Chapter 13: Eloise

"What the fuck are you wearing?"

Eloise threw her head back in a groan at Silas's question. She'd spent painstaking hours deciding what pajamas to bring with her, had tried on every piece in the boutique down the street from her apartment. She'd been assured by both the stylist and her best friend, Laurel, that her choices were top-tier.

Originally, she'd wanted to go with a silky little set. Cheeky shorts and the smallest tank you could imagine. It was classic. It was sexy. But her overeager mind hadn't wanted to deal with the potential obstacle of shorts. She'd shied away from the idea when the image of her fumbling to get the garment down her legs, tripping and ruining the moment, had taken shape.

She'd stuck with the silk, at least, opting for a nightgown that was probably actually supposed to be a tank top. The fabric was cool against her skin—which, she told herself, was perfect for sleeping—and it provided ample opportunity for whoever her roommate might be to get ideas.

The scenario Eloise hadn't pictured, though, was sharing a room with a man who wouldn't even be interested in her under threat. So, of course, Silas took issue with her sleepwear. He probably wanted her to drown in a pair of ragged sweats and a shirt eight sizes too large.

Well, Silas could suck it up.

"Pajamas," she finally snapped. "Something wrong with them?"

"Other than the fact you're only wearing half of them?"

She met his eyes, trying to hide the bemusement. "You've never seen a nightgown?"

Silas crossed his arms over his chest. His bare chest, the hypocrite. He was sprawled on their bed, his mile-long legs crossed casually at the ankles. Half of the pillows stuffed behind him to prop him up. The incandescence of the lamp painting him in soft, flattering light.

It was bullshit.

"I've seen plenty of nightgowns, maneater. I don't think you can call—" he swept his hand up and down, gesturing to her body "—whatever that is a ‘nightgown.' Nightgowns are shit old ladies wear when they creep through houses with candles."

"Is that who you're usually bedding?" Eloise asked sweetly.

"No."

"Then what do your partners usually wear?"

He smirked. "Nothing."

Eloise didn't really have the time to assess the stabbing feeling that accompanied his response. All she knew was that it didn't fit into her mind's perfect picture of how her sleepwear would make a man feel. So instead of taking the time she usually might to overthink it, she threw her arms wide and announced, "Great, then this shouldn't be a problem."

"It's a problem, Eloise," Silas argued. "Don't you have something else to wear?"

Was she really such a sore sight? She tugged gently at the hem but the slight split in the thigh didn't allow for much more coverage.

"I only brought these," she mumbled.

Silas ran a hand through his hair. Once, twice. He went for a third time but stopped and just let his hand hover over his eyes. A makeshift blindfold. "There's more of those fucking things?"

"You wanted me to wear one outfit to bed for five weeks?"

His expression when he dropped his hand was just as incredulous as hers felt. "You weren't really going to jump in Ken's bed practically naked and expect him to think you aren't desperate, right?"

Would it be childish if Eloise stomped her foot? "I thought they were cute!"

"Cute's not the word I would use."

"What word would you use, then?"

"Can you just—" Silas cut himself off with a grunt. The noise hit her in an unexpected way. One that had her wanting to hide from him until it passed. The feeling only intensified when Silas clamored off the bed and stalked to the wardrobe, digging for a minute before producing an old shirt. "Just put this on. Please."

The ‘please' was an afterthought that Eloise decided to accept, along with the shirt. Fine. If he didn't like her nightgown, she would change. Wasn't that their deal? He'd tell her how to be more appealing? If the path to that was wearing his stupid shirt, then she'd humor him.

But Silas didn't look much happier when Eloise reemerged from the bathroom, now clad in soft cotton advertising a bar she'd never heard of. It was clear the shirt wasn't made for someone of her size. She was sure the hem would have been longer if her breasts or her ass hadn't taken up so much horizontal space. As it stood, though, the shirt pulled almost taut around her body, covering the essentials in a way she thought was almost more revealing than her nightgown had been.

