Chapter 5 Vince
Vince
I should’ve knocked. But I didn’t want to give her the chance not to open it. So I pressed the code. The door opened. The suite was quiet. Luxury features with the crow crest embossed and city views.
She was on the bed. Looking beautiful wearing a hotel robe, legs tucked under her, hair pinned up. But it was clear she had been crying. Fuck. I hoped I wasn’t the cause of those tears.
The second she saw me, she scrambled back like she didn’t trust what she was seeing. Her foot caught on the bedding and she nearly fell off the mattress.
“I’m sorry,” I closed the door behind me.
“You could’ve knocked!”
“I didn’t want to risk you not letting me in.”
“Oh. My. God. Crow! That is the point of the door!”
There it was. Finally the tone I remembered. Not dynasty-trained. Just her. I exhaled slowly, watching her pace once near the bed.
“You can’t just break into hotel rooms, Vince.”
“It wasn’t breaking in.”
“Oh, you’re right, I forgot. Crows own everything, so why knock?”
I shrugged slightly. “Didn’t say I was right. Just said I wasn’t leaving.”
She stared at me, arms crossed. “And what, exactly, do you want?”
“I wanted to see you.”
She rolled her eyes again. “Well, you’ve seen me. Mission accomplished.”
I smirked. Couldn’t help it. Because for the first time all night. She sounded like her again.
“Seriously, do you just casually override security whenever someone doesn’t text you back?” she pulled her robe tighter,
“Only when I’m feeling sentimental.”
“You don’t feel anything, Crow.” She moved to the minibar, grabbed a glass, poured water like she needed a task.
I leaned against the doorframe, watching her. “You always this dramatic with your hotel exits?”
“You always this invasive with your entrances?”
“Only when I’m not sure I’ll be invited back.”
She sipped. “You won’t be.”
That one actually made me laugh.
She looked at me sideways. “Is this funny to you?”
“No. It’s just nice to hear you say something without trying to sound perfect.”
She huffed. “I am perfect.”
I put my hands in my pocket. Something had happened since I last saw her.
“Yeah, that’s the problem.”
She held my stare for too long. The silence between us shifted. It wasn’t sharp anymore. It was heavier.
“So what now?” She took a sip of her water.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
I nodded toward her glass. “Are you planning on throwing that glass at me, or do I get to sit down?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You can sit. But you’re not staying.” She didn’t look at me. “And you stick to that side.”
“Glad to have a side,” I stopped myself from smirking. Only just though. She was adorable grumpy.
“That makes one of us.”
I glanced at her. “Dinner?”
“I told you I’m tired.”
“You’re also hungry.”
“I’m tired.”
“Exactly why food will help.”
She turned her face toward me slowly, eyes narrowed. Before she could answer, there was a knock at the door. Room service.
“You already ordered?”
I stood to grab it. “Yeah.”
Her lips parted. As if she was considering throwing me out and just keeping the food.
“What did you order?”
I gave her a slow shrug. “Something simple. Bread, pasta. Dessert, too.” I bought the food in. She pretended to be grumpy about it, and I let her.
She gave the smallest smile, but it was something. We sat side by side on the bed, two trays in front of us, the edge of her robe brushing my sleeve every time she shifted.
She picked at the pasta first, flipping open the lid like she was inspecting it for sabotage. Then she nodded slightly and passed it to me.
“You get carbs,” she said.
I raised a brow. “So that’s how this works?”
“Obviously. My hotel. My food hierarchy.”
“Technically—”
“Watch it. I’ve got a butter knife and nothing to lose.” She cut me off, while she shot me a look.
I grinned, leaned back on my hand.
She didn’t fight the smile this time. We ate in silence for a minute. The kind that didn’t sting. Unremarkable in the best possible way. It was stupid how happy made it me.
“Did you actually grow up in Villain?” She asked.
“Born here. Never left.”
“I thought Crows moved around.”
“No. Not normally.”
She was quiet again. She tore off another piece of bread and offered it to me without looking, like the motion was instinct. I took it.
“You’re different like this,” she murmured.
“Like what?”
“Quiet.”
Still, the weight of what I’d said in the car hadn’t let go of me. It was slowly eating away my thoughts.
“I’m sorry. About earlier.”
