25. Whitley Whitt

Chapter 25

Whitley Whitt

Naked and afraid .

I curl my arms around my middle, hugging myself while simultaneously covering the girls and my crotch as much as possible. Not that Lachlan seems to care that my cleavage is out for all to see, but I can seriously pass for indecent exposure here, except for when my fur makes an appearance.

Any time I think about Connor, or if someone ends up finding my discarded dress, I wolf out. My hair turns into an untamable mess, and my incisors are fierce AF. Intense emotions are going to be a whole issue, apparently. Not to mention the slow drip of water off the ceiling in the background, which has quickly become annoying with how loud it is, and it only highlights the strange silence that has fallen between me and this strange... being. The Loch Ness monster? As if. No. I refuse to believe that...

Can I refuse, considering what’s happening to me and what I witnessed Connor starting to turn into? What is my life right now?

So far, Lachlan seems more than content to let me stew in my own thoughts. He hasn’t tried to come any closer, which I know is helping my anxiety situation.

But every grunt he makes echoes off the cavern walls, and the too-loud buzzing coming from the electricity in the lights—which I can somehow here now—is frying my nerves. I’ve no idea how much time has passed since I got here, and I’m starting to want some answers.

Like what I am, for starters, and I’m sure Lachlan knows since Connor is probably busy trying to chase after me.

God, I hope no one but Connor saw me jump from the window. Why, why, why did I do that?

From what I can tell, I look somewhat like a werewolf, or maybe a lycan. My grandma would get a kick out of this if she were still alive. Van Helsing was her grandmother’s maiden name, which as a kid, I thought was the coolest, made even more hilarious by how scared she was of every creepy crawly creature that moved and how she could barely see over her glasses.

It’s just my luck that I would start to fall in love with a man, and he turns out to be a werewolf. My stomach sinks and the air leaves my lungs on a whoosh. Do I love Connor?

Not answering that.

I let out a shaky breath and glance down at my stockings and lone shoe, wincing at how Connor just bought them for me. My arms tighten across my body.

“Umm. Do you have something I can cover myself with?” I ask, offering a cringing smile that hides the contempt I feel for this idiot.

Who the fuck doesn’t offer a half-naked woman clothing or at least a blanket? He’s lucky I don’t skin him and wear his meatsuit as a dress.

He grunts, as if with surprise, and his bushy brows furrow like the idea never registered within his mind. “Aye. I’m sure I have something ye can wear.”

He turns, flashing me chiseled, muscular cheeks that look perfect for playing like bongos, and descends deeper into his home. Worried it could be a trap, I keep my feet rooted to the stone ground, refusing to follow him in case he’s a weirdo that has some secret dungeon or something. He could be an axe murderer for all I know! He said he was a sea monster, so he could be planning to plate me up for dinner or whatever.

Minutes later, he comes back with some ancient-looking off-white tunic in his meaty fist. He shoves it at me, and I don it while mentally grimacing at the fact that he didn’t even consider hiding away his personal dangling sea slug with a pair of pants. I’m just thankful he’s so large that the long-sleeved shirt he gave me almost comes to the middle of my thighs like a dress. My tits threaten to say hello due to the deep vee neckline, but that’s fine.

“Is all of this under the castle?” I ask, reaching for some kind of normalcy and waving a hand at the expansive cave walls.

He nods, his long red beard moving as he does. “Aye. The castle was built atop it.”

“Is there a way to get into it from here?” I need to know if there’s a way to escape, if I need it, or maybe for Connor to find me. Not that I want to see him right now... unless it’s to tear at him with my new claws.

A wide grin splits his face. “Aye, lass. I won’t be takin’ ye through the moat again.”

I relax a bit at that and move to take off my stockings and shoe, yet I can’t help eyeing him warily. “Why’d you drag me down here?”

“It was foretold that my mate would be a human woman who enters my moat. I thought ye were her, but I guess not.”

His hands go to his hips as he spreads his legs and bends forward to touch his toes, one and then the other. Alright there, buddy. Just moon the poor, unsuspecting wall. More green scales grow over his shoulders, as do fins down his spine, then they fade when he straightens and shakes his body.

“I haven’t been in this form in ages. Och, it feels amazing,” he says.

My brow furrows as he once more dips his torso and bends at the waist, and I’m scared to ask what his other form looks like from the peeks I’ve seen of it already.

