Bite Me, Royce Taslim by Lauren Ho

Author:Lauren Ho [Ho, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Disney Hyperion
Published: 2024-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Oops.

“Oops?” Royce says, his eyebrows knitting comically.

I grin at him. “I think I just accidentally drunk you. And me.”

“What?”

Stanley: Agnes, where are you??

I type confidently: Im fine, don owrry m at Royce’s tuitioning at his! ya.

Royce reaches for his tea and knocks it over the table onto his white T-shirt. “Oh no,” he slurs.

I hold on to his arm. “You okay? You need help getting to your room?”

“I’m fine,” Royce says. “But if you really want to see my room so much, just follow me.”

“I do actually want see your room,” I say point-blank.

“It’s upstairs,” Royce says, not steadily.

We walk-wobble toward Royce’s room and pass a couple of servants on the way up, which helps bring me back down to earth, somewhat. How many people work and live here?

And then I’m standing in Royce’s stunning, light-flooded room. I can’t believe it.

“Just hold on a sec,” he says, ducking into, I don’t know, the antechamber? A walk-in closet? I peek and confirm that it is indeed a walk-in closet. Wow.

There’s a sound of a door banging open deep in the closet. “I’m going to change,” Royce says. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I wander around the room looking at the grays and creams of his room, broken up by the occasional splashes of color of a framed print or photos. I study his books (mangas, David Walliams books, the entire Percy Jackson series, a couple of Hanna Alkaf novels, loads of nonfiction books and textbooks). And his bed, which is neatly made and very inviting. I wander over, run my fingers across the plaid bedspread and sit. I have to resist the urge to sink my face into his pillow and sniff the damn thing.

Snap out it, I admonish myself. I turn and check out his minimalist nightstand, with only a small dimmable round lamp, an Apple watch, and a small silver photo frame tucked between a fluffy plush marmot and a soft brown bear, and a tissue box printed with a dancing lemur logo.

I pick it up, curiosity getting the better of me. It’s a studio photo of a young man in his twenties around a gawky, younger boy of around ten years of age, who I realize with a start is Royce.

“Hey,” Royce says.

I drop the photo in a panic. “I’m sorry,” I chirp, “I’m not snooping, I promise.”

“It’s okay.” He sees the question in my eyes and sighs. “That’s my brother.” He takes the photo I am holding out to him. “My older half brother, actually.”

I look at the way Royce is grasping the photo frame and understood that they had been close. “He looks much older than you,” I say cautiously.

“He is. He’s nine years older. When his mother died in an accident, my dad took a second wife—my mom—then they had me.” A half smile curved his lips. “The spare.”

There’s a weight in every word he’s saying. I keep quiet, willing him to keep talking.

He traces his brother’s face. “This is the only photo of him left in the entire house.

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