She didn’t look up. Just kept ripping pieces of the bread apart.
“Forget it,” she murmured. “I’ve had worse things said to me than being too young and stupid.” I studied her profile. She wasn’t deflecting now. She was resigned.
My stomach tightened. So fucking tight with guilt.
“I never said you were stupid.”
She gave a small shrug. “Didn’t have to.”
That landed sharper than anything she’d said all night. I didn’t defend myself. I just picked up the fork and twirled another bite of pasta. I held it out toward her.
“Try this.”
“That’s, like, a thousand calories in one bite.”
“So?”
“So I don’t eat like that after seven.”
“It’s past midnight.”
She hesitated. “Still.”
“You said you were starving.”
“Vince.”
“You need to eat,” I didn’t lower it. “Just one bite. Don’t make me mention the mousse.”
She looked at me, unsure for a moment, before she leaned forward. And just like that, she took the bite. She chewed once. Twice. Slower now. And I watched her mouth like I’d been starving for something else entirely.
“Good?”
She swallowed. “So good.”
I smirked. “Told you.”
“You’re impossible.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t move away. Her knee brushed mine under the tray.
“Why didn’t you call me?” My voice dropped slightly.
“What?”
“After the boutique. The shoes. I thought maybe…”
She looked away again. “I figured it was just…” she paused.
Her fingers were still resting lightly on the tray, so I reached out—slow, and traced the back of her hand with mine.
“About the heels,” she murmured.
I held her gaze.
“I just… I wasn’t sure.”
“Wasn’t sure?”
“If it was kindness. If it was a moment.” Her thumb brushed against mine. “I overthought it. Whether to call or message. But it had been weeks.” She looked down again. “I um really didn’t want to bother you.”
Something cracked open in my chest. Because she’d thought she’d be the problem. That her reaching out would be inconvenient. And here I was, sitting in her hotel room like a fucking wreck, because she hadn’t.
“I was waiting,” I slid my thumb gently across the inside of her wrist. “Every day.”
She looked up slowly, like she didn’t trust what she’d heard.
“I kept thinking maybe you’d message, or call. I didn’t know the heels hadn’t been delivered. The boutique thought I was picking them up. They’d been sitting there for a month.”
Her brow furrowed. “You didn’t know?”
I shook my head. “Not until I found out by accident. And by then… it was too late, wasn’t it?”
“I thought maybe I read it wrong.”
“You didn’t.”
If only she knew, she sparked my interest the moment she clung to me for safety. Silence followed and I didn’t move. Because I wasn’t going to push her.
“Do you want to watch something?”
I turned toward her. “What, like a show?”
She gave the barest nod. “Yeah. Just… something easy. It’s how I fall asleep.”
“I don’t really do television.”
She shrugged. “That’s fine. You can go.”
The words landed like a polite dismissal. But I didn’t want to leave.
“I’ll stay,” At this point, it concerned me what I wouldn’t agree to just to stay with her. “If I fall asleep, don’t hold it against me.”
She looked up, surprised. Then she shifted the trays off the bed. I helped stacking the dishes. It was mechanical, something to do with my hands while my head caught up to what I was doing.
Once everything was cleared, I paused near the edge of the bed, unsure where to sit. This was so fucking pathetic. If my brothers could see me right now I would never live it down. Thirty one years old and over thinking where to sit on a bed.
She noticed. “You look like you’ve never watched TV before.”
“I don’t normally do this,”
“Break into women’s hotel rooms?”
I gave her a dry look.
“Well, it’s not complicated. Sit in the middle. I’ll take the side.”
This woman was causing me to lose common sense.
I sat where she said, awkward, stiff, and kept my arms crossed tight over my chest. Because I didn’t trust myself not to reach for her.
The show started. I couldn’t remember the title even five minutes in.
I was too aware of her beside me. The sound of her breathing.
The occasional shift of her leg brushing the mattress.
She didn’t say much, just leaned back against the pillows with a kind of exhaustion that felt too old for her age.
I stayed still.
She drifted off before the second episode started.
I looked over at her. Watched her for a long moment. Then I reached for the edge of the blanket folded at the foot of the bed and pulled it up gently over her, careful not to wake her. I smoothed it down once. Then I left. Hoping that this time I’d given her enough of a reason to call me.