“Why haven’t you been in, umm... this form?”

Ignoring me, his feet come together as he bends at the knees and moves to sit down, his junk thankfully hidden behind his ankles. He closes his eyes, and it’s as if his entire being relaxes. A stillness takes over his face, like what I’ve seen gurus on social media do when they meditate. I stare as his light skin turns a deep shade of green, sharply contrasting with the red of his head and beard.

“What are you doing?” I blurt, before it occurs to me I should probably try to not overthink things on the day the Loch Ness monster decides to take me to his crib.

“Hush, woman. I’m tryin’ tae send a message.” His red brows bunch across his face, but smooth almost as quickly. “Done. Ye must have done something tae the magic. I’ve been waiting for centuries for a human, one just like ye. I thought maybe ye were the one the witch told me about, but alas. I suppose it’s good tidings for Connor.”

He opens his eyes to look at me and cranes his neck to the side, green scales crawling down it as a fin tries to push up from the skin around his ear. He licks across his lips, and a blue forked tongue flicks forward.

“A witch? I did something to the magic?” I repeat, sounding like an idiot even to myself. “I’m sorry, but I’m totally lost.”

“Aye. I’m held here by magic and can’t leave.”

My brows come together as I fist the bottom of the tunic he gave me, thankful my wolfing out has finally stopped... for now. “You mean you can’t leave the cavern?”

“The moat. I pissed off a powerful witch, one who cursed me tae never leave it.” He spreads his hands out, and shrugs as if this is a normal occurrence.

“Wow. I’m so sorry,” I tell him, trying to wrap my head around so many things at once.

“She warned me before I tupped her that it might happen, but I couldn’t resist her. She was so bonnie.” A faraway look climbs over his features, and I can tell he’s thinking of her.

“She warned you that you might be cursed if you slept with her, and you did it anyway?”

He grins. “That’s what happens when ye play find the bed sheets with a siren, but never mind that. I can change forms again thanks to ye, I think.”

My head throbs at the back of my skull. “How long have you been here?”

“A verra long time.” At my raised eyebrow, he laughs. “It’s no’ as bad as it sounds. I’m a fairly lazy creature and would much rather spend my days wallowing in the edge of my pond than have tae chase any prey down. It just gets lonely. What year is it?”

“Two thousand twenty-four.”

His expression tightens in thought. “Aye. That’s alright, then.”

I bow my head, regarding the pair of stockings and my single shoe on the ground near my feet as a shudder runs up my spine. I’m soaking wet, god knows how far beneath the ground, still freaked out, and freezing. My adrenaline is finally waning, and my energy is depleting fast. I want to go to sleep so I can wake up and discover this is all some kind of whacked-out dream.

I went from the best sex of my life with my boss, or boyfriend—boy whatever he is—to shivering in front of a stranger with tingles coursing over my body like fur might grow from me again any second. Not how I really wanted this night to go.

“Do you know what I am?” I find myself asking, sensing he will tell me the truth.

“Yer a shapeshifter.”

“I’m not a werewolf,” I murmur defiantly with a pout, just to repeat it to myself. Oh god, what if this is just like in the movies?

He peers at me curiously. “Has Connor not told ye? Werewolves are massive, ye ken. Nothing like ye both.”

“What’s the difference?” I ask. “You know... between a shifter and werewolf?”

He folds his arms and looks off to the side like he’s thinking. He shrugs, as if whatever went through his head was easy for him to get over. His voice is calm and uncaring as he speaks.

“A werewolf is a mortal being who is cursed tae forcibly shift intae a humanoid wolf during the full moon. They’re generally loners. A wolf shifter is a mortal being who can choose tae turn intae a dog-shaped wolf via many means, like a special bloodline or a spell, and they often live in packs and talk telepathically. Then ye have what Connor is, and presumably what ye are. Very rare species, and I think ye would be called lycan shifters: immortal beings that can choose when they turn intae a humanoid wolf. Werewolves are generally much bigger than a lycan, and ye have control whereas they don’t. They’ll rip their own brother tae shreds, and the only people they’re protective of are their mates and offspring. Wolf shifters, on the other hand, are quite a feisty bunch, but they’ll sniff ye out afore deciding tae tear yer throat out.”

