The Butterfly Garden (The Collector #1)(68)

Avery sat off to one side and sulked, because the whole thing had been Desmond’s idea.

After we cleaned everything up and the girls split off into the rooms for the night, Des brought the smallest speaker back to my room and we danced, swaying in place as we kissed. Intimacy with Des wasn’t real, any more than with his father, but he didn’t realize that. I’d never said it, but he thought I loved him too. He thought this was happiness, that this was somehow healthy and stable, the kind of thing you build a life around. He either missed or glossed over my frequent reminders that caged things have shorter lives.

Des wanted so badly to be good, to do good, but our circumstances hadn’t changed, nor were they likely to.

When we finally tumbled onto the bed, I was almost dizzy from his kisses, and he couldn’t stop laughing. His hands were everywhere, and he followed them with his mouth, his laughter tickling my skin. Sex with Des wasn’t intimacy, but it was fun. He drove me crazy with his teasing, until I finally rolled us over and pinned him, biting my lip as I sank down onto him. He groaned and rolled his hips, then laughed when a really inappropriate song started playing. When I slapped his stomach, he sat up to kiss me dizzy again, then pushed me onto my back at the foot of the bed.

Which is when I saw Avery, standing in the doorway and scowling as he jacked himself off.

I yelped—not proud of that—and Desmond looked up to see what had alarmed me. “Avery! Get out!”

“I have as much right to her as you do,” Avery growled.

“Get. Out!”

There was a small part of me that was about to die laughing. Fortunately, that part was mostly squashed in the general sense of fury and mortification. I thought about reaching for a blanket, but Avery had seen all of me before, and Desmond . . . well, his bits weren’t exactly showing at the moment. I closed my eyes as they argued over my head because I didn’t want to know if Avery still had himself in hand while he fought with his brother.

And because the laughter was threatening to win.

Enter the Gardener. Because of course. “Just what the hell is going on? Avery, put that away.”

I opened my eyes to see Avery fastening his pants and the Gardener trying to button his shirt. Oh, look, the whole family except for Eleanor. Swearing under his breath, Desmond pulled away from me and handed me my dress before reaching for his pants.

Sometimes it’s the little things.

“Would you care to explain why your argument is carrying over the entire Garden?” the Gardener demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

The brothers started talking over each other but their father cut them off with a sharp gesture.

“Maya?”

“Des and I were having sex, and Avery decided to invite himself to the party. He was standing in the door and jacking it.”

After a wince at my crudeness, the Gardener stared at his firstborn, the anger slowly joined by an appalled horror. “What were you thinking?”

“Why does he get to have her? He’s never helped you bring anyone in, he’s never gone out with you to find them, but you give her to him like a fucking bride and I’m not even allowed to touch her?”

It took a minute for the Gardener to find his voice. “Maya, would you please excuse us?”

“Of course,” I answered politely. Because Courtesy is as much a bitch as Disdain. “Would you like me to leave?”

“Not at all, this is your room. Desmond, join us, please. Avery. Come.”

I stayed on the bed until I couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore, then pulled on my dress and raced down the hall to Bliss’s room. She sat on her floor with a stack of clay beside her and what looked like a teddy bear massacre on cookie sheets in front of her.

“What was the fuss?”

I sprawled on her bed as I told her, and she giggled herself into near hysterics.

“How long do you think until he bans Avery completely?”

“I don’t know if he would ever do that,” I said regretfully. “Avery is hard enough to control when he’s here; how much harder must it be out there?”

“We’ll never find out.”

“That’s true.”

She handed me a ball of clay to knead. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Personal like how?”

“Do you love him?”

I almost asked which him—especially since we’d just been talking about Avery—but I realized what she meant half a second before I could make myself look like an idiot. I glanced up at the winking red light of the camera and slid off the bed so we were huddled together. “No.”

“Then why are you doing all this?”

“Do you believe a Butterfly escaped?”

“No. Maybe. Sort of? Wait . . . well, fuck. Suddenly the world makes sense again. Think it’ll work?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed, kneading the ball of clay. “He’s horrified of being his father’s son, but he’s also . . . proud? For the first time in his life, it’s easy for him to see that his father is proud of him. That still means more to him than I do, and he’s too scared to think of right and wrong.”

“If there’d never been a Garden, if you’d met him at the library or something, do you think you’d love him?”

“Honestly? I don’t think I know what that kind of love is. I’ve seen it in a few others, but for myself? Maybe I’m just not capable of it.”