31. Kaitlyn
THIRTY-ONE
Kaitlyn
IT took me nearly thirty minutes to get Abbey calmed down and nearly twice as long to convince Damien that there was no need to kill his brother. That as hard as it is to believe, Went was a complete, 100% gentleman.
There’s not a single thing on that list that I wouldn’t be more than happy to help you cross off… we can start wherever you want, Sunshine—top of the list or the bottom.
Okay—he was 95% a gentleman.
Remembering the way he unhooked my bra strap without any effort at all, I feel my cheeks start to warm.
Maybe more like 90%.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Flicking a quick look out the open front door, at where Went and his brother are talking on the porch, I redirect my attention to Abbey and give her a reassuring smile. “Positive.” Bobbing my head, I slide the coffee carafe back into the machine. Spooning an alarming amount of sugar into my cup, I give it a stir. “It was just a stupid fight,” I tell her, giving her a sanitized version of what happened last night. Aiming a quick look out the door again, I can tell by the stiff set of Damien’s shoulders and the grim line of his mouth while he listens to his brother talk, Went is telling him something closer to the truth. Looking back at my sister, I shrug. “I’ll be fine.”
“And that knot on your forehead?” Abbey’s narrowed gaze travels from my face to my waist, the lower half of me hidden by the kitchen counter.
“I told you.” Opening the fridge I pull out the cream. “I tripped on a rock.” Giving it a generous pour, I leave it sitting on the counter. “Sorry about your dress, by the way.” I told her it’d gotten muddy when I tripped. “I’ll replace it.”
Abbey gives me a sullen shrug. “It’s okay.”
I know it’s not okay. That dress was her favorite. Dad drove her into Helena and let her pick it out for her sweet sixteen party—a barn dance with a live band and hayrides.
“What happened to your hand?” she asks me, that narrowed gaze of hers grazing over the bandage Went put over my split knuckle.
“I…” Unable to fish out a plausible lie, I give up an d tell her the truth. “I punched Brock in the face.”
When I say it, Abbey’s eyes widen so much they nearly bulge out of her face. Lifting a hand to cover her mouth, she lets out a snort. “Holy shit.” Dropping the hand, she cuts a look across the room and out the open front door. “That almost makes up for the fact that a gorgeous, giant man has been living up here for two weeks and you never saw fit to tell me.” Looking back at me, her eyes narrow again. “What gives?”
“It wasn’t my place to say anything.” Again, I answer her honestly. “He paid Dad a lot of money to rent out the place and from what I gathered, he values his privacy.”
“ A lot of money ?” She aims another look out the open front door. “So, he’s rich?”
“I don’t know.” For some reason, the thought makes me uncomfortable. “I guess.”
She studies Went through the open doorway, watching him closely while he talks to Damien, thick arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing his gray hoodie—the one that covers his tattoos—and the battered ballcap he was wearing the day I met him. Together, they hide nearly every distinguishable feature he has—except for those bottomless black eyes and the fact that he’s six and a half feet tall. Some things are a little harder to hide than others.
Do you know who I am ?
When he asked me on the dock, I was confused and honestly, a little irritated because it’s an asshole question.
But now, thinking back, I can hear the trepidation in his tone, so thick it bordered on disappointment.
Whoever Went is, he doesn’t want me to know.
Like he can feel me looking at him, Went turns his head, pinning me with a look so hot, I nearly melt in the spot.
Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. All you have to do is ask…
“And you’ve been coming up here every day for the last two weeks ?”
Dragging my gaze away from Went’s, I look at my sister.
“Not every day. When I do, I come early while he’s still sleeping,” I tell her, thankful this is another honest answer I can give her. “You get that you can’t tell anyone he’s up here, right?” I say it carefully because she needs to understand how important it is. “Dad doesn’t want people gossiping about it—he made it clear that he didn’t want anyone to know he was staying up here.” It’s a lie but I tell it anyway because if I told her the truth—that it’s Went and not our father who wants to keep his residency a secret, Abbey would start foaming at the mouth, trying to figure out what his big secret is .
When I say it, Abbey rolls her eyes and sighs. “Yeah—okay. Whatever.” I can tell by her tone that she’s less than enthusiastic about keeping her mouth shut. I make a mental note to ask Damien to talk to her. If he’s the one asking, my sister would take a vow of silence. “But, like… what do you do when you’re up here?”
Blocking out a sudden memory of the way it felt to have Went between my thighs and his hands in my hair, standing almost exactly where I am now, I give her what I hope looks like a disinterested shrug. “Not much. I do a little light housekeeping, make his coffee, leave him some homemade muffins and—”
“That’s why you’ve been baking so much!” Abbey launches herself out of her stool like she’s caught me with my pants down. “I thought it was just stress baking because of this whole, I have to marry Brock Morris nonsense but—”
I don’t know why but it feels like she just slapped me in the face. “Nonsense?”
Hearing my tone, Abbey sighs. “You know what I mean, Kaity.”
“I don’t think I do.” I shake my head, setting my coffee cup on the counter behind me. “Explain it to me.” Mirroring Went, I cross my arms over my chest. “No really, I want you to explain it to me,” I say when all she does is stare at me.
“Okay…” Finding her seat again, Abbey lowers he rself into it. “I just meant that I think if you would just talk to Dad and explain to him that you don’t want to marry Brock, he’d understand.”
It’s like she just swung a baseball bat into my chest. I stare at her for a second, unable to catch my breath because of course that’s what she’d think. Of course it would seem that easy to her.
Because for Princess Abbey, it would be.
Mouth open, I’m not sure what I’m going to say—only that it will be nasty and mean and probably make my sister cry—when the sound of someone clearing their throat clamps it shut. Looking away from her, I find Damien standing in the space between the living room and the kitchen.
“We should probably get back. It’s almost eight o’clock,” he says, dividing a nervous look between the two of us while behind him, Went moves into the room. “Your Mom is going to start wondering where you guys are.”
He’s half right. She won’t wonder where I am. The daily work list my father gives me keeps me busy, well past noon. What she’ll start to wonder is why Abbey isn’t lounging in front of the TV or pestering her to let her take the car into town because she’s bored .
“Yeah.” I wipe my hands on the legs of the jeans Abbey brought me and instantly feel bad. “Okay.” Looking at my sister, I force myself to swallow every hateful word that’s bubbling up inside me. “You heard the man—lets go home.”