Stella feels less intruded upon than she would if this were her bedroom in her flat back in London. There is very little in here that's personal, intimate. Certainly these are her things, as far as that goes, but nothing that gives away very much about herself. Maybe the choice of that particular quilt to cover the bed instead of something plainer, but that's about all.

She changes clothes as quickly as she can manage — and fuck, it still hurts to lift her arms over her head, so that she has to bite back a noise when she pulls on the white vest top.

"I'm not about to run off," she tells Peggy as she moves past her to sit down on the edge of the bed. It's the closest thing to a tease that she can manage. Stella knows good and well she isn't the only one of the two of them who's tried to escape when the other's back is turned, but she's not going anywhere quickly any time soon, either.