30. Penelope
Before today, I wouldn’t have said I was a jealous person, but seeing Amanda pressed up against Hawthorn made the green-eyed monster I didn’t realize existed inside of me rear its ugly head with an intensity I have never experienced before. I wanted to write my name across his chest and warn every girl in a thirty-mile radius that he’s mine.
Mine.
Wow, he’s turning me into a possessive cavewoman, and even though I should be appalled, all I could feel was anger that she was touching him and fear that he might want her to.
“I’m going to fuck you so good when we get home, Princess.”
His words repeat inside my head, and I have to swallow down the moan of want and desire that ripples through me.
He’s mine, and I’m his.
Something settles deep inside of me when I acknowledge the thought. We’re an us, and it’s not just about the sex, it’s so much more.
“Did you see the articles?” Kip asks, forcing my lusty thoughts away.
“I can’t believe they picked the story up so quickly,” Izzy says.
“I think we should do the call anyway, have the girls pulled out of class, and then you guys can get them out of here, all teary-eyed, while our photographer takes pictures. That way we can control where the visuals go first,” Kip suggests, his gaze distant while he plots six steps ahead of the rest of us.
“Agreed, we want to be ahead of the curve on this, then maybe we can post on the girls’ social media tonight, asking for privacy in this difficult time,” Gulliver says with a dry chuckle.
A giggle bursts from me, and I bury my face in Hawthorn’s chest to muffle the sound.
“Let’s go eat before it’s showtime. Everyone got their sad faces sorted?” Davis asks, flashing us an exaggerated, devastated expression.
Laughing, we all make our way to the cafeteria and claim a table at the back of the room. Just like every day, everyone seems to watch us as we talk, laugh, and eat. In the past, I would have reveled in the attention, but now I’m not assessing how jealous people are that I’m here with this group. I’m just enjoying spending time with my boyfriend, my sister, and the boys that I’m starting to think of as friends.
The “phone call” comes in the middle of the last class of the day, the class that conveniently both Izabella and I share with Gulliver and Hawthorn. Mrs. Jones from the administration office knocks on the door, smiling weakly at the teacher as she speaks to him in a low voice.
“Penelope and Izabella Rhodes, you’re needed in the administration office. You can take your things with you,” Mr. Oliver says, his lips drooping into a frown. “Perhaps Mr. Winslow and Mr. Benedict could accompany you.”
Wearing my best confused gaze, I look at my sister, barely restraining my smile when she shrugs and quickly packs up her belongings. The guys follow suit, and we let Mrs. Jones lead us all out of the classroom, while the other students whisper about what could have happened to pull us from class.
The elderly administrator ushers us all into the principal’s office, her eyes sad and filled with sympathy as Izabella and I take the two seats directly in front of the principal’s desk, while Gulliver and Hawthorn stay standing behind us.
“Girls,” Principal Smith says, her voice soft and low. “I just received a telephone call from Detective Morris from the Green Acres Police Department, with some very worrying news.”
Turning, I look at Izabella, trying my hardest to make my eyes wide and concerned. She reaches out a hand to me, and I take it, bridging the gap between us.
“Girls, when was the last time you saw your parents?” Principal Smith asks.
“At my engagement party,” Izabella answers. “As I’m sure you’re aware, our parents are against mine and Gulliver’s engagement. They left after some heated words were exchanged, and we haven’t spoken to them since. Why? What’s going on?”
Principal Smith inhales slowly. “I’m afraid your parents are currently missing.”
“Missing? How can they be missing?” I ask, leaning forward on the edge of my chair.
“Apparently, they were last seen leaving a marina in Antigua five days ago, but there’s been no contact from their yacht since then. They failed to arrive at the destination listed on their schedule, and there’s been no contact received from the yacht or any reply to the local Coast Guard’s attempt to reach them. The authorities have been informed, and a search and rescue mission is currently underway, but with no idea what happened between them leaving Antigua and now, the search crews are struggling with such a large expanse of ocean to cover.”
