17. Hawthorn
Both Fitzy and I stay silent until we hear the shower turn on.
“What the hell are you playing at?” Fitzy hisses.
“What do you mean?” I ask, playing stupid, like I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“That,” he hisses, pointing in the direction of the bedroom, “is Izzy’s sister. Her evil”—he emphasizes the word—“twin sister.”
“I know who she is,” I reply calmly, opening the refrigerator and pulling two cold beers out, handing one to a consternated-looking Fitzy.
“Does Izzy know? Does Gulliver know?”
“No. But it’s not what you think. Penelope is the reason the will is broken.”
“It’s not what I think?” he whisper-shrieks. “I think you’re sleeping with the enemy.”
“She’s not the enemy, at least not anymore. She fixed everything, Izzy’s free, and the Rhodes are gone.”
“And Penelope did that?” he asks slowly.
“Yes, she did it to save them both. Now their parents have gone overseas and they’ve banned Penelope from the house, and she literally has nothing. No clothes, none of her things, nothing. Izzy and Gulliver asked her to move in with them, but she’s got so many walls built up around herself she’s practically living in a fucking metal-spiked maze. But she’s…” I trail off, unsure how to explain her and this thing between us.
“Hmm,” Fitzy says, his eyes narrowing as he assesses me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says with an unnerving smile. “Did you mention you were cooking? I’m starving. And for goodness’ sake, Hawthorn, go and put some clothes on.”
Laughing, I excuse myself for a second and walk into the bedroom, glancing at the closed bathroom door as I pull on some sweatpants and lay out one of my button-downs and a hairbrush on the bed for Princess. I’m a little too eager to see her in my clothes again, or maybe it’s knowing she’ll only be wearing my shirt that’s got me riled up.
Retreating back to the kitchen, I find Fitzy hauling a rail of clothes across the deck. “How the hell did you get that up the gangplank?” I yell, pulling more things from the refrigerator and adding them to the pile I started earlier, before Princess and I skipped to dessert.
“Just because I’m a stylist and fabulous, that doesn’t make me incapable of a little manual labor,” he says, rolling his eyes dramatically.
Smirking, I laugh as I grab a chopping board and start to dice the veggies for a quick stir-fry. Pouring some oil into a wok, I throw the veggies and some chicken into the pan, then add the satay sauce I made this morning and left in the refrigerator. Within minutes, the deep peanut aroma fills the air, and my stomach growls.
When the sound of the shower abruptly stops, I turn my head toward the bedroom and swallow thickly.
“Oh, this is fun,” Fitzy says, winking playfully at me from the seat he’s taken at the kitchen island.
“Shut up,” I scold him, refocusing my attention on the food cooking in the pan. If Fitzy wasn’t here, I’d have abandoned dinner and been in there with her, licking the droplets of water from her naked body before I got her all dirty again.
When the food is ready, I split it between three plates, grab silverware for all of us and a bottle of sparkling water for Princess, then move it all to the island, sliding Fitzy’s plate in front of him. Turning, I look toward the bedroom, expecting her to appear, but the door remains shut, and for a moment I panic that she’s run again. “I’ll go fetch her,” I say, scowling at a still-smirking Fitzy.
Crossing the galley to my bedroom, I consider knocking, but if she’s naked, I don’t want to give her a chance to cover up her beautiful body. Pushing the door open, I step into the room and find her sitting on the end of the bed wearing my shirt, her hair twisted into a braid that’s fallen over her shoulder and made the cotton of my shirt almost transparent beneath it. She looks so fucking young and scared.
“You, okay?” I ask.
She nods, but it’s not exactly convincing.
“Want to try that again? Are you okay?”
“I’m trying to convince myself to run,” she says, shocking the hell out of me with her honesty.
“I figured as much,” I say, sitting down next to her.
“What are we doing?” she asks, her eyes begging me to explain. But the problem is I’m as clueless as she is.
“No fucking clue, but I don’t plan to stop.”
“Tell me what to do, Hawthorn,” she begs, tears filling her eyes. “I don’t understand any of this, and I just need someone to tell me what to do, because you think I’m this princess, but I’m not. I don’t know how to be anything other than what they told me to be.”
Our eyes lock, and for the very first time, I feel like I might be starting to understand the girl next to me. So, I nod, lift my hand, and pinch her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “Come eat dinner, then let Fitzy help you.”
Docilly, she nods, mouthing “Thank you” to me, before she pushes to her feet and follows me out of the room.
“Goodness me, I thought your sister was petite, but you’re so beautiful and so tiny,” Fitzy gushes as Penelope follows me into the kitchen.
Crossing her legs, she covers one foot with the other like she’s trying to hide that she’s barefoot, while her fingers move to her braid and she fidgets uncomfortably. “I look better with my hair and makeup done,” she mumbles awkwardly.
