Page 187 of Sweet Nightmare

I know where everything belongs.

Which is why I narrow my eyes when I notice what has been done to my library.

All my books have been moved. Everything has been rearranged.

I look closer and notice that the philosophy section is no longer mixed with the political biographies. The poetry collection had somehow become alphabetical. My fantasy books are arranged by color and not by reading order. A stack of novels I’d been meaning to read had been arranged beside related authors.

Even the damn loveseats were moved closer to the windows.

A week ago, I would’ve put her on her ass for touching anything inside my estate.

But now?

I’m fucking smiling like an idiot because the winter demon rearranged my library to her fucking liking.

Just the thought of her sitting here, moving my books around with that meticulous little attitude of hers, makes me laugh. She’s a goddamn supermodel. An icon. Someone who probably has an entire team of people whose job is to make sure she never has to touch anything she doesn’t want to. And somehow, she decided my books and my damn furniture needed reorganizing.

I shake my head, still smiling.

Fuck.

What is this woman doing to me?

Out of nowhere my phone starts ringing inside my hoodie. I pull it out and answer without looking at the screen.

“What?”

“Good morning to you too.”

Junie.

I drop into Artemis’s go-to loveseat and rest my head against the back. How do I know this one is her favorite? Because somewhere along the way, I’ve started memorizing the little things about her without even trying and when she’s not looking.

Shit.

I’m a grown-ass man with a very unhealthy obsession.

A white-haired with almost gold eyes obsession.

“Do you need something, Junie?” I snap.

Before she can answer with whatever smart-ass comment she's been saving for me, a familiar ping comes through the call.

Someone else joins the call.

“I see you’ve survived another day with the Ice Princess.”

Zymon.

I rub a hand over my face, already regretting answering the damn phone.

“Shut the fuck up, man. And don’t call her that.”

I keep my voice low.

I don’t like that he referred to her that way. I also don’t want to dwell on why that is.

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again. “You’re telling me I can’t call her what everyone else calls her?”