Lifting my free hand to my mouth, I use it to cover the smirk that’s fighting to break free. “No,” I gasp, shaking my head and clamping my teeth down on my tongue, until tears pool in the corners of my eyes and I can taste blood in my mouth.
“Penelope, Izabella, I’m so incredibly sorry,” the principal says, standing from behind her desk and moving as if she’s planning to come and hug us or something.
“I think it might be best if we take the girls home, that way they can process all of this in privacy before the media storm begins,” Gulliver says calmly, moving to Izabella’s side and helping her to her feet. Hawthorn does the same for me, and I curl into his chest, muffling my face against his blazer as laughter bubbles from me and my body shakes with the need to repress the noise.
“Of course,” Principal Smith says. “Would you like Green Acres Academy to give a statement to any press outlets that approach us?”
“I think that might be for the best,” Hawthorn says. “Perhaps you could inform them that Penelope and Izabella are still hopeful that their parents will be returned to them safe and well, but that in the meantime they will be processing their grief at this tragic situation in the privacy of their family home.”
“I’ll be praying for your family, girls,” Principal Smith says as Hawthorn guides me out of the office and down the corridor.
No one says a word as we traverse the hallways and make our way out of the main school entrance. When we pause on the steps in front of the school, I pull away from Hawthorn and move to my sister, pulling her to me and hugging her tightly, burying my face in her neck to hide my expression from the cameras I know are pointed at us right now.
She wraps her arms tightly around me, and we just stand there hugging, framed by the impressive school buildings behind us and the guys at our side, offering their inconsolable women their silent support. The image is picture-perfect.
“Do you think that’s long enough?” Izabella whispers.
“I think so. Let’s go back to the guys and get out of here,” I whisper back. Pulling away from her, I move straight back into Hawthorn’s arms as Gulliver scoops Izabella off the steps and cradles her to his chest.
Hawthorn holds me to him, hurrying me down the steps and across the lot to Gulliver’s Range Rover. Izabella and I climb into the back seat, while Gulliver gets into the driver’s seat and Hawthorn gets into the passenger seat. Scooting next to my sister, I rest my head dramatically against her shoulder, keeping my expression heartbroken as Gulliver pulls out of the lot and onto the street.
I stay silent for almost a mile, until I just can’t hold the laughter in anymore. “Oh my god,” I cry, my body shaking as the giggles I’ve managed to hold back until now burst free.
The others all follow suit, and in moments, the car is full of laughter. “Jesus Pen, I had no idea you were such a good actress, your face was a fucking picture,” Gulliver cries.
“And when you guys reached out and held hands, that was fucking perfect, like an after-school special,” Hawthorn says, slapping his thigh and turning in his seat to beam at us.
“Are we going straight to the house?” I ask, anticipation flowing through me.
“We need to give it a couple of hours for our guy to circulate the photographs, then we’ll go over there,” Gulliver says, amusement still lacing his voice as he turns the car toward his house.
* * *
“Devastated twins, Penelope and Izabella Rhodes, console one another after receiving the news that their parents, Trudy and Barnaby Rhodes, are missing and presumed dead, after the yacht they were sailing around the Caribbean fails to arrive at its scheduled stop.”
“Boom,” Kip says loudly, miming a drop-the-mic action as he points at the news article that shows Izabella and I hugging each other tightly on the steps of the school while the guys look on, worry etched across both of their faces.
“Seven hours is how long it took us to convince the world that your parents are dead. I don’t know if there’s a world record for this kind of thing, but if there is, I reckon we just smashed it,” Davis crows, holding his hand up for Kip to high-five.
“I can’t believe it really worked,” I say, feeling shock settle in as I stare at the screen. When I suggested we do this, I think a part of me assumed no one would believe us, but it worked, and I’m looking at an article on a real news site that says they’re dead. Of course, I know they’re absolutely fine, that they’re sunning themselves in a palatial mansion in Marrakesh, but still, they’re gone, essentially dead to me and Izabella, and they did it without a thought to the children they walked away from.
