Pulling out the chair that’s tucked beneath the computer desk, I wheel it closer to her bed and lower myself down. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. We actually have a lot of people coming in and out.” I lean back. “Me and Papa don’t see eye-to-eye often, but if anything, I trust his judgment.”

“Must be nice.” She blinks up at me, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her close up. She might be younger than I thought… maybe it’s not a good idea. “Aren’t you going to ask why we’re here?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I don’t ask questions. How old are you?” At least not the important kind.

She pauses for a few seconds before her fingers twist on her lap. “Why?” She isn’t stupid. Whatever her and Wicked’s story is, I’m sure it’s a sad one.

“I’m going to a party tonight and was going to see if you wanted to join, but I totally get—”

“—please. Yes.” She rubs her nose with the back of her hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound too thirsty, but yes, I would love to. Honestly, just to get out.”

I reach for her hand and pull her to her feet. “Then let’s go and get ready. I’ll introduce you to my best friend who is coming over too. Oh, and I have to have a soldier on my ass constantly, but you’ll get used to it.” Opening her door, we slide to the one opposite theirs, pushing mine open and enter my room.

“Wow,” she whispers as soon as we’re in my bedroom. She looks over the corkboard wall filled with thousands of photos, tickets to concerts, flight tickets, and any other thing I’ve wanted to keep over the years. Memories are a reminder that you’ve lived a life. I don’t want to ever lose that feeling. “Your room is…”

“Messy?” I toss my jacket onto the chair beside my desk.

“I would say lived-in.”

I smile over at her, kicking off my shoes and letting my hair down from the messy bun it has been in all day. “Thanks. That’s the best compliment you could give me.”

She turns and pauses when she sees my uniform. “Ah… is that the uniform?”

I look down at the blouse and checkered mini skirt. “Yeah, I know. Cliché, but unfortunately, Papa only owns forty percent of the stock at school, and it’s not enough to overturn the uniforms.”

“Is that what he does?” she asks, slowly making her way around my bedroom and pausing every few seconds to study an area on the corkboard.