“WHAT ABOUT MY CLOTHES?” GYPSY obscured her breasts beneath her crossed arms, positioning herself in the middle of the kitchen so I was forced to acknowledge her.
I walked to the fridge and pulled out the milk, setting it beside the cereal on the counter. “You cut them up, I’m afraid.”
“I’m talking about my real clothes,” she argued.
“Would you like some breakfast, or do you prefer to pout through this meal as well?”
She didn’t answer, and when I turned to look at her, it was clear she still wanted to fight. She was having trouble accepting her new reality.
“I want my clothes.”
“Then perhaps you should start cleaning,” I offered. “Maybe after breakfast?”
“I told you I’m not cleaning.”
“Then you better get used to being naked.”
I turned my attention back to breakfast, and she stomped off, but I knew it wasn’t over. It was going to take longer than I anticipated to acclimate her. She was strong willed, and I admired that. But it didn’t mean I was any less eager to break her.
I spent the day working on Emmanuel’s case from my home office while Gypsy spent the day ignoring me. I knew she’d cave eventually, so there was no need to hurry the process along from my end.
She’d been in the kitchen a couple of times already, begrudgingly slamming cupboards in what I assumed was the search for food. The only time our paths had crossed since then had been when I found her in the bedroom huddled in the sheet from the bed.
I presumed that at the present rate, she’d be in there all day, which was why I was surprised to find her standing in the doorway to my office, sheet still wrapped around her like a toga.
“This is ridiculous,” she huffed. “Seriously, what do you expect me to do all day? Lie around and stare at the ceiling?”
I gave her a passing glance before returning my attention to the computer screen in front of me. “I already told you what you were supposed to do.”
“I’m not a servant.”
“I’m aware of that but thank you for the clarification.”
“You have a housekeeper,” she pointed out. “Someone you actually pay to clean the house.”
“I’m aware of that as well.” I shuffled some paperwork around on my desk.
“So why are you making me do this?”
“I already told you, and I’m not in the habit of repeating myself unnecessarily.”
“God, you are infuriating.”
I didn’t respond, and she didn’t leave. For two minutes, she stood there, staring at me while I continued to work.
“I want you to text Birdie,” she said.
“Fine. What would you like to say?”
“SOS. Trapped by a psychopath. Come save me.”
I reached for my phone and began typing. “Anything else?”
A flash of white flooded my vision as she rushed forward. “Wait, don’t send that. It was a joke.”
My finger hovered over the send button. “I told you I don’t joke.”
Her eyes pleaded with me long before her lips finally did. “You can’t, she’ll worry about me.”
“You seem to think that everything is a game, Gypsy. I’ve explained the rules very simply, yet you refuse to follow them. So, give me one good reason I shouldn’t send this.”
Her body caved forward, and it was the first time she ever showed how truly sensitive she was. “Because it will upset her.”
“Then you shouldn’t have told me to send it.”
I moved to press the button, and her hand captured my wrist. Gunmetal gray eyes collided with mine, and her voice was the softest I’d ever heard it. “I’ll clean.”
I held her gaze for five long seconds before deleting the text. It was not in my best interest to barter with her because it would establish in her mind that everything had the possibility of compromise. But she loved her sister fiercely. She wanted more than anything to protect her, proven by her current circumstances, and I’d already exploited that wound enough. There was no need to add salt.
“Very well.” I put the phone away. “You may go then.”
She let go and walked into the hall.
“Gypsy?” I called after her.
She turned, her glossy brown hair cascading down around her shoulders. “Yes?”
“Put the sheet back on the bed where it belongs.”