Oh my god. My brain can barely take in everything he’s just told me. It’s like every wolf shifter book I’ve ever read slammed all into one. How can humans not know about this? Or maybe they do, and that’s why there’s so many books about them!

“Are there people who hunt what we are?”

There’s a story in our family. One everyone tells their children as they grow up, about how our distant relatives hunted werewolves like in those silly novels. I always laughed and thought it was nothing but fun, like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Just silly little stories to make our childhoods more entertaining. But if werewolves and shifters are real...

The hair on my arms raises at the prospect of that being true. It’s a fun little family story. That’s all I want it to be.

His head goes up at that. “There’s always been barmy people who chase after myths and tales with pitchforks. They often harm innocents.”

“Right.” No shapeshifter hunters to worry about then, I think, since his response wasn’t really clear.

I frown at him and stretch my arms out, showing off my new power as I do. I stare down at my large frame. I’m pretty big, maybe a tad bit taller, but definitely no four legs.

Lachlan clears his throat. “The wolves will not want ye, ye ken, but I suppose Connor will tell ye all that.”

Connor has been sneaking into my room for weeks, sleeping in my bed every night, and he is some sort of Lycan. I’ve shared so much more of myself than he has. I’ve told him about my plans for the bakery at least, and even some details of my failed marriage. I’ve tried to open up to him, while all this time it’s been like pulling teeth to get answers from him. He at least knows about some of my baggage, while I know very little about him. Much less than I thought.

I do realize he had his reasons for hiding what he is, and I suppose no one would go around saying I’m a werewolf if they were one—or a shapeshifter, rather. I most certainly wouldn’t. But it doesn’t justify him turning me into this with no explanation at all.

My stomach flip-flops with dread at having to confront Connor about all of this. My hands curl into claws and a sound that’s a half growl, half groan leaves my mouth. I want to see him, but I have no idea what I want to say to him when I do see him.

“Can I be turned back to normal?” I flex my hands in front of me and take a swift step back at the anger contorting his features.

“Och, lassie! Yer beautiful, and exactly as ye were born tae be. No running or hiding from it.”

I frown at the seriousness in his tone and look at my hand, eyeing it as if it might reach out and eat me. “I wasn’t born this way.”

“Neither was he, and that doesn’t matter. It’s fate,” he says as he rises to stand. He starts toward me, his hand outstretched and his brows pulled low. “Have ye even seen yourself in that form yet? When did he bite ye?”

I run a hand over my throat and shiver, remembering how his teeth had bitten into my neck. I frown, then my face heats in reminder of why he bit me, and I have no intention of telling Lachlan it was because I was being rammed against a wall as my head bounced and I was moaning for more.

“J-just before I jumped into the moat.”

Lachlan laughs. “Finally gave ye his first good tupping, aye?” At the twinkle of playful mischief in his eyes, like he knows all, I squirm in embarrassment. “I can scent it on ye. I never got your name, lass.”

“It’s Whitley.” My voice is multilayered, and I dart my hand up to my snout. I’ve changed again without meaning to!

Power hums beneath my skin lightly, and I can tell it’s whatever comes out and covers me in fur. And I have a funny feeling it’s responding to my embarrassment.

“I have no idea what is happening to me.”

He pats me lightly on the shoulder. “Och, did Connor no’ tell ye, you’re his mate?”

I frown. “His mate?”

“Now what the fuck gives you the right to tell her that?” Connor’s pissed-off voice ricochets off the cavern walls, making me gasp.

My body is engulfed in fur, and my heart races as I whip my head to where he stands, likely having come from the same direction Lachlan had gone to get the shirt earlier. My eyes go wide at the sight of his disheveled hair, his Dracula costume dirty and dust covered, as if he rolled in dirt on his way here—there’s even a dark smudge high on his brow. His bare feet pad almost silently across the stone floor, his pupils large and full of concern and worry—for me.

Warmth blooms in my middle at the sight of him, spreading through my limbs. Connor . I’ve been standing here half naked in front of a stranger. At least I know this idiot isn’t going to be weird with me. I’m relieved to see him, even if I want to throat punch him.

“Are you alright, Whitley?” he asks, his usual baby blues a deep yellow gold, his gaze wary, as if he’s scared I’ve been hurt.

I guess I did jump out of a freaking window.