“Are we going then?” my sister asks excitedly. “I can’t wait to get into that godforsaken place.”
“Are you ready?” Hawthorn whispers against my ear, only loud enough for me to hear.
I nod tentatively.
“We don’t have to do this. You never have to set foot in that place again if you don’t want to.”
“No, I’m fine. I want to, there are things there that I want, if they’re still there anyway.”
“Then let’s go,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me up from the sofa.
The car journey seems to fly by in the blink of an eye, and before I can really prepare myself, we’re approaching the gates that guard my family home from outsiders. We’re all in Kip’s family’s limo, and as the driver reaches the intercom, he rolls down the window and presses the buzzer.
“Hello,” a fuzzy-sounding female voice answers.
“Could you open the gates, please? I have Miss Penelope and Miss Izabella Rhodes with me,” the driver confidently announces.
“I’m afraid Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes have advised me that no one is to have access to the property without their prior consent,” the female voice replies.
“Could I recommend you turn on the TV to channel thirty-two? The Rhodeses are missing, presumed dead, and their children would like access to their home while they coordinate the search and rescue teams.”
For a moment, only fuzzy static fills the silence as we wait for the housekeeper to say something. “Please wait,” she eventually says, her voice shaky. The familiar beeping sound of the gates being opened echoes around us, and the imposing entrance slowly creeps open.
My breathing becomes ragged as I stare up at the house I grew up in, and before I know it, I’m reaching for my sister and asking her for comfort as we confront the home we’ve both run from so recently.
She takes my hand, and for the very first time, possibly ever, we’re there for each other, and I feel her strength, her pain, her sorrow, and her anger, and it buoys me. Nodding at me, she smiles and then tips her head to the house. “It’s our home, not theirs. They might own it, they might have lived there for the last few years, but it’s ours, and so is the stuff inside. You ready?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding back at her.
Izabella is my sister, my twin. I’ve spent most of my life being jealous of her, then four years being truly awful to her. But even though I don’t deserve it, I think she loves me, and I think I love her, and I literally have no idea why it’s taken me until I’m eighteen to realize it.
The driver opens the door, and she climbs out first, not an ounce of fear on her beautiful face, and I follow behind her, stepping out into the bright sunshine as the guys all crowd around us.
I’ve lived in this house my entire life. Until four years ago, it was my home, but I’m not sure it has been since the day the will was read and I became a different person. This place has been my salvation, my cage, my torture chamber, and now it’s just a house. So many of my demons live inside the walls, but I want my things, I want my revenge, and I want to piss my parents off. So when the housekeeper rushes out of the front door, her hands clasped together at her chest, I step forward to greet her.
“Miss Rhodes, I’m Geraldine, I’m so incredibly sorry to hear about your parents. Please let me know what I can do?—”
“You can go,” I say, interrupting her, using my best Penelope voice.
“Excuse me?”
“My sister and I don’t know you. We would prefer to keep our grief private so you can go. Your wages will continue to be paid for the next two months, but your services won’t be required while we try to process everything that’s happening,” I state coldly, keeping my voice level and emotionless. My mom would be proud, it’s probably the best impression of her I’ve ever done.
“I…” The woman falters, looking from me to Izzy beside me, then to the guys, who I know must make an imposing picture lined up like sentinels behind us.
“The limo can take you anywhere you need to go. Me or my sister will be happy to provide you with a reference if you need one for your next position,” I say coldly, dismissing her with a stern look as I lift my chin and walk past her into the house.
Inhaling slowly, I step through the front door and into the foyer. The familiar scent of my childhood home fills my nose, making my stomach drop with displeasure. There’s no comfort for me here, not like there is on the boat with Hawthorn.
The others follow me into the foyer, and I turn and stare at the bewildered housekeeper, who rushes to the kitchen and comes back a moment later with a purse and jacket.
“I…” She falters again, obviously unsure of what she should do.
“Goodbye Geraldine,” I say, crossing to the front door and holding it open, blatantly gesturing for her to leave.
“Oh, well, er, okay. I’m so sorry about your parents,” she blurts.
