19. Hawthorn
Ihave no idea what happened tonight. Honestly, I have no idea what’s been happening since I woke up to find her in my bedroom asking me to help her break that godforsaken will.
Everything that’s transpired since that day has been like a river full of rapids, never stopping, just bouncing me from one eddy to the next while I frantically try to keep my head above water.
Penelope Rhodes is the enemy.
Was the enemy.
Now, I have no fucking clue what she is.
No, that’s a lie. I know what I want her to be. I want her to be mine—my girl, my Princess, mine. But what the hell would I do with her if she were? Can I even tell my friends and family that I fell for the devil? Only she’s not the devil, she’s just a lonely, mixed-up, sad girl.
When I met Izzy, I thought she was the saddest person I’d ever met, but behind her fragile exterior is a backbone of steel. Her twin is the opposite, her exterior is hard, but her inside is soft and delicate. Two sides of the same coin, and somehow, I’ve lost myself to them both. Izzy as a sister, Penelope as my girl.
My girl.
I want Penelope Rhodes to be my girl. Only instead of carrying her to my bed, I’m walking her to her hotel room, and I’m going to have to leave her here, even though I hate every single thing about doing it.
I want her to stay with me, to sleep naked and curled up in my arms. But I can’t make her choose to believe that the only thing I want from her is her. I can’t force her to accept the mistakes of her past, then move forward from them. If I could take some of the burden of her guilt from her, I would, but I can’t, so instead, I’m going to walk away and hope she finds her way back to me, even though it’s going to kill me to do it.
She hasn’t said a word since I pinned her to the fucking wall of my boat like a goddamn caveman. She just silently gathered her cell and the robe she was wearing when I hauled her from her bedroom and followed me to the car. She’s wearing one of the outfits Fitzy bought over—a soft pale blue cardigan tucked into her pants at the front but left loose to hang at the back, and white jeans that make her look tiny and curvy all at the same time.
Slip-on heeled pumps add five inches to her diminutive stature, but raise her up enough that she can almost look me in the eye without tipping her head back. Her hair is still in a braid, and her face is still bare of makeup. She looks fucking gorgeous, but as much as I want to, I won’t touch her again tonight.
Taking her key card from her hand, I open the door and hover in the corridor while she walks past me and into the small room. “Good night, Princess,” I say quietly, tensing my muscles to stop myself from reaching for her.
“Good night, Hawthorn,” she whispers, her hand curling around the door handle.
Sighing wearily, I lean one shoulder against the doorframe. “I’m going to leave you alone, okay? I don’t want to, but I will, because I need you to decide if you want me like I want you. Not for sex, not because there’s something to be gained from us being together, but just because we like each other and we want to see if things can work out between us. I know you’ve lived this really fucked-up life for the last few years, so I’m not going to tell you that you’re mine. I want you to think about everything I’ve said to you the last couple of days, and then if it’s what you want, I want you to come and find me and tell me you’re choosing to give yourself to me,” I tell her, forcing myself to turn and walk away, even though it’s literally the last thing I want, because as scary as it is, I know there’s a possibility that she might never talk to me again.
But even though leaving her is hard, I won’t do to her what her parents did, I won’t take advantage of her naturally compliant nature. If she comes to me, if she goes to Izzy, it has to be her decision, her choice.