The apartment is dark, until I step inside and his lighting kicks in, illuminating the gorgeous space.

Touch. Me.

In front of my door, I clear my throat. “About what you said earlier. The…agreement. You said you’d do that to me twice a day,” I remind him.

Keller turns an amused grin on me. “You’re eighteen, Claire. You can say fuck. It’s allowed.”

“Right.” I swallow. “You said you’d fuck me twice a day.”

“I said you’d let me come inside you, when I want, where I want. Think of the two times as an upper guideline. I like to quantify and qualify expectations for any deal.”

Oh. That makes sense. “So, you’re not really going to do it every day?”

“Probably not, no.”

My heart sinks.

Fuck. Why am I disappointed? What the hell is wrong with me? I should be thrilled. Ecstatic. I should be throwing a fucking parade. It’s like having an eight-hour shift, only to be told, hey, you don’t need to show up, you’ll still get paid. It’s like when we get three feet of snow in a day, the school is closed and we get to stay home while the snow plows clear the road. A free pass.

Except it feels like I was denied chocolate mousse and raspberry.

Saturday, I blamed my promiscuity on vodka and champagne. Yesterday, I blamed it all on him. It was his fault. But while there was wine at dinner, I didn’t drink any. I stuck to water. And yet I am positively dejected about the fact that I’m not going to get…fucked.

I expected it. That’s why. It must be why.

“Good night, then.”

“Your things have been moved during dinner,” he tells me as I walk to my room, across the hall. “I think the staff already put them away.”

“Thank you.”

“You should text Lily. She had questions, and the house staff didn’t answer any.”

I wince.

There are a fair few people I need to speak to, and I’ve avoided it for too long. Lily’s at the bottom of that list.

I flee inside my room, my heart racing.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I take a long shower.

Keller wasn’t kidding: my clothes are hung, folded—and unless I’m mistaken, ironed—in the walk-in closet. It’s small, but even so, it’s rather empty. I find a pair of PJ shorts and a tank top, before finally making myself face my demons.

With the three-hour gap, it’s almost two in the morning in Michigan, so I don’t call, but I run through all the messages, properly reading those I just scanned from yesterday.

Grandma: Oh, darling you wouldn’t believe how blessed I am today!