Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(58)

He leans his arm on the wall. “Shouldn’t your first f*cking question be: what were those girls saying?”

I shake my head. He glared at the girls after we started talking in English, so I figured they must have been eavesdropping and whispering about us. “You accused them of listening to our conversation, didn’t you? And then she said something snarky back.” I smile wide and wag my brows. “Am I right?”

He tilts my chin up. “When did you get so f*cking smart?”

“Didn’t you hear? It was my second wish when I fell upon a magical lamp. Be smarter than Connor Cobalt. He doesn’t know it yet.”

“Don’t pad his f*cking ego,” he tells me. Connor’s ego is practically its own life force.

I run my hand up his arm, and then I keep it on the back of his neck. “Tell me,” I say with a playful smile. “Did you learn Russian in prep school or are you like a secret badass CIA agent?”

He draws back, any talk of his past like a repellent. But I’m curious. He can’t just speak Russian and act like it’s no big deal. “Yeah, I learned some at Maybelwood.” He shrugs. “I had an easy time picking up languages.”

That’s definitely not the whole story. “And?” I prod.

He struggles to open up, but after a long moment he says, “And when I was six or seven, my mom hired tutors. They were the ones that taught me.” He stares at the ceiling and then shakes his head. “I curse so f*cking much that people assume I’m just an idiot, a good athlete, but a f*cking idiot. And I don’t really care to prove anyone differently. There’s no point.”

I think it takes a really strong person to be that way, to not care what people think, even when you’re better than they say. I have no idea why he’d be satisfied with doing that. “Why Russian?”

“Because she wanted me to learn it,” he says. “I also know Spanish, Italian and French.”

I gawk. “Wait, what?” I punch his arm again. “You know French?!” Rose and Connor speak French, and he’s kept this knowledge to himself. “Oh my God.” I smile deviously. “You know what my sister and Connor have been saying this whole time?”

“Most of it is stupid.”

“Do they speak dirty to each other?” I’ve always been curious.

“Sometimes,” he says. “But when they do, I try not to f*cking listen. Trust me.”

The elevator numbers blink from 10 to 9 to 8 in such a short period of time.

Ryke harbors so much inside his head, and he’s kept so much to himself through the years. He’s more solitary, more alone than I thought. Maybe he prefers it that way.

“Does Lo know?” I ask.

He frowns. “About what?”

“Russian, French, all of that.”

He shakes his head. “No. It doesn’t matter.”

“But…it makes you, you,” I say. “It’s a part of who you are, isn’t it?”

His jaw hardens. “It’s not a part I like to f*cking remember, Daisy.”

Being controlled by his mom, he means. I think he chooses to forget so much from his childhood that it’s made him into some shadowy figure that’s just as tormented as his brother. I stand on the tips of my toes and kiss his cheek. “Thanks for telling me the truth.”

The elevator doors open, and I head out of them. He catches my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine as we enter the hallway. It was a quick, impulsive gesture, one that has my heart on fire.





< 24 >

RYKE MEADOWS



I press the phone harder to my ear, thinking I’ve heard Connor wrong. “Excuse me?”

“I stepped out for maybe ten minutes to talk to Rose. I didn’t think he would order anything but a Fizz and some fries.”

“You’re telling me you turned your back for ten f*cking minutes and my brother downed what?”

“I don’t know. But I can tell he’s had something. He won’t look at me, so I think he’s drinking a Fizz and rum.”

“Take the f*cking glass from him.” I pace across the hotel room, running my hand quickly through my hair.

“He’s upset,” Connor says. “We were bombarded by paparazzi all day, asking questions about your father. He couldn’t handle it.”

They were just supposed to be shopping along Rue St-Honoré. Lo texted me earlier that Connor bought out Hermes for Rose, having to ship most of the items back to his house. My brother seemed fine, but I should have f*cking called him and asked.

“Don’t f*cking try to rationalize my brother’s addiction,” I growl. “He’s sick, Connor.”

Daisy watches me with concern, putting on a maroon turtleneck over her tank top. It’s stitched with three gold Quidditch hoops and the words: I’m a Keeper. She mouths, You okay?

I can’t answer her. I just glare at the carpet. “Connor, I’m being f*cking serious. Grab the f*cking drink from him right now.”

“We’re at the pub beside the hotel.”

It clicks. Lo has no idea that Connor knows he’s drinking. “You want me to be the bad f*cking cop?”

“He has to have someone on his side, Ryke,” Connor says. “He can’t feel like everyone’s ganging up on him.”