“When would I have?” her husky voice snapped back. “When I was being assaulted with cake, or when I was being gambled, or with all my free time in between?”

I moved my jaw.

Touché.

I hopped off the bed and went downstairs to grab the black-and-gold rotary phone that dialed the servants. After placing an order, a few minutes later there was a knock on my door. Woodsy appeared with a tray.

“Late, sir,” he said.

I shrugged, taking the tray. “Sorry to wake you.”

I all but dropped the tray in her lap. She sat up, eyeing the silver-capped food with suspicion.

“What is this?”

“Scraps.” I hopped back on the bed. “Eat up.”

“Omaghaaa,” she moaned. “This is amazing. I love Italian.” My entire body froze at that noise, rigid. Suddenly all I could imagine were the different ways I could make her moan. I slowly looked at her. Snitch had a little bit of red sauce dripping from her lips.

Fuck.

I shifted, hard again.

She spotted me watching and quickly swallowed, wiping her mouth.

“Eat your food quietly. This isn’t a fucking slop house.”

When she thought I wasn’t looking, she rolled her eyes.

Fucking rolled her eyes.

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling.

“Where did you first read Neruda?” she asked, shoving a huge bite of spaghetti into her mouth.

Woodsy. He gave me my first green pen on a particularly shit day. Told me to write out anything I couldn’t control, because green is the color of hope, and maybe fate would hear my hopes.

“School.”

As I waited for Snitch to eat, a weird warmth spread in my chest at knowing she was fed. That I was keeping her fed.

“I’m finished. Thank you.”

“Next time don’t wait until you’re starving. If you need food, if you need to shower, if you need more nun clothes, if you need a damn horse, if you need anything, tell me.”

She frowned. “I can’t look you in the eyes, but you want me to tell you when I need tampons or something? Yeah, okay. I’m the servant, Mr. Crowne, not you. I fetch, I obey—it’s completely against everything in my marrow to ask you for things.”

She stared at her fingers.

I gripped her chin. “You’re the servant, and I’m giving you an order. When you need something, you tell me. Okay?”

“Okay.” Her raspy submission went straight to my cock.

I let her go, sparing a glance. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Snitch in pajamas was somehow more covered than Snitch in the day. A long-sleeved nightgown that went past her knees and covered her collarbone. If it wasn’t for this morning, I’d think there were scars or tattoos covering her body.

“In this world, someone like me, it’s better to blend in than stand out.”