Lachlan moves suddenly, wrapping his hand around my waist, and he tugs me into his arms before I can answer him. I glance up at the Loch Ness monster and I’m more than a little taken aback at the satisfied expression on his face.

“She’s just fine, dinna fash,” Lachlan drawls over the top of my head.

The way he says it comes across like I am somehow a toy being fought over on the playground. I scoff, taken aback, and freeze awkwardly in his arms. He pats my back gently, where I know Connor can’t see, and I get the distinct feeling Lachlan is trying to fuck with Connor hard—but why?

Red brows wiggle across Lachlan’s forehead as he looks down at me and winks, and I realize what this could look like. I try to move my arms, but the guy is so strong.

“Did you drag her down here, you silly sea serpent?” Connor asks, and the sound echoes around the cavern walls, reverberating loudly. “Come off it, Lachlan, and let her go.”

Relief spreads that he obviously has no illusions that I’ve passed him over for the Loch Ness monster instead.

“Maybe I should keep the lass since ye dinna seem tae ken how tae care for her properly,” Lachlan says, rotating us and effectively blocking me from Connor.

He strokes a large hand down the back of my hair, weirdly coming off more like a concerned parent than a lover would. Or like a cartoon I’d seen once as a kid with a large furry monster that petted Daffy Duck roughly.

“Ouch, that smarts,” I gripe when his big hand snags.

“Let her go,” Connor demands, his gaze darkening like a shadow has fallen over it. “You’re beginning to test me, Lachlan.”

“I really wouldn’t mind sitting down,” I mutter, but neither male pays a lick of attention to me.

Lachlan’s rough features slide into a grin, as his hand drifts to my side. I try to step away, but he keeps me there, and says, “Me and the lass were just chatting. She’s rather bonnie, even in wolf form.”

My face pinches, since it’s now obvious Lachlan is purposefully trying to upset Connor for some silly reason. I huff a hard breath to myself. Men .

No. Not men. Monsters.

What is my life? I’m trying to keep my not-a-werewolf boyfriend and the Loch Ness monster from fighting!

Connor O’Doyle

“Lachlan, let her go .” My voice drops an octave and is all menace, as my hands turn to claws, but Lachlan just cocks his head instead of backing away from her. No, his hand slides even deeper around her side. Not too low, not too high, and enough to seem platonic, but it grates on me anyway.

Annoyance prickles under the surface of my skin, but I hold myself still. The old fool isn’t hurting her so far as I can tell, and the last thing I want to do is freak her out even more.

Relief and gratitude course through me, even as it rankles that she is allowing his touch. I remind myself that it’s lucky I found her whole and safe down here, and not flattened on the rocks just beneath the moat like I first feared she would be. Lachlan has been down here for so long, it’s hard to guess what his sanity is like. He could have made her a snack.

“Nah, I dinna think I will.” His hands tighten on Whitley.

“Ugh! You’re both being ridiculous,” she bites out, throwing her hands up. “Whatever beef you two have, leave me out of it.”

Time slows. The moment she shakes her head, trying to step away, and he grows as he drags her back, I go ballistic.

He’s pushing too far and knows it since his eyes swirl with humor.

My expensive costume rips, tearing as my true form settles over my bones. Other than freaking her out a little, there is no real harm anymore in letting her see me, not when it’s so very obvious she is like me, and the rest of the monster world, now. I ignore her shouts, unsure if it’s because of me or him, pushing her cries from my mind when they make me want to tear the world apart. My only focus is getting her away from him.

“I will rip your head from your stupid neck.”

The red-headed arsehole raises a brow, his hands planting more firmly around Whitley’s waist, and I surge forward, uncaring of the consequences.

Whitley shrieks and Lachlan’s laugh is maniacal, but he lets her go to face me.

Furious, I rip into his arms, my claws like daggers to his scale-covered flesh. I lay into him, pummeling him with punches from his face down as the Scotsman tries to shield himself. I roar in his face, only for my voice to turn to a yelp when I’m grabbed bodily by my ankle and swung into the air.

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” the sea serpent says, holding me in midair with his power. He hisses and water rises from the moat, healing his wounds.

“Whitley, are ye sure ye want this sorry cur?” he asks, as if he’s enquiring as to whether she wants more sugar in her tea.

