Kalista
My eyes slowly flutter open, raking across my surroundings with the confusion that comes from waking in a new space. For a moment, I feel completely unsure of where I am.
Even in the darkened room, I know that this isn’t home.
I sit up quickly, the blankets pooling around my stomach as I do.
After a moment of rubbing my sleep-hazed eyes, the events of the past day finally come storming back to me.
Right. The kidnapping.
I sigh as I remember my predicament, turning to climb down from the bed.
While I’ve slept, the sun has set fully, clothing the room in complete darkness. I stumble forward through it, feeling the walls for a light switch.
I’m rewarded with the bright glow of a bulb a moment later, wincing at its intensity.
“Griffin?” I call out, wondering if he also managed to fall asleep.
No response. I walk to the door, pulling it quickly open.
“Griffin?” I repeat, more loudly this time.
Nothing.
I step from the room, walking slowly down the hall, my nightgown swishing around me as I go.
The pied-a-terre is much larger than the one in the French Riviera, and I inspect it more thoroughly as I walk. I glance through each doorway, looking for signs of Griffin.
After I’ve checked every room, it’s obvious that he’s left.
I walk back to the living room, wondering at where he could be.
For a brief second, I feel slightly concerned.
Being alone after a kidnapping attempt?
Not the best feeling.
I look cautiously around the room, imagining eyes on me as I turn.
Oh, stop it.
I’ve literally just finished walking through the entire place. I’m alone here—nothing to worry about.
As the idea finally sinks in, I begin to smile.
I’m alone here.
I practically skip from the room, ideas lighting up in my head as I go.
What better way to kill time than with a little snooping?
I make my way to Griffin’s bedroom, a mischievous grin pulling at my lips. Being a von Knopf, my personal business has always been, well, less than personal. It’s a pain to be in the public eye, even to the extent that I am.
Everyone always comes into interactions with me with preconceived notions. And while half of the time they aren’t even right, it still leaves me feeling at a loss. Because of this, I tend toward subtler ways of getting information.
And a room left unattended? Well, that’s a veritable gold mine of knowledge.
I turn the doorknob, feeling the rush that comes from being someplace you shouldn’t.
With a small creak, the door gives way, opening to the room before me.
I’m frankly surprised at my first glance. For someone who seems so in control and so fastidious, Griffin’s room is a bit of a wreck. There are empty cups littering the night stand and clothes spilling out from the drawers of his dresser.
At first look, this is not at all what I was expecting.
I walk quickly over to the dresser in question, tugging randomly at a drawer.
It opens silently. Its contents crammed haphazardly inside.
The first thing to draw my notice is a silky shimmer pooling over the side. I reach down excitedly, pulling his boxers free from the drawer.
They’re stretchy—the silk brief kind. My heart jackhammers at the image that comes to mind at the sight of them. Griffin naked but for these.
I bite my lip.
With mostly steady hands, I place the underwear back into their original position. Not that he’d notice if I didn’t, I’m sure.
His housekeeping skills leave something to be desired.
I make my way through the rest of the dresser, finding nothing so interesting as the briefs. Slightly disappointed, I turn to the rest of the room.
Fifteen minutes of intensive snooping later, I sigh in irritation.
Where’s the good stuff?
Deciding that this room is a bust, I make my way back into the hall, closing the door quietly behind me.
To my right is a door that I haven’t tried yet.
With growing anticipation, I cross over to it.
After the disappointment of the bedroom, I’m half expecting it to be locked. When the knob turns easily in my hand, I feel a jolt of excitement.
The door swings open on a darkened room, and I run my hand eagerly along the inner wall, looking for a switch. I hear the flicker of fluorescent bulbs a moment before the lights engage, casting a white glow around the space.
Surprisingly, this room is larger than the others.
As I cast my gaze around it, my excitement grows exponentially.
The floor is mostly occupied by a large tumbling mat and miscellaneous work out gear lines the walls. In one corner, towering above everything is a climbing apparatus that looks decidedly intimidating.
I feel chills rush over my skin at the idea of him working out in here, my body tensing at the imagined images. Griffin, shirtless, sweating as he hangs tautly from his climbing machine. I can practically hear his grunts of strain; they wreak havoc on my mind.
I pull myself roughly from the fantasy, refocusing on the room around me.
The mat squishes underfoot as I walk further into the middle, inspecting the various tools. There are barbells, hand weights, medicine balls, and some devices I can’t even name.
All pales in comparison, however, to what I notice next, hanging proudly from the walls.
Gleaming at me from several points across the room, are weapons.
Knives, swords—
Fencing foils.