Chapter 11
Penny
Penny stared out over the Celtic Sea, watching the sun’s golden haze sink beneath the horizon. Its honeyed glow dispersed into a thousand glittering diamonds as it scattered over the water’s surface.
For someone who’d spent the majority of her life in London, the sight was magical.
Almost as magical as the penthouse suite Rhys had booked.
It was his favourite room in the hotel, apparently, and Penny could see why.
No matter where she stood, floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows offered her breathtaking views of their surroundings, be it the picturesque sunset, the manicured lawns, or the craggy rocks guarding the approach to the hotel.
The room itself was no less gorgeous, from the softest bedsheets she’d ever touched to the mood lighting to the fully stocked cocktail bar.
There were some elements she wouldn’t be making use of, like the clawfoot tub situated not in the bathroom but directly in front of the king-size bed. Not that it would make much difference if it were in the bathroom; the shower stall wasn’t surrounded by walls, but by glass.
Glass that could be switched from fully transparent to opaque on demand. And it was, of course, easily visible from the bed.
But the dinner they’d just had? It almost made up for the clawfoot tub being centre stage in front of the bed. Penny had decided to have what Rhys had, and it had been the best meal of her life. He’d ordered gyudon—with Matsusaka beef, he’d made sure to tell her before it arrived.
After the first mouthful of food, Penny realised why he’d made such a fuss of it. She could have it every day for the rest of her life and never tire of it.
The room did have some positives; it was only accessible by a private elevator next to the security guards’ office. There was an expansive balcony surrounding two sides of the room, but to be safe, she was leaving the door firmly locked, especially whilst Rhys was downstairs.
Colour rose to her cheeks. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep in the treatment room. Rhys had been right about the massage, though; she’d woken up feeling more relaxed than she’d been since…
Well, ever.
On the table across the room came a familiar buzzing—swiftly followed by her ringtone.
Rolling her eyes, she hauled herself out of the chair next to the window. Revulsion curled her top lip as she recognised the number. It was the same number that had been pestering her since before she’d become embroiled in George Chomsky’s mess.
Penny snatched it up and finally accepted the call. “What the fuck do you want?” she snarled at her stepmother.
Elaine let out an audible scoff. “There’s no need to be so rude, Penelope.”
She closed her eyes at the sound of Elaine’s voice. It grated against her soul, unearthing memories she’d rather stay buried. “There’s every need. This is my work number. It’s not for people like you.”
“Well then you shouldn’t advertise it on your website for anyone to see. Especially as I wanted to do you the courtesy of letting you know about your father.”
It felt like the bottom dropped out of her stomach, leaving her off balance. She tightened her grip on the phone, not sure whether she was hoping her father was dead or alive. “What about him?”
“He wants to see you.”
It was Penny’s turn to scoff. “Why? Has he exhausted all other avenues for a donor?”
“They won’t give him a liver transplant now.
We’ve passed that point.” Elaine’s voice wavered; fear laced within.
“I know the two of you have had your disagreements, but he’s still your father, Penelope.
You’ll only ever get one. He wants to make peace with you before the end. Will you not give him that, at least?”
Her throat began to burn as memories passed through Penny’s mind—before Elaine had hooked her claws into her father, before her mother had died, before her father’s addiction.
Penny had been young, but the memories she did have she treasured.
They were disjointed and never more than flashes.
Five-year-old Penny being terrified of a man in a superhero costume, but Dad had been there to comfort her, promising to keep her safe.
Dad taking her for ice cream every Sunday.
Swinging between Mum and Dad to avoid puddles.
Make peace, Elaine had said. Did that mean he wanted to apologise for what he’d done? For breaking his promise? If she stayed away, she’d never hear an apology or an acknowledgement of how badly he’d let her down.
“I’ll think about it,” Penny murmured softly.
Because if she went and he didn’t apologise, it might just break her heart.
Penny sank back onto the bed after ending the call with Elaine, grateful her stepmother hadn’t wanted to hang around for a chat. She curled into the foetal position, hugging her arms around herself.
The darkness gradually enveloped her like a shroud, holding her tight as more memories of her childhood rose to the surface.
The only light to be found was the room’s mood lighting; it was enough to stave off a panic attack, but only just. She hated being reminded of her father, but she hated being reminded of Elaine and Joseph even more.