“Nonsense, you’re absolutely gorgeous just as you are. Sit, eat, then tell me a little about your style,” Fitzy says, talking quietly like you would to a skittish animal and doing his best to put her at ease.
“I wear a lot of dresses,” Princess says, carefully tucking my shirt beneath her butt as she climbs up onto the stool opposite Fitzy’s.
“Is that because you like them, or because your mom liked them?” I question, not looking at her as I place her plate full of stir-fry in front of her.
“I…” she says, her cheeks turning pink.
“With those legs, you can wear anything you want,” Fitzy says quickly, flashing me a glare before he focuses back on Penelope.
Taking the stool next to hers, I lay my palm on her leg, rubbing my thumb back and forth over the skin on her thigh. She tenses for a moment, then relaxes beneath my touch, and I lift my fork and eat with my free hand.
Fitzy begins to eat, and I watch from the corner of my eye as Princess stares at the food like it’s going to attack her.
Turning, she whispers. “What’s in here?”
“All healthy and fresh, just chicken, veggies, noodles, and homemade satay sauce,” I tell her, watching as she swallows thickly and her eyes become glassy. I don’t know what her deal with food is, but she seems to have some major hang-ups over what she can and can’t eat. She never replied to my message about offering orgasms as a reward for her eating, and if I had to guess, I doubt she touched the food I ordered for us.
“I—” she starts.
Twisting on my seat, I drop my own fork to my plate and pick up hers instead. Stabbing a baby corn, I lift it to her lips. “Eat, Princess,” I coax, coating the words in dominance so she knows it’s an order despite how softly I’ve spoken.
She falters, but only for a second before she slowly parts her lips and carefully bites. I forget Fitzy is even in the room as I focus all of my attention on Penelope. Chewing slowly, she swallows, then takes a second, slightly larger bite. Once she’s finished the corn, I use her fork to eat some of my own food, then stab a piece of chicken and bring it to her lips, staring at her intently until she takes it from the fork.
“So, dresses,” Fitzy says, clearing his throat, his gaze bouncing between me and the girl beside me.
“My mom liked me to wear dresses most of the time,” she confesses, eating the food I bring to her lips.
“And do you like dresses?” he asks kindly, his attention on his food.
Swallowing her gaze drifts off into space. “I…” She pauses, thinking. “I-I don’t know.”
Fitzy’s expression softens. “Well, after dinner, I can help you figure it out.”
For the next several minutes, I feed her, taking bites of my own food while she slowly chews each mouthful. Fitzy doesn’t ask why I’m feeding her, and we eat while he makes small talk, trying to get my Princess to open up about her likes and dislikes. When he asks about designers she prefers, it’s like a switch is flipped and my Princess disappears, and Penelope Rhodes, heiress, emerges. Her answers become practiced, robotic, and orchestrated, and I fucking hate it.
When I glance at Fitzy, his brow is furrowed, and he’s looking at Penelope like she’s a completely different person, and that’s because right now she is. Sliding my hand from her leg, I lean away from her. She turns to look at me, and I see true confusion in her eyes. She doesn’t know she’s gone from sweet and sincere to Penelopebot, and for the first time, I truly see how ingrained her indoctrination is. It’s more than just manners and behaviors, she has a completely separate personality that she switches on and off, and I don’t think she’s even aware she’s doing it.
I may not like the cold, impersonal side of her, but right now she isn’t being cruel or bitchy, she isn’t trying to manipulate Fitzy, she’s just behaving in the way she’s been taught to behave. The realization is startling and so obvious that I feel stupid for not seeing it earlier.
Izzy has been telling us all along that her twin is as much a victim as she was of their parents’ malice, and we all denied it, but she was right. Where Izzy was ignored, Penelope was bombarded. Where Izzy was forced to pretend to be Penelope, her sister was forced into a mold of their parents’ creation. Both girls have been abused by their parents, just in completely different ways.
Penelope has been telling me all along that she isn’t innocent. She’s played the heiress game and did as she was told. I’ve been assuming that my Princess is weak and broken, but I’m starting to see that she’s so much more resilient than I thought. She became who she needed to be to appease her parents and follow her great-grandfather’s will, but she didn’t allow the money and lies to destroy the sweet girl she kept hidden beneath the hardened mask. My Princess, the one I like, the one I crave, is still there beneath the fa?ade of polished creation, despite the girl’s parents’ best efforts to make her just as heartless and evil as they are.
Leaning down, I smile and press a kiss to her shoulder, and it’s like my touch flips a switch. Her fake smile fades and her posture relaxes, like she’s shedding the polished mirage as my Princess reappears. Her softened gaze blinks at me, and a small, sad smile hitches the side of her beautiful lips.
Penelope Rhodes is a complicated, fucked-up, beautiful mess, and I want her—all of her. I’m rarely a selfish person, but I’m rich enough, stubborn enough, and controlling enough to know that she’s my new obsession, and whether she knows it or not, she’s mine.