A few minutes later he's gone and I'm alone again.

I've lived alone since I was eighteen. Not always at that Little Raven house. That was a gift from my father when I completed my PhD. I had another, much smaller-and more homey-place just a few blocks from here before that. It wasn't trendy or new. In fact, the heat barely worked in the winter and I was always wearing two pairs of socks to bed to fight the chill.

But it was my place.

The Little Raven town home has never felt like mine.

For one, my father purchased it as a surprise. A three-million-dollar surprise. Buying me things has always been the only way he's showed me love. He was proud that day I graduated. Or maybe... he was just feeling obligated? Does it matter?

But this place came with all the same furniture they used to stage it for the sale.

So.

None of that stuff belongs to me. I have zero attachment to any of it. All of it. Whatever. In fact, the only things in that house that weren't part of the sale contract, aside from the clothes and jewelry in the closet, are the things Smith brought along when he decided he lived there last week.

Fucking Smith.

I shake my head. I don't want to think about Smith right now. It's way too early in the week to think about Smith.

I reluctantly get up off the couch so I can take a shower and head down to Walgreens for leftover Christmas decorations.

"What should new Chella wear today?" I ask my closet. Almost all these clothes are new. I brought a few of my own things over so I can go to work in something that won't start a new conversation about Elias Bricman with Michell on Thursday.

I opt for a pair of jeans and a festive red cable-knit sweater and then sit down on the floor to look over the boxes of shoes one of the guys must have purchased for me, looking to see if any have snow boots in them.

I pull out the larger boxes first. The first three are fancy boots. Not what I'm looking for. But the next ones are brand-new shearlings, like the ones I left here that very first night.

I lie back on the floor and smile at how fucking clueless I was.

That's when I notice the attic door in the ceiling and a short pull cord, wrapped around a metal hook.

"What the fuck?"

I get up and go looking for a step stool that I saw in the foyer closet last week, and then stand on the top step and pull the cord.

I have to get down off the stool as I pull, because it's one of those ladder things that extends to the floor. I move the stool out of the way, extend it to its full length, and then stare up into the black hole of an attic.

I've never been afraid of the dark, so I climb up.

There's a small circular window up there and sunlight is streaming in, making a long stripe of yellow in the blackness. I crawl over to it and realize there's a soft furry rug on the floor beneath my knees.

Outside I can see the Capitol building, the gold dome reflecting the sun like a beacon of hope in the snow.

I turn around and sit on my butt to take it all in.

It's a... hideaway? Fort? I laugh as I try to find the right word. It's a secret room.

And it's filled with things.

On the far wall is a small Christmas tree.

I crawl around until I find a small lamp and flick the switch. Then I realize what this place really is.

Rochelle's secret life.

She's got a million pillows lining the walls. About a dozen small vintage carry-on suitcases stacked up in one corner. Blankets, and books, and trinkets that she so obviously loved and didn't want to share with the men who controlled her life downstairs.

Wow.

I scramble over to the Christmas tree - it's only about three feet tall. I find the switch for the lights and click it on. God, it's so pretty. The whole thing is decorated with vintage cardboard images, hanging on to branches with small loops of twine, and gold garland that has definitely seen better days. There are old-fashioned glass bulbs that are too big and handmade felt ornaments that look older than I am.

Every wall is decorated with dandelions. Not the flowers. The seed heads.

I lie back on the fluffy pink rug and notice the ceiling has been decorated too. Only this time, along with the dandelion pictures, there are words written in what I can only assume is Rochelle's hand.

I'll fly away.

The entire gospel song-one I sang so many times growing up it makes my heart ache to think about it. The same one Rochelle was singing that day I met her down at Buskerfest. The lyrics have been scrawled in a pretty feminine handwriting over my head. More seed heads have been painted, pictures of them tacked and taped all over, so that the entire ceiling is a work of genius haphazard folk art.

It's so... her.

So perfect with all its imperfections.

I sit up before that song gets stuck in my head and redirect my attention to the carry-on suitcases near the tree. They have the word 'Christmas' written on their lids in thick black marker.

I find everything I need for my tree downstairs in them. She must've really liked Christmas if she has this much stuff.

But then I remember-Quin took her to buy a big tree every year too. So she must've kept all this stuff-all her personal things-up here. Out of the way. Or maybe she just wanted to keep it private. Keep Bric and Smith separate from what she had with Quin in some small way.

For a second I figure I'll just use her stuff and forget about Walgreens.

But then I shake my head. No. Not her stuff. If she was hiding it, she was doing it for a reason. It's not mine. It's not part of my world.

So I turn the lights off, make my way back down the ladder, and go with my original plan.

