay? And trying to use me to leave my brother? Not gonna happen, babe."

Know what? She was honest with me. I might as well return the favor.

I own it. "Hey. It was worth a shot."

"I know. And I respect that. And I really am worried about your cat."

She points. Orion is sucky as back-up. While Genevieve was threatening me, he decided to plop down, kick up a leg, and lick his asshole. And while I know he's doing that because there's a good chance he really is constipated, the optics are super annoying.

"I wasn't kidding when I said he's constipated."

"Is there anything we can do about it?" Before I can answer her, her eyes light up. "I know! Stay right here."

Okay. I guess.

Genevieve runs gracefully back into the room that she had just left. I don't know what she's doing in there—or how it'll help Orion—but she has her phone out, on speakerphone, and she's already talking by the time she returns to the hall.

"Hey, Dr. Liz. It's me. Genevieve."

Dr. Liz? From the clinic?

"Gen! How are you doing, sweetie? How's your ankle? Giving you trouble?"

"I'm okay." As if to prove it, she goes on point on one foot, flexing the other, testing her ankle. "Yup. All good. But, listen. I'm here with Damien's wife?—"

"Wife? I didn't know he was married."

"Oh, yeah. It's new, but it's been a little hush hush. You know what I mean."

I wish I did. I wish I had any idea what the fuck was going on right now.

"Genevieve—"

"Shh." She waves her hands at me to hush since Dr. Liz is still talking.

"—did bring this quiet brunette with him to the clinic a few days ago. But wife?—"

"Yup," Damien's sister cuts in. "That's Savannah. Hey. She's right here." Genevieve nudges my shoulder. "Say ‘hi'."

I cannot believe this is happening. Leaning forward, speaking into her phone, I mutter, "Hello."

"Hello, Savannah," Dr. Liz says warmly. "Sorry that we met under such stressful circumstances, but I'm glad to see that your date must've ended well. Congratulations on the nuptials!"

Someone kill me. Kill me now. "Thanks. Um. Genevieve said you might be able to help me."

Right? I mean, she seemed like she had a brilliant idea to help Orion's clogged-up pooper, and she came back with Liz on the phone, so maybe she has some vet experience or something.

"Of course. What do you need?"

"It's not me," I began before Geneveieve angles the phone toward her mouth.

"It's a cat," she announces. "The cutest, fluffiest orange and white cat. And I'm pretty sure he's all stopped up, Dr. Liz. Now, I know you're not a vet or anything, but do you have any idea what we can do about a cat that won't shit?"

For Orion, I tell myself. I'm going through this right now for my baby.

It's worth a shot. I know what my vet says to do, and I'd hoped that plenty of fresh water, a little less stress, and some time might fix him, but if she has an idea… why not?

Surprisingly, she does. And after Dr. Liz rattles off all the home remedies we can give Orion to help him out, I'm so thankful and amazed for her expertise, she laughs and admits that she grew up in a home that always had two or three cats. She's firmly a people doctor, like I thought, but she had the necessary experience anyway.

That done, Genevieve begins to finish the phone call when, suddenly, Dr. Liz says, "Will I see you guys at Damien's dinner next week?"

Huh?

"Of course," his sister says quickly. "Because it's being hosted in the private room at La Vita Vino, I get to go. You'll be there, right?"

"I already have my dress picked out, and a note printed to put on the clinic door that we're closed for the evening."

"Awesome. See you then!"

"You, too, Genevieve. Oh, and Savannah? If you need any more help, please feel free to give me a call."

Yeah. Maybe if I had any idea what happened to my phone, I might. "Sure."

I think Genevieve realizes that, too. After she hangs up, she's careful to tighten her grip on her phone as if sure I'm going to snatch it from her.

Not right now. I'm a little bit distracted by what the doctor and the dancer were talking about.

"So, uh… what dinner were you guys talking about?" I ask her.

"Damien's fortieth birthday dinner. His birthday was last month, but we didn't have enough time to make the arrangements. Though that's a crock of shit if you ask me. I think he just didn't want to admit he was the big four-oh. But he agreed to a dinner instead of a party, and we're having it next Saturday."

"Really?"

"Yup. But don't worry about it. We've got plenty of time ‘til then." Swooping down, picking the now-dozing Orion up before he can realize it's Genevieve and not me, she starts to flounce toward the stairs. "Now, come on! Let's see if the cook has any pumpkin."

And because Damien's younger sister runs off with my cat, I have no choice but to follow her.

For Orion, I remind myself. For Orion.