“Thank you,” Izzy says, moving behind her and guiding her toward the door with a gentle hand on her back. “It was nice to meet you,” my twin says as she all but pushes her out the door, and with a fake smile, I close it on the poor housekeeper’s shocked face.
Silence fills the room as we watch Geraldine scurry down the steps and toward the limo, where the driver guides her into the back seat and closes the door. Only then do I turn to the others and slap my hand over my mouth as a half laugh, half gasp falls from my lips.
“Jesus, Pen, that was so harsh it was amazing,” Davis cries, his lips tipped up into a wide grin.
Prowling toward me, Hawthorn lifts me off the floor and spins us in a circle. “My girl is a serious badass,” he announces loudly before pressing his lips to mine in a hard kiss that makes my knees weak and my panties damp.
“Time for that later. Let’s get sorted in case your parents come back from the dead sooner than we planned,” Kip says. “Girls, go get whatever you want from your rooms while we head for your dad’s office and see if we can find anything interesting.”
“His safe is behind the mirror, his combination is twenty-six, thirty-two, ninety-five,” Izzy announces, kicking off her shoes and turning to pad barefoot up the stairs.
“How do you know that?” I ask as I push out of Hawthorn’s hold and follow her.
“It’s his locker combination from GAA, I overheard him telling Mom one time. There were some advantages to them pretending I didn’t exist.” She shrugs.
The stairs seem endless as I climb up to the first floor and toward my bedroom. The door is closed as I approach, and I pause at the threshold, mentally preparing myself for the room to be empty, for them to have destroyed all evidence of their disappointment of a daughter. Grabbing the handle, I turn it and push the door inward, shocked to find that my room is exactly the way it was the last time I was here.
Brow furrowed, I step inside, turning in a circle before I cross to my closet and throw the doors wide, finding it packed full of my clothes and shoes, just like it was before I left.
“My room’s untouched,” Izzy announces from behind me, startling me.
“Mine too,” I tell her. “It’s kind of anticlimactic, isn’t it?”
“Kind of, yeah.” She giggles. “At least we can get our stuff. Do you want me to help you pack? I got most of the stuff I wanted from my room before I moved out.”
“Sure,” I say, moving and grabbing my biggest suitcase from the back of the closet. “I don’t want most of the clothes, they were picked by her, but I want my underwear and pajamas and my laptop, that kind of stuff.”
Nodding, she opens the dresser and pulls handfuls of stuff out, dropping it into the waiting case as I do the same. It doesn’t take us long to get everything I want, and before I know it, I’m zipping up the full case and scanning the room for anything I might have missed.
“Is that it?” she asks.
“I think so. It’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it? That one case is all I want to keep.”
“Maybe, but our childhood wasn’t all kittens and bedtime stories, was it?”
“True,” I say, crossing to my bookcase and pulling out the photo album I’d forgotten was on there.
“What’s that?” she asks.
“Photos of us as kids,” I tell her, sitting down on the edge of the bed and opening the book.
“We were so cute,” she coos as I flick through the pages. “Notice anything though?”
“What?”
“Mom and Dad aren’t in any of them. We don’t need them, Penelope, we never did. We have each other now and the guys, we don’t need anything from them.”
Pulling in a slow, reaffirming breath, I smile. “You’re right, we don’t. I’m just sorry it took me so long to figure it out.”
“Want to help me pick pre-plastic surgery pictures to leak to the papers?” she asks me with a smirk.
“I really do,” I gush, closing the photo album. Grabbing my case, I pull it out of my room and take one final glance before closing the door behind me.
Abandoning the heavy case at the top of the stairs, we make our way to Dad’s office and find the guys looking through paperwork and his laptop while drinking his whiskey.
“Find anything useful?” Izzy asks.
“We found offshore bank accounts, a gun, some dodgy investments gone wrong, and what we think might be a sex tape.” Davis grins.
“Nice.” My sister laughs. “We’re going to find post-surgery pictures,” she announces, grabbing me and towing me down the hallway to Mom’s sitting room.
