11. Willow
11
WILLOW
B y the end of dinner, Dad is practically eating out of Damien’s palm, Vincent looks like a guilty puppy, and Jasmine’s eyes are darting around the room so fast I swear she is going to give herself a headache. Dad’s phone rings and I almost sob when he says it’s the work manager from Alaska.
I look over at Damien as he rolls up his sleeves to start washing the dishes. The veins in his forearms make me lick my lips in admiration. Oh sweet goddess, why does he have to look this good and be a grade A dick?
“Okay,” I sigh, crossing my arms over my chest. “You can go now.”
Damien’s hands pause under the running water, his head snapping toward me like I’ve just said the most absurd thing in the world. His stormy eyes bore into mine. “Excuse me?”
Jasmine doesn’t miss a beat. She steps closer to Damien, her body practically vibrating with protective anger. Her narrowed eyes could cut glass. “You heard her.”
Before Damien can respond, Vincent, leaning casually against the counter, suddenly straightens up. His smile is razor-sharp, his tone mocking. “I’d love to know why the Princess thinks she’s kicking us out after we just offered to protect her.”
I grit my teeth, my frustration bubbling over as I rake a hand through my hair. My gaze darts across the messy kitchen. “Because I don’t want to keep up this charade when I only have 72 hours left with my Dad!” My voice cracks at the end, but I hold my ground, glaring at Vincent and Damien.
Damien’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns back to the dishes, his movements stiff.
“Well, it’s a good thing this charade is no longer up for discussion.” Vincent straightens to his full height, his blue eyes glinting with determination. “You’re coming to live with me, the day your father leaves.”
Damien’s eyes shoot to Vincent’s, before the slow roll of his eyes and an exacerbated sigh leaves his lips.
My heart skips a beat, panic rising in my chest. “What?” I nearly shout. “No! Absolutely not!”
Vincent doesn’t flinch, his tone steady and cold. “It’s non-negotiable, Willow.”
“Like hell it is!” My voice is shrill now, and I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. “This is my life, my decision?—”
“Not anymore.” Vincent’s words cut through my protests like a knife. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “You’re a small, beautiful, smart-mouth girl alone in a big house, Willow. Whether you like it or not, we’re here to make sure you stay alive and unharmed. You’re staying with me, end of story.”
I whip my head toward Damien, desperate for support, but he remains silent. His back is to me, his broad shoulders tense as he dries a plate with methodical precision.
“Damien,” I plead, hoping for an ally.
He hesitates, his hands stilling for just a moment before he speaks, his voice low and unreadable. “Vincent’s right.”
Jasmine’s sharp intake of breath cuts through the tension like a blade. “This is bullshit,” she spits, stepping forward to place herself between Vincent and me. Her narrowed eyes flicker with anger as she glares at him. “You don’t get to decide where she goes or what she does, Vincent. She’s not some helpless damsel in distress.”
Vincent’s jaw tightens, and his gaze sharpens, his towering presence somehow seeming even more menacing. “This isn’t about control, Jasmine. It’s about her safety.” He gestures toward me without breaking eye contact. “Do you want her to end up dead because she’s too stubborn to let us do our job?”
“Don’t you dare put this on her,” Jasmine snaps, her voice rising. “You’re just using this ‘protection’ excuse to bulldoze her life. She doesn’t want to go with you, and you should respect that.”
“Enough.” Vincent’s voice is icy and final. “I’m not arguing with you about this. If you’re not going to help, Jasmine, then leave.”
Jasmine’s head snaps back slightly, her expression twisting with disbelief. “Are you serious right now? I will put my foot so far up your ass that you-”
“I promise you, you don’t want to finish that statement.” Damien growls.
“Oh, yeah? You want to try me?” Jasmine barks, tension in every one of her muscles and I can’t help but love her for it.
My voice is shaky as I speak, barely above a whisper. “Jasmine… I got this.”
Her mouth falls open, hurt flashing across her face. “Willow…”
“Please,” I murmur, my voice breaking. “I got this. I promise.”
For a moment, she looks like she might refuse, but then she exhales sharply, throwing one last venomous glare at Vincent. “Fine. But this isn’t over.” She grabs her plate of angel food cake and storms up the stairs, my bedroom door slamming so loud we can hear it downstairs.
The silence that follows is deafening. I turn back to Vincent and Damien, my chest heaving with barely contained emotion. “Happy now?” My voice cracks, and I hate how vulnerable I sound.
Vincent doesn’t respond, his expression unreadable. Damien finally turns, his gaze softer but no less frustratingly composed. “It’s for the best, Willow.”
I shake my head, the tears finally spilling over. “No, it’s for your best,” I hiss, my voice trembling. “Not mine.”
Vincent’s sharp blueeyes remain locked on me, his expression unyielding and cold. “You can cry all you want, Willow, but it doesn’t change the facts. This is happening.”
