33. June #2
I know she’s just trying to help but her condescending tone isn’t doing her any favors.
I’m well aware that despite having new clothes on, I’m still caked with fucking blood.
How I haven’t been questioned about the shooting is beyond me, but I assume it has something to do with the fact that Dominic still holds so much power.
Claire and I murdered one of the council heads of a massive criminal organization.
Is that just going to be swept under the rug?
Will there be consequences to my actions?
Or will we be able to prove that she was out to get us from the start and take control of the narrative?
Has Dom already started taking care of all of this?
Not like he would tell me anyway, since he likes to keep me in the fucking dark.
I guess I’ll leave that problem for him to solve since he insists on handling fucking everything.
“Okay, yeah,” I finally say to the nurse because honestly, I could use a hot shower and a fresh set of clothes that aren’t immediately soiled by my disgusting body.
I lean down and press my lips to Coen's forehead and whisper in his ear, "I love you more." I follow the nurse out of the room and make my way down the corridor to the waiting room we spent countless hours in, waiting to hear if Coen had made it through surgery.
Magnus and Simon sit in the corner, both of them asleep. Magnus's head rests on Simon's shoulder and the two of them use each other's weight to support themselves. If I had my phone I would take a picture but instead, I'll have to settle for this mental image.
Simon blinks a few times and steadies his sights on me. He slaps Magnus in the chest and Magnus nearly jumps out of his seat.
"What? Huh?" Magnus steadies himself. "Oh shit, princess. Hey." He rubs his eyes. "I wasn't sleeping." He rises to his feet. "Totally wasn't sleeping."
Simon stands, too, and dusts off his shoulder. “I think you drooled on me, man.”
I approach them both, my arms folded over my chest. “Just admit it, you two were cuddling.”
Magnus drags me toward him and suffocates me with his embrace. “Would rather be snuggling with you, princess.” He sniffs the top of my head. “You could use a shower though.” He hugs me tighter. “I still love you when you’re dirty, but I don’t know whose blood that is.”
“Is there like…a hotel around here or something?” I lean into Magnus. “I don’t really want to go back to the house. Not if Dom’s there.”
“You can shower at my place, love,” Simon tells me. “And you can stay there as long as you need to.”
“I can, uh, I can stop by the house and get you some stuff,” Magnus offers.
“Yeah. That would be good.”
I haven’t heard from Dom since he walked out of the hospital, and I don’t have the energy or mental capacity to deal with him.
Eventually, we’re going to have to speak, but for now, I’d rather give him a taste of his own medicine and ignore him for a change.
Maybe then he’ll come to his senses and realize how badly he fucked up.
He’s lucky Coen is alive. Because I would have never forgiven Dominic if he had died.
There’s only so much I can take, and that would be more than I could bear.
“Although…” Simon rubs his neck. “I sort of totaled my car so I’ll have to call a driver.”
“Nah, dude.” Magnus tugs his keys out of his pocket. “I’ll drop you guys off at your place and circle back to the house. No worries.”
Simon sits in the back seat with me as Magnus escorts us to Simon’s place. He doesn’t take his hand off of me, not even when we exit the car and walk up to his building. We take a private elevator to his penthouse and the doors open right into the front of his unit.
Floor-to-ceiling windows cover two of the walls in the far corner, the view overlooking the city below.
A massive skylight opens up above it to add even more natural light to this spacious area.
Everything is tidy and minimalistic, but with a modern vibe to it.
Dark wood floors span the entire length of the place with deep grey furniture and lavish green plants strategically placed about.
A charcoal metal staircase leads to another level and various doors line the walls.
“This way, love.” Simon walks me up the stairs and leads me into a room that smells just like him.
“You can shower in here.” He takes me through to the attached bathroom and finally releases his hold on me.
“Towels.” He points to a stack sitting neatly on the vanity.
“Um, you should be okay with the shampoo and conditioner in there.” He nods toward the large open shower.
“What else?” He snaps his fingers. “Clothes, you need clothes. I’ll get you something to wear in the meantime. ”
I stand there as Simon leaves the room, goes into the other one, and returns a moment later.
