Alice

　　I roll my eyes the second the door to my room is closed. The older Dior is sitting on my bed with a cheese tray in his lap. He is munching away while looking at some nature program with sharks in it—typical older Dior.

　　"What if someone finds you in here?" I ask as I near my bed, slipping a knee over the mattress to climb up. The duvet is dark blue cashmere, summoned by none other than the prince of darkness himself.

　　"Let them." Dior doesn't ...