55

MILA

YULIA STOPPED ME IN THE doorway of my bedroom, giving me a derisive perusal from my head to my toes.

“We have guests,” she said sternly. “You must do something with your”—she flicked a hand at my chest—“bosom.”

I looked down at said bosom and saw nothing wrong with it. I was even wearing pants for a change—high-waisted bell bottoms. One would think Yulia would take that as a win. I knew Ronan would.

I lifted my gaze to hers. “They’ve been called ‘boobs’for decades, FYI. And considering the fact I was tied to a bed naked the last time we had guests, I find your request a bit hypocritical.”

She put her bony hands on her hips. “That was only in guest room. You were not flaunting your bosomaround the house.”

Spread-eagled naked for guests to see in the guest room:

Not wearing a bra beneath my T-shirt downstairs: Made sense.

I sighed. “What would you like me to do with my bosom, Yulia?”

“Strap it in a bra,” she said as if it was obvious. “And not some see-through thing only meant to