Once I'm showered and dressed, I grab my coat and head downstairs. It's snowing again-which is highly unusual for Denver in December. But when I step off the elevator and look down the stairs, through the large revolving door, it's so beautiful, I don't even mind.

"Chella?"

I look to my left, up at Smith and Bric, where they are sitting at his table having a drink. "Hey," I say, walking over to the stairs that lead up there.

They both stand as I approach the table. Am I allowed to talk to them if it's Quin's day? I'm not sure. But Bric called my name, so it must be OK.

"Where are you going?" Smith asks as I walk over.

"Out to buy ornaments. Quin took me up to the mountains yesterday to cut down a tree but I don't have any ornaments."

"Do you need a ride home to get them?" Bric asks. "We can get you a car?"

"I was just going to buy them new," I say. I really don't need another conversation about my lack of Christmas decorations at home. "At Walgreens."

"Walgreens," they both say at the same time.

"Chella," Smith says. "No. That's just not right. We have a ton of ornaments in the basement."

"Oh, yeah," I say, looking around. "This place is really decked out." No fewer than three Christmas trees are in my line of sight right now. A huge one that appeared last week in the lobby. A small one on the bar, over in the dark corner of Smith's room. And another largish one down in the Black Room. "I'll take some Club decorations. If that's OK."

"I'll have to go get them for you," Bric says. "Have someone get them for you. You can't go in the basement."

"Right." I say, resisting the urge to look at Smith.

"I'll send them up later. Do you need anything else?" Bric asks.

"No," I say, hesitating. "But I think I'll go shopping just the same."

"OK," Bric says. "I'll call for the car."

"I'm gonna walk. There's no place to park down here. It's just a big hassle."

I can tell they do not want me to walk, but they have no say in my day.

Because it belongs to Quin.

Chapter Twenty-Four - Bric.

"Hello," Chella mumbles into the phone when I make my midnight call.

"You were sleeping."

"I'm awake. Are you coming up?"

"No." But I smile at her interest. "Just checking in. Did you get the ornaments for the tree?"

"Yes," she says, waking up a little. "They're so pretty. Why didn't you use them?"

"We have so many. And I only allow three trees. I like to make the Christmas season at the Club as short as possible. Can't wait to see your tree though."

"You could come see it now if you want. You live in the building, don't you?"

"Yes," I say.

"We're neighbors." She chuckles a little. "So no? Not interested?"

"I am," I say. "But... you made the invitation, right? To Smith?"

"Yes." She pauses. "Why? Does that change things?"

"It's just courteous to include him from now on."

"So wait," she says. I think she sits up in bed for this little revelation. "Once I invite him in, then he has more power? And I lose my time with you?"

"Does that upset you, Miss Walcott?"

"Kinda. I mean... I like you, Bric. I don't want this to change what we have."

I smile into the phone. "That's very sweet, Chella. But the whole reason we're doing all this is to get you ready for all three of us at once. So it doesn't matter what kind of relationship we have as a couple because we're not going to be a couple. We're going to be a quad."

She's silent.

"Chella?"

"I get that," she says. "And it sounds super fun. But shouldn't we be allowed to have a personal relationship without the other two?"

"How does that help us as a quad? Give me one example where a stronger relationship with Quin would help the four of us together."

"Well, I don't know. I've never done this before."

"We have. We know the pitfalls, Chella. That's why we have rules. It takes a lot of time to trust each other. Develop friendships. Not couple bonds, but just friendships. So now we're invested in you. And we need to take every precaution to ensure this lasts for as long as it was meant to."

"I get it. I'm just looking forward to more time with you."

"We still get to go out. We have two parties this week. That's why I called tonight. No time for dinner tomorrow, so you can order room service or take the car somewhere. I have a few things to take care of during the day. But I'll pick you up at seven."

"Is Smith coming on our date?"

"Nope," I say, feeling kinda smug that I hear the dread in her voice. "Just us. So that's our alone time. Will it be enough for you?"

"No sex with Smith unless I'm with you-"

"No," I say. "No sex with Smith at all until you're with all four of us. And I'll warn you now, it takes him a while."

"It... does?"

"Smith likes to watch, Chella. He'll participate in the quad, but he's slow to join in. So be prepared for that."

"Hmmmmm," she says, dragging the sound out as she thinks this over. "OK... No sex with Smith at all. No sex with you, unless Smith is watching. But all the sex I want with Quin. I guess we know who's getting lucky on his two days."

I laugh.

"It's really not funny," she says.

"It's fair," I say. "You'll see that soon. So... tomorrow at seven. Be ready. A dress and some accessories will be delivered sometime in the afternoon. I hope you like it."