The room is unfamiliar to me, despite it having been here all my life. It was her private space and not somewhere we were ever allowed in as kids or welcomed into in more recent years. Soft cream furnishings, mixed with pale oak and gold, give the room a homely, almost cottagey feel that I’m surprised my mom would pick, given her fondness for bold, intense colors in her wardrobe.
“I’ve never been in this room,” I say, tentatively following Izzy inside and watching as she confidently crosses to Mom’s desk and begins rooting through the drawers.
“She has a safe hidden in the floor beneath the rug by the window,” she says, her head bent as she pulls out a pile of small albums and begins flicking through them.
“How do you know that?”
“I’m nosy, and I spent a lot of time here alone the last few years,” she says nonchalantly.
Crossing to the window, I get down onto my knees and pull back the edge of the rug, revealing a black, metal, circular safe sunk into the floor, with a digital display and number pad concealed beneath a clear cover. “Do you know the combination?”
“Twelve, eighteen, eighty-one.”
“That’s the day after they got married.”
“Yep, the day Mom officially got really rich,” she says with a scoff.
Lifting the cover, I type in the code, jumping when the safe emits a loud beep and then an audible click as the lock disengages. Opening the lid, I pull out the contents and lay them on the floor next to me. There’s a couple of jewelry boxes, some paperwork, and a couple of portable USB stick drives. Opening one of the jewelry boxes, I’m surprised to find a simple solitaire diamond pendant nestled in the black velvet. It’s not particularly big or flashy, hardly something worth putting in a safe when she has so many more ostentatious and expensive pieces of jewelry up in her bedroom.
Placing it down by my side, I open the next box and find a matching diamond pendant. Placing that with the other necklace on the floor, I lift the paperwork and start to scan it. There’s some stocks and bonds, details of a bank account with a hell of a lot of money in it, and an envelope that has both mine and Izabella’s birth certificates, as well as our passports and a few other pieces of paper that I set aside to look at later.
Lifting up the two pen drives, I twirl them around in my fingers. “What would Mom have on a pen drive that’s worth hiding in a safe?” I say to myself.
“Sex tape?” Izzy answers from right behind me, making me jump and shriek. “Woah, sorry, I thought you knew I was here.” She chuckles, a handful of photos in her hand.
“You need a bell,” I hiss, shoving the paperwork into a pile and closing the empty safe.
“Are you taking those?” she asks, pointing at the jewelry boxes.
“Yep, they’re matching diamond pendants, so I’m guessing they’re ours anyway. Plus I got our passports, birth certificates, and these pen drives.”
“Awesome. I have these,” she says, flipping the photos around to face me, a huge smile plastered across her face.
My mouth falls open as I stare slack-jawed at the pictures of our parents before they found Dr. Hanson, their plastic surgeon. “Oh my god, I can’t believe that’s what Mom used to look like?”
“Yep, this is just plain, moderately rich Trudy Williams circa 1981, and this is richer than god, but butt ugly Barnaby Rhodes before Mom sunk her claws into him and his inheritance,” she says, waving the pictures of our parents before their multiple plastic surgeries a few inches from my face.
A giggle bursts from me, and I pick up the stuff I’ve pilfered from the safe and push up to my feet. “We have to show these to the guys and figure out how we can get them leaked to the press while the MIA story is still live.”
“Absolutely, Mom will lose her mind when she finds out there’s pictures of her looking like this in the media.” She giggles.
“God, I wish we could be there to see her face when she sees them on the news,” I laugh.
“Hey guys,” Izzy shouts as she dances down the hall to Dad’s office. “Look what we found.”
* * *
By the time midnight rolls around, we’ve informed every bank and investment firm that either Mom or Dad is involved with that they’re dead. We’ve canceled every utility and service for the house, listed all of the artwork and furniture on eBay, held one day auctions starting at a dollar, and advertised a free house clearance on Craigslist in two days’ time. It’s petty and childish, but with every small, insignificant act of revenge we take, my smile gets wider.