Maybe Silas was onto something after all.

She lifted her arms and gave him a flirty little spin. "Better?"

"Sure."

It wasn't the highest praise but Eloise would not be deterred. "So, what? I get ready for bed with him and ask him if I can wear one of his shirts?"

Would Killian's even fit the same? Or was it less about the fit and more about the idea of her in his clothes? Was it only for a man to feel like he'd staked a claim?

Silas all but confirmed that suspicion when he answered, "He's gotta offer it to you. If he wants you to wear his clothes, he'll make it happen."

"But what if he's like you?"

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"What if he just doesn't like my nightgowns?"

"That's not going to be a problem."

"But it was a problem for you."

"Just trust me, maneater."

"How am I supposed to get anywhere if you don't tell me why I'm doing this stuff?" Eloise knew frustration laced her words. She couldn't stop it. But this felt forcefully cryptic. She couldn't survive on ‘trust me,' either. She added, "What do I do if he doesn't want to see me in that?"

He adjusted his pillows, not even looking at her anymore. "Then you call him a prick and move on with your life."

"Oh? Was I supposed to call you a prick, too?"

"Probably should have," he said with a shrug.

A shrug. Was a shrug all she was worth? Maybe it was. Silas was doing her a favor right now. Sure, he'd only agreed to it after he insulted her but he still wasn't obligated to extend the helping hand he had.

Eloise would try a different approach. She climbed on the bed, propping herself up on her knees across from him. "Please, Silas."

He glanced at her, took in her positioning, and turned right back around. "What else do you want me to say? He either loses his mind over the sight of you or he's not worth your fucking time."

She liked the sentiment but she didn't really know if the sight of her was cutting it at this point. "He's already seen me in my bathing suit," she pointed out.

Silas scoffed. "Yeah, well, it's not a sight you get tired of."

Did he mean in, like, an abstract sense? As in, people who like to look at women don't get tired of looking at women? Or did he mean her? Did he mean himself?

"But it wasn't enough, though, was it?" Eloise prodded. "He saw me and he still ran after Maia. What if he doesn't like how I look?"

"He likes how you look." His tone felt anything but reassuring.

"Did he say that to you?"

"No."

She tried really hard to not sound bitter when she retorted, "Then how do you know?"

"Because you fucking look like that, Eloise," Silas snapped. "Christ. Don't sit here fishing for compliments when you know how fucking stunning you are."

It had always been a part of Eloise's make-up to push. Being the baby of her family, she found it was the only way she could get anywhere. Usually, she didn't regret pushing. The exasperation in Silas's voice when he answered her might have been enough to make her start, if it hadn't been for the actual words he'd said.

"You think I'm stunning?"

He'd turned over but she practically heard his eyes roll. "Go to bed."

Was she just supposed to sit with that? Not care that he'd said something so…well, she didn't actually know how to categorize what he'd said. It wasn't sweet. She didn't think anyone had ever accused Silas O'Hare of being sweet. She might have called it tingle-inducing if that didn't sound so gross.

It wasn't hot, was it?

All she knew was that she liked that Silas found her stunning. Or, that someone did. Who could really know if it was just that she liked being attractive to people if the only one who'd bother to confirm it was him? For all Eloise could tell, she could be an unblossomed attention seeker. Either way, she felt the overwhelming urge to return the favor.

"I think you're pretty stunning, too," she told him and it wasn't a lie. He was.

Of course, Silas didn't thank her. "Sleep."

She tried. Eloise would swear she tried. But when the overhead lights did finally go out in their bedroom, Eloise sat awake, thinking. She wasn't thinking about Killian or how to win his favor. She wasn't thinking about Maia or trying to figure out how she might change herself to be more like her. No, Eloise was thinking about luck.