His words slice through me, and my fists clench at my sides as I glare at him. “Why do you care so much? I am just a contract to you. I am Cast’s pet and your pawn, just because you call me Princess don’t act like this isn’t just a transaction. Why do you insist on making it look like…”
I catch the words in my throat. My blood boiling but nothing can make me say to Vincent Beaumont that he can’t keep doing this, or I am going to fall in love with him. I mean I already am in a lot of ways, but he can’t know that, and I can’t say it.
“Make it look like what, Princess? Like I care about you?” His voice is barely above a whisper, and dripping so much devotion my knees go weak. “Because I do. I think about you all the time, and last week you ignored me. It was hell.”
Despite my base instinct to swoon, I take a deliberate step back and narrow my gaze. “So, this is about me ignoring you, isn’t it?”
“What?” Vincent gapes, his tone tinged with disbelief. “No! This is about me wanting you to be safe, Willow.”
“Safe,” I repeat, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “and completely unable to have my own space. What’s next, Vincent? Are you going to make me crawl around your mansion and blow every Tom, Dick, and Harry you point to?”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Vincent’s eyes darken, the blue nearly eclipsed by the sheer intensity of his pupils. His jaw clenches, and I can see the vein in his neck bulging as he steps forward, towering over me. His voice is a low, dangerous growl when he speaks.
“Princess, if you suck anyone’s dick, it’ll be Damien’s, Cast’s, or mine. No one else.”
I blink, stunned, the sheer audacity of his words freezing me in place. Then, despite the adrenaline rushing through my veins, I force myself to smirk. “Wow, Vinny,” I mock, lifting my chin. “So selfish.”
Before he can respond, Damien steps in, placing a firm hand on Vincent’s shoulder and yanking him back with enough force to create space between us. His voice is sharp, his eyes filled with warning. “Vincent, her father is in the next room. You can’t have her if her father despises you, and me.”
Vincent jerks back as if splashed with cold water, his head snapping toward Damien. For a moment, his expression is conflicted—still fuming, but there’s a flicker of shame beneath the fury. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.
“Go wait in the car,” Damien says, his voice low but leaving no room for argument.
Vincent hesitates, his gaze darting between Damien and me. His lips press into a thin line before he turns on his heel and storms out, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoes through the house, and I flinch, my chest heaving from the confrontation.
“Willow,” Damien’s voice comes out uncharacteristically soft.
“What?” The tension in the room eases just slightly, but my chest is still tight as I wipe at my tear-streaked cheeks.
Damien turns to me, leaning against the counter with a tired sigh. “You didn’t have to push him so hard, you know.”
I let out a bitter laugh, crossing my arms. “Push him? He’s the one bulldozing into my life like he owns it. What’s his problem?”
Damien gives me a knowing look, his expression softening just enough to catch me off guard. “He’s in love with you, that’s his problem.”
I freeze, blinking at him in disbelief. “What?”
“You heard me,” Damien says, his voice calm but matter-of-fact. “Vincent loves hard, Willow. When he cares about someone, he’ll move heaven and earth to keep them safe and happy. Right now, he’s frustrated because you won’t even let him move a rock.”
I scoff, the words tasting sour in my mouth. “That’s not love, Damien. That’s obsession.”
He shrugs, his lips twitching into a faint, teasing smile. “Obsession, love—same thing, really.”
“It’s not,” I snap, my frustration bubbling over. “Love is about trust and choice. Obsession is about control, and that’s exactly what Vincent is doing.”
Damien studies me for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. “You’re right that love is about trust,” he says finally. “But you’re wrong if you think Vincent would ever hurt you. He’s loved you too long to do something like that, trouble.”
I roll my eyes, still unconvinced. “Yeah, well, forgive me if I don’t swoon over his Neanderthal tactics.”
Damien’s eyes darken slightly, his easy demeanor shifting as he straightens from the counter. “You know, you’re not exactly making this easy for anyone, least of all yourself.”
I narrow my gaze, bristling. “Oh, I’m sorry, Damien. Am I supposed to be grateful that Vincent has decided I’m his favorite pet project?”
“Pet project?” Damien’s voice rises, his tone sharper now. “You think this is some kind of game for him? You think he’s doing this for fun?”
“What else am I supposed to think?” I snap back, my voice trembling with anger. “He’s controlling, overbearing, and won’t take no for an answer. What part of that screams love to you?”
Damien steps closer, his presence suddenly more imposing. “The part where he’s willing to risk everything for you. The part where he’s trying to keep you alive while you’re busy throwing tantrums about your ‘freedom.’”
I flinch, his words hitting harder than I’d like to admit. “You don’t get it. None of you do.”
“Oh, I get it just fine,” Damien counters, his voice dropping but no less intense. “You’re scared. Scared to admit that maybe you need us. Scared to admit that maybe Vincent’s not the monster you’re making him out to be.”
I glare at him, my heart pounding. “And what if I don’t want to need you? What if I just want to live my life without being smothered?”
Damien’s gaze softens for just a moment before hardening again. “Then you better figure out how to stop stealing hearts, trouble. Because whether you like it or not, Vincent’s not going anywhere—and neither am I.”