"I hope this is okay." He sets a pair of grey sweatpants and a white tee on the counter next to the towels. "And…" Simon strolls over to the shower and turns on the faucet. "This is pretty self-explanatory." He goes to leave but I catch his arm.
“Simon.”
“Yes, love?” He turns toward me.
“Stay.”
He blinks as if he’s unsure of what I said.
“Please.” I chew at my lip. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“Love,” he sighs and pulls me into his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I tilt my head up toward his. “Kiss me.”
“Are you sure?” He skims his fingers along my cheek.
“Yes.”
Slowly, he presses his lips onto mine, moving them with gentle ease.
My heart skips a beat and I melt into him, kissing him back and enfolding my arms around his neck. I tug him toward me, desperate for the closeness of his body.
Simon glides his hands down and hooks them under my thighs, gripping tight and pulling me off the floor.
I wrap my legs around him and part his lips with my tongue, dipping it inside and dancing it along his. I skim my fingers up into his hair and wish there was a way to bottle up what it is I’m feeling right now.
Hope? Happiness? Love? I can’t be sure, but it feels like a mixture of all of them.
Simon backs us into the shower, both of us fully fucking clothed. He kicks off his shoes and I do the same, multitasking as best as I can. Both of us giggle as we haphazardly rid ourselves of the apparel keeping us apart.
He shoves me against the wall and stares into my eyes. “Love…” With his chest rising and falling, he releases me to my feet. He grips the hem of my shirt and drags it over my head.
I raise my arms to help him but grit my teeth at the contact the fabric had against the bandage on my arm.
Simon’s gaze immediately falls to my ribs. “What happened?” He hovers his fingers just along them without applying hardly any pressure.
I wince in anticipation of the contact. “It’s fine,” I tell him. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t lie to me, love.” He turns me to get a better look. “Is that from a boot?”
I nod and recall the memory of the man who took me to Gwyneth's place kicking me in the side when I tried to get away.
He had tripped me, knocking me to the ground, and then slammed into me with his steel-toed fucking boot with enough force to send me onto my back.
He gripped my ankle and dragged me screaming into the house where he tied me to the chair.
It wasn't long after that Gwyneth entered the room and all of my suspicions had been proven right.
It was her orchestrating the whole fucking thing—a truth I realized all too late.
Simon kneels and presses his lips to my bruised and swollen ribs.
“I’m so sorry, love.” He tugs my leggings over my ass and peels them and my panties down, sliding my feet out of each side and tossing them with no regard to where they land.
He stands before me, reaching around and unclasping my bra with one hand, the other pressed along my cheek.
I grab his shirt and inch it up upward and over his head, revealing his perfectly chiseled chest and abdomen. I skim my fingers along every ridge and settle them at the button on his jeans.
He undoes and pulls them down over his hips, stepping out and throwing them with our other clothes.
I keep my gaze trained on his as he comes forward and brings me to his chest.
We stand there, completely fucking naked, just holding each other in this massive shower. There’s something so intimate about our embrace despite it not being sexual at all.
Simon steps into the water and massages my scalp, moistening my hair and no doubt ridding me of the aftermath of what happened at Castleberry Court. “Turn around.” He spins me at my waist so my back is to him.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
"Washing your hair." He reaches for a bottle from the shelf that's on the wall and squirts some of the stuff into his hand.
Simon lathers it into my hair, going in cautious circular motions and making sure he gets every inch of my hair.
He grabs one of the many faucets spraying us and uses it to completely rinse the shampoo and bloody mixture down the drain.
“You don’t have to do that.” I stop him from grabbing another bottle.
“You’re right, love. I don’t have to. I want to.” He latches onto it anyway and spreads conditioner through the ends of my hair, carefully pulling out any tangles that he finds. “And while that’s sitting.” He goes to grab the shampoo but I stop him.
"No. Allow me." I plop some of it into my hands and even though he persists slightly, he allows me to shampoo his hair. I run my fingers along his scalp and do as thorough of a job as he had done for me. I make a little mohawk and giggle at him. "Sorry, I had to."
He grins and shakes his head, wiping his hand through it to get rid of the silly styling and tilting his neck to rinse himself of the suds. Simon wipes his eyes and focuses back on me. He washes the rest of the conditioner from my hair and puts the shower head onto its hook.