The luck she'd had to have had to be casted on this show. To be paired with someone like Foster, who she could just tell would be a friend she could trust. To have met all the girls and experienced their kindness—yes, even Maia was a girl's girl, despite how intimidating she'd seemed at first. She felt lucky, also, to have had that initial experience with Silas, because it brought them here. She felt lucky that he'd offered his mind and his advice to her. That he offered to share a bed with her and felt inclined to take the time to teach her things.

What might her time on Honeymoon Manor be like if Silas wasn't there?

"Silas?"

He did not sound sleepy when he answered. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for choosing me."

The silence stretched long enough that Eloise thought she may have been wrong about his voice. Perhaps he'd been closer to sleep than she'd realized. After all, this was their first time sharing a bed—she didn't know what his tired voice sounded like, if his timbre got deeper and rougher. If she'd be able to detect any sort of struggle to speak, each word its own trial. Maybe he even got quieter, a predator luring in its prey as his bedmate strained to hear what he might say. And, most importantly, she didn't know if he snored.

She thought she might like to know, though.

Just when she was ready to give up and turn over, though, his voice cut through the dark. "Anytime." It was probably corny, but Eloise felt like her chest might start glowing. A sensation Silas immediately ruined. "Just an expression, maneater. Don't get so smug."

That was a piece of advice she opted not to listen to. He'd chosen her and she was pretty sure he would do it again.

"Eloise."

It was a lovely voice that woke Eloise but she noted with a smidge of disappointment that that voice still wasn't any different. Did that mean Silas simply didn't have the universally-recognized sexy tired voice that Eloise had heard so much about? Or did it mean that he'd already been up long enough to shed it?

Surely, it couldn't be the latter, considering Eloise was snuggled into his chest like he was one of her pillows. Because of course she was. She stayed silent, hoping he would assume she was still asleep and would slip out of bed, away from whatever pseudo-embrace they were wrapped in, and never speak of it again.

Yet, it wasn't enough for Silas to be cuddled by her. He also had to embarrass her.

To be clear, it wasn't that Eloise minded the way they were wrapped in one another. Silas's body may have looked hard enough to cut diamonds with but he was surprisingly comfortable. And so, so very warm.

The issue was that she knew Silas would mind. She knew the lecture in him that was brewing. Something about how she needed to keep to her side of the bed because Killian would never believe that the shifting happened in her sleep. He might even punctuate the lecture with some kind of insult.

Maybe if she kept her eyes closed when she turned, she could?—

"Eloise," he said again.

She sighed. "Yes."

"What are you doing?"

"I was sleeping, before I was so rudely interrupted."

"Do you normally sleep like—" he cleared his throat. "—like this?"

She took that opportunity to truly take stock of her positioning. Yes, she was using him as a pillow. Her hand rested in the hollow between his pecs, her face just beside it. It seemed that her legs had also entered the equation, one of them plastered down the length of his while her other hitched over his lower half.

It seemed like a perfectly acceptable way to sleep to Eloise, one she figured any self-respecting couple might try.

Not that the two of them were a couple.

Silas spoke again before she gathered the nerve. "Some—uh, some guys don't really like cuddling."

"Do you?"

"Does it matter?"

Eloise rolled her still-closed eyes. "Well, you're currently being cuddled so I guess you could say I'm curious."

"It doesn't matter what I like," he insisted. "I was just letting you know that not every guy is into it. So you might try to…I don't know, not if you ever get in bed with Ken."

She dared to open one eye and peek up at him. She was unsure if she was grateful to find he wasn't also looking at her. "Killian seems like a cuddler. I bet he'd like it. Maybe I'd even get him to cuddle back."

Silas's heartbeat—which she hadn't taken much notice of before that second—stuttered. And like he knew what she'd felt and had no interest in her knowing more of him than he offered, Silas slipped out from under her and stalked towards the bathroom.

He slapped the doorframe on his way through the threshold, glancing over his shoulder at her while she did her best not to notice the muscles in his back. "Just…don't, okay?"