Sometimes Penny’s childhood seemed like one steady decline into misery. When her mother was alive, it was as perfect as she could envision a childhood—but Mum had died when Penny was six. How much could she trust the hazy memories of a six-year-old?
The year in between Mum’s death and Dad marrying Elaine was just as foggy.
She remembered her father withdrawing, how he always seemed to have a beer bottle in his hand.
She recalled her mother’s mother coming over from Korea to stay with them at some point, but only because of the blistering argument her and Dad had had.
And then Dad had remarried.
The abrupt ding of the elevator brought Penny back to the present, and she realised her cheeks were wet with tears. She hurriedly wiped them away as the lift doors opened, spilling light onto the teak flooring.
“Pen?” Rhys’s voice was strained as he rushed out of the lift, anxiously searching the dark room.
“I’m here,” she answered quickly, with the slightest wobble.
His eyes widened as they found her. “Fucking hell.” He placed a hand over his chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought…”
That something horrible had happened, Penny guessed. “Sorry. I was dozing.”
“Can I turn a light on?” Rhys asked, raking a hand through his hair before switching on the lights at her nod. He held up a large bag bearing the name of a shop she didn’t recognise. “I brought gifts.”
Penny’s face scrunched up in dread. “Oh no,” she muttered, still living with the embarrassment of the gifts he’d bought her previously.
“No.” Rhys stretched out the word, thrusting the bag towards her. “They’re nice gifts, I promise. Look inside.”
She took it with the air of someone expecting a wild animal to jump out, but she was surprised to see an ordinary pile of clothes within.
Clothes that were…perfectly respectable.
Pretty blouses, comfortable trousers, cotton t-shirts, even several pinstriped skirts that looked suspiciously similar to the ones in her wardrobe at home.
“These are for me?” she asked, thumbing through the collection. Her eyes rounded at some of the prices; it was far more than she would have paid.
He nodded, looking unusually hopeful. “After how you looked after me during the migraine attack, it seemed a bit mean to make you walk around in bakery-themed tracksuits. Do you like them?”
“I do. Thank you, Rhys.” Something occurred to her. “What kind of clothes shop is open at this time of night?”
He winked boyishly. “The kind that wants to earn some unexpected overtime by way of a wealthy patron.”
Her eyebrow popped up. “You paid them to be, in other words.”
“I absolutely did. You’d be surprised what doors a little cash can open.”
Penny wanted to roll her eyes, but refrained—that cash meant she could leave this room without looking like a walking advertisement.
Although she’d become quite attached to the Crocs, they were, without a doubt, the most comfortable shoes she’d ever worn, not that she’d tell Rhys that. “How are you feeling?”
Rhys sat on the bed next to her, his long limbs and broad shoulders taking up far too much room. “Better. And relieved.”
“How often do you have the infusions?”
“Every month. I thought I’d be okay to delay it for a day or two for the contract review meeting, but I guess not.” His expression was soft as it rested on her.
“Have you always had them? The hemiplegic migraines?”
Rhys shook his head. “They began after I suffered a head injury during a fight in prison.”
“What kind of head injury?”
“The kind of head injury where all I remember is waking up in the hospital ward. I was…” His gaze drifted.
“In agony. It was my first migraine. I’d never felt anything like it.
I could barely move the left side of my body, could barely speak, and I didn’t understand what the nurses were saying to me. ”
Penny’s brows knitted together as he spoke. “And it’s like that every time?”
“It is.” He held out his hand. “And all I have to show for the prison fight is this lousy scar.”
She took it almost by reflex. True to his word, a deep scar bisected his palm, starting between his forefinger and middle finger and ending at his wrist. It carved through the lines of his palm, disrupting their path.
“I never noticed this before,” she whispered, running her finger along it.
How had she missed a scar as obvious as this?
“My hands have been glued to the steering wheel over the last few days,” Rhys pointed out, in no hurry to take his palm back.
She snorted. “Or smacking intruders in the face with a chopping board.”
Rhys’s wicked smile evoked a strange feeling in her belly. “How do you think our pony-loving friend is faring?”
Penny grinned, even though she shouldn’t. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say not well.”
He gave her a villainous wink.