If I were a bigger person, I wouldn’t need this rebellious act of vengeance, but I’m not. I’m an eighteen-year-old girl with more issues than The New York Times, and annoying the hell out of my parents because they’re assholes is awesome.
“Are we staying here tonight or going home?” Izzy asks.
“Home,” I answer quickly, glancing at Hawthorn and seeing the heated look in his gaze.
“Some of us should stay here in case the housekeeper comes back,” Gulliver says, eyeing me and Hawthorn with obvious amusement.
“You can stay, we’ll be back in the morning,” Hawthorn tells him without taking his eyes off me. “Bag all this stuff up, and we’ll take it with us just in case you guys end up leaving quickly,” he says, pointing to the piles of photos and paperwork we’ve amassed on the kitchen table.
By the time the town car Hawthorn called pulls into the marina parking lot, it’s after one a.m., but I’m not tired, I’m buzzing with energy. The driver helps us carry the two cases—one full of my belongings, the other full of all the stuff we stole from my parents’ house—up to the gangplank, but Hawthorn waves off his offer of help to get it aboard the boat, and with a nod he turns and leaves.
“Do you want to unpack your stuff?” Hawthorn asks as he drags my case into the bedroom.
“Nope,” I say, throwing myself into him and claiming his lips with mine.
With a laugh, he wraps his arms around me, lifting me into the air and immediately taking over the kiss, dominating me with his mouth. Melting against his touch, I cling to him, ready for him to take complete control, because I know without thought that he’ll bring me more pleasure than I could ever imagine.
Pulling back, he lowers me to the floor and cups my cheeks in his palms. “I’m fucking obsessed with you, Penelope, and I don’t see that ever changing.”
“I want you,” I pant.
“I want you too, but I told you I wouldn’t fuck you again until you understood that we’re not temporary. I’m falling in love with you, Penelope, every fucking inch. The good, the bad, and the broken bits, I want it all. I know who you are, I see the dark, fucked-up parts of your soul, and I want you in spite of them and because of them. You’re mine, Penelope Rhodes, but I want to be yours just as much,” he rasps earnestly.
Tears pool in my eyes, but I try not to let them fall. His words are the most terrifying and amazing things I’ve ever heard. I want to be his and for him to be mine, but I don’t know if it’s possible or if I’m capable. “I’m scared,” I whisper.
“That’s okay, I’m fucking terrified.”
A shaky laugh falls from my lips while I stare up at him—this guy, my enemy. Only, has he really ever been my enemy? He helped me when I asked, he’s dealt with my drama and meltdowns, he’s chased me, fed me, and protected me. He’s been there constantly, resolutely when he’s getting nothing out of this but me.
“What are you thinking, Princess?” he asks softly, gently stroking his thumb up and down my cheek.
“All you get is me.”
“All I want is you.”
Leaning back away from his touch, I watch as a flash of what I think might be panic crosses his face. “I’m a mess,” I tell him.
“A hot mess,” he agrees with a smile.
“I’m not going to inherit billions.”
“I am,” he says with a shrug, a small smile playing at his lips.
“I think I’m falling in love with you too.”
“Thank fuck for that,” he cries, scooping me up and throwing me down onto the bed.
Crawling up my body, he hovers over me, dipping his face and finding my lips with his. Frantically, we rip each other’s clothes off, leaving a mess of lips, hands, kisses, and touches. His teeth tug at my nipples as his fingers push into my sex, gliding easily into me. Kissing me, he swallows my gasps as an orgasm immediately sparks to life, making butterflies jump somersaults in my stomach as he pushes me higher and higher, his fingers inside of me, his tongue teasing my pebbled nipples.
Dragging his mouth from my breast, he moves down my body, replacing his fingers with his tongue and fucking me with abandon, licking and sucking at my clit until I’m squirming and panting beneath him. My fingers tangle in his hair, yanking at him, unsure if I want to push him away or pull him closer.
His fingers slide back into me again, and I splinter, crying out his name as my back arches, and my orgasm detonates inside of me.