Arthur walks in and shuts the door behind him.
I scramble, grabbing my ripped jeans and clutching them like a shield over my bare thighs. “Arthur, why did you come in here? I’m changing.”
“Tell me,” he says, almost casual, flicking something off his sleeve. “What exactly do you like about my cousin?”
“What?” I blink, gape at him like I don’t understand English. “You came in here just to ask that?”
“Well, ” he tilts his head slightly, “more importantly, what does he like about you?”
His eyes trail over me again. My fingers twitch from the nerves, but I keep my expression flat and irritated.
“Get out,” I say. “Get out of here right now.”
My voice doesn’t shake. Thank God. I sound far more composed than I feel.
“I just want to know, that’s all.” He pauses, thinking, then chuckles. “Y