I hang upside down and glance at her, standing open-mouthed in shock, staring at me. I growl and bend at the waist, reaching up to swipe my claw through his jet stream holding me captive.

“Whoops,” he says, and I plummet to the ground.

I roll to my side and groan. Now that she’s safely away from him, some of the tension eases out of me.

“You don’t play fair,” I moan. My voice is broken to my own ears and my sides ache painfully. “I swear I’m draining the moat.”

“Ye barely came tae see me for fifty years, and not at all in the last five or ten, ye bloody baw bag,” Lachlan gripes, reminding me again of how long it has been. “I should flatten ye with my tail for leaving me alone here tae rot! Even Vlad has seen me more than ye have, but that’s more like a punishment. Do ye ken how fucking annoying he is?”

I frown, a twinge of guilt registering as I realize how many times I could have come by, or at least checked on the ancient pain in my backside. I would have gone mad if left in his condition and never really considered that he could be lonely.

“I’m sorry, but you haven’t moved in fifty years,” I gripe back without true heat. “And of course I know how annoying he can be. He calls me his damn butler, Lachlan. I’m more like a handler for an idiot.”

“So what? Ye didn’t think tae check in? And now ye have a mate who somehow fell into my moat. Not that we are splitting hairs,” Lachlan spouts, and tosses his arms over his broad chest obviously put out.

Shame tingles the back of my neck. I should have come down here, knowing Lachlan was alone, but he can also be a bit of a recluse at the best of times. I actually didn’t know Vlad had been running off to hide down here, but now his odd disappearances make more sense. I can only imagine how much he’s been complaining in Lachlan’s poor ear, when the serpent would rather sleep.

“I’ve been dealing with Vlad getting worse over the years,” I retort with a grimace. “You saw what he was like, and it’s been complicated around here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Why do I look like Wolverine, Connor?” Whitley asks, interrupting us.

I stare in stunned fascination at her face covered in a wolfish muzzle. I then notice the baggy tunic covering her, and I growl under my breath that it’s saturated in Lachlan’s scent and not my own. She shouldn’t be wearing clothing belonging to any male except me.

“I don’t know,” I admit to her, getting to my feet and holding my hands out non-threateningly. “But we can figure this out together. I promise.”

I revert back to my human form to make her more comfortable and wait for the dull ache of pain to start. I frown when it doesn’t hurt. Then my jaw goes slack. For the first time in over three hundred years, I can change forms and there is no pain. I stare at my bare hands in astonishment, wondering how this is possible.

“Oh, for god’s sake, bring the fur back. I can only deal with so much nakedness, and Lachlan doesn’t have any clothes,” she says, covering her face with her now human hands.

I glance down at the ruined scraps of my thousand-pound slacks from Savile Row and shrug my shoulders listlessly. “Well, neither do I now.”

Lachlan snickers, but I ignore him as he says, “I forgot how funny humans can be with their modesty.”

“Come here, Whitley.” I give her a beseeching grimace, waving my hands for her to come to me. “I promise. No more secrets.”

The cat’s out of the bag anyway, and I need to get her up to speed before fucking Frank catches wind of this.

“Ye didn’t tell her she’s your mate?” Lachlan says, his voice full of censure, stealing my attention. Also, my damn fucking thunder, again!

My gaze moves to Whitley, as she mouths the word “mate” as a scared expression coasts across her features.

“I haven’t had time yet. Why the bloody hell did you drag her down here?” I ask him.

He points a finger at himself. “Why the hell wouldn’t I have? I thought she was my foretold human, and she bloody well fell into the moat, didn’t she?” he bites out at the end, his eyes shimmering with green light as he turns his finger on me, like it’s my fault she’s my mate and not his.

Whitley doesn’t come to me no matter how much I gesture for her to, and I can see the distrust in her eyes. She looks nervous, afraid even, and I somehow know this is all my fault. I can only imagine what’s going through her head. She’s a human, a mortal. The knowledge that this must be daunting for her eats at some fundamental place deep in my gut. I need her to want to come to me, to trust in me, but she doesn’t, and it shatters something deep inside.

I curl my hands into fists, wanting to beg her to let me pull her into my arms so I can comfort her. I wish she would trust me enough to cross the distance and come to me, and I’m too worried that she’ll back away from me if I try to go to her—or worse, she’ll shift during one of her emotional outbursts and hurt us both.

I don’t know how to tell her what’s happened when I don’t know myself. This has never happened before. I’ve never turned someone, and by all accounts, this shouldn’t have happened.

The only thing I do know is she is my mate, but I’ll be damned if we discuss it in front of Lachlan.

“Why didn’t you tell me what you are? A lycan or whatever?” she says, and I’m disturbed by the calmness of her tone.

I glare at Lachlan in reproach. How dare he explain any of this to her when he should be able to smell me all over her?! This was my responsibility, and I feel like he’s stolen something precious from me by doing so.

“There was no way for me to tell you. We are supposed to keep ourselves hidden.” My words sound like bullshit even though they’re supernatural law. We are all supposed to avoid humans unless we can blend easily and not give ourselves away.

“Stupid fucking rule that,” Lachlan says with a scoff. “How in the hells are ye supposed tae mate, when ye can’t tell the lass what ye are?”

“I don’t make the rules.”

I want to groan at how I’m fucking this explanation up. This would be so much better if I could have time to speak with her without an audience. Lachlan talks too much.

“They’re stupid rules,” Lachlan snarks under his breath, and I want to pummel him.

“Can’t you just shut up and go back to being a lazy git?” I ask him, wishing he hadn’t intervened. I almost had a heart attack when I saw her being dragged to the depths from the window! I now understand why he did, but it’s still frustrating as all hells.

It’s just made everything harder than it needed to be.

“Please, Whitley. Let’s go,” I plead.

Her lips tighten as she gives me her signature glare. “I’m not fucking leaving here until you give me some kind of answer, Connor.” She pushes her arm across her stomach to point at Lachlan. “At least he’s actually given me some answers. And after everything we’ve been through... how you hid this from me... you’re asking me to trust you?”

I think on how I haven’t been able to sleep without her in my arms since I got back from America and saving Vlad from himself. Her scent and how it aroused and infuriated me all at once, scratching at my inner wolf like a beast. How her beauty, her voice, and the very shine of her hair have been driving me up the wall for weeks. I decide to start where I can.

“I was never supposed to have a mate. I’m not a normal—” I want to say lycan, but I’m not actually sure that’s what I am. How I was created isn’t normal, even to the supernatural. I could be a fucked-up werewolf for all I know. Everyone just calls me a lycan, but they are so rare that not even I’ve met one, and I’ve been alive for centuries.

I refrain from continuing when puzzlement coasts across her expression.

“Not a normal what?” she asks.

I grimace and my gaze slides to Lachlan. “Can we go back inside, and I can explain?”

She looks behind her, and the fuckwit raises a brow at us like we’re the ones being strange. Can’t he see that he’s overstepping here?

“What?” he asks, flicking his brow higher. “You’re in my home.”

“I don’t want to leave him here alone,” Whitley murmurs. She says this while staring at the sea monster and something dies a little in my chest.

Lachlan freezes, and his gaze meets mine. He knows as well as I do that if she chooses to stay, I must stay too. If the stories about mate bonds are true, it’s going to be impossible to stay away from her. She has no idea what has been thrust upon her.

No matter what stories Lachlan has told her.

“That’s not possible. Ye are his mate,” he says, saving me the trouble.

She turns her face to mine, stubborn and concerned. “But he will be all alone down here. Fifty years, Connor. Really? You can’t just leave him here like that.”

Lachlan begins to laugh. I open my mouth to explain how truly ancient he is, how fifty years doesn’t mean much to many of us, especially as old as he is, but he cuts me off.

“Trust me, Whitley, my dear. I’m just fine right where I’m at.”

He holds his arms out and his eyes turn multicolored. His scales begin to shine, reflecting a green light show on the cave walls that shimmers and glows as his true form grows, filling the cavern.

I grit my teeth when he shoves his big body roughly into mine on purpose. He morphs into his larger form, complete with massive horns that appear on his fat head—the bastard.

“Welcome tae the world of the supernatural. If this one gives ye any more trouble, lass, come visit my wee pond.”

His voice is deep, loud, and monstrous. The echo off the stone makes him sound even more ominous than usual. He flicks a middle claw at me as he glides into the water, and I watch him slip into the murky depths.

Gods. Finally, he fucks off, the Loch Ness monster going back to his favorite spot in the moat, so I can be alone with her.