2
Vincent Hawthorne
C amilla White.
The girl that has been on my mind ever since I saw her at my aunt’s memorial. Gone was the quiet little ten-year-old with chubby cheeks. There’s a woman in her place now.
An outstandingly beautiful one.
Her cat-like eyes have only become more prominent with the years, showing off her Asian ancestry, which she seems to wear with pride, making her even more attractive.
I was enthralled by her brown irises perched upon her high cheekbones the moment they locked on mine. Like I had already been once before, when I first met her as a kid. Back then, I didn’t know what it was, not really understanding what was drawing me to her, but now, I know…The kindness, the innocence, and the authenticity in all her intentions.
Growing up, second intentions were present in all actions and interactions I have had, even from my parents. There were demands and expectations, “innocent” bribes I was always given to do as they pleased, then the manipulation or even threats. Nothing was made without a hidden purpose.
So, having those hours of nothing but free time to be a proper kid and have someone to play with, someone who genuinely only wanted me to pay attention to them and play…It quickly became the highlight of my days or weeks.
Seeing her again last night and realising she hasn’t lost her essence…it hit deep.
But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t changed. She has, a lot.
Camilla barely had any makeup on besides a light blush and nude lipstick. And yet, she’d given every woman in that property a run for their money—even Eleanor.
How a mere “peasant” girl, my aunt’s housekeeper, can have more class than my ex-girlfriend, a baroness at that, is something that still baffles me.
And yet, I am not surprised. Elizabeth Hawthorne raised her. And from the intense affection in her eyes every time she looked at my aunt’s portrait, it was clear the influence she had on Camilla’s life.
After Camilla’s mother’s death, my father told me that Aunt Lizzie had kept her as if she were her daughter.
And it wasn’t surprising. If there was someone in this family who was always true to themselves, not lost in appearances and futile matters, they were Aunt Lizzie and my brother, Edgar.
Sending me to boarding school right after my father’s death was the final blow my mother accomplished to sever the connection with his sister completely. To be honest, it severed my connection to everyone—except my brother.
Edgar became the only person with whom I could be myself. He knew the pressure and expectations on my shoulders ever since I was born and so he made it his goal to be the one to always give me a break.
To Edgar, I am just his big brother, the biggest pain in his ass. To everyone else, I am Vincent Hawthorne, future duke and sadly…second in line as the heir to the Crown.
Apparently, and much to my dismay, King fucking Charles seems to have inherited his mother’s ability to bear children because even after all the women he has fucked, the outcome hasn’t been good.
The only person happy about it is my mother, of course. Eager to jump at the chance of having her firstborn become the heir, even if it’s not what I want.
“Fucking hell,” I curse, throwing the papers to the side of my working desk.
Her face keeps haunting me, showing up at the centre of my mind, stealing my attention, and replaying glimpses of her at that memorial. Unable to forget those almond-brown eyes and full lips. Unable to forget the blush that blossomed in her skin and my eyes followed, pleased by the reaction. Unable to forget the way her hips gently swayed with each classy step.
Camilla. It’s impossible to focus with her ingrained in every thought. My mind is still full of memories. But it doesn’t matter how much I try to divert my thoughts from Camilla. Her face keeps showing up at the centre of my attention, replaying glimpses of her in that memorial.
It’s impossible to focus with her ingrained in every crevice of my mind.
Standing, I head to the drink cabinet on the other side of the office, suddenly craving the need to unwind and forget.
A light knock on the door stops me from pouring a little bit of Port for just a moment as I say, “Come in.”
“Big bruv,” Edgar greets as he walks into my office as if he owns it. “How are you today?”
“How about a text on my very functional smartphone before disrupting my working time?” I snark, annoyed.
It’s always the same. I am the duke, but my brother and mother seem to think I do nothing but sit around all day since they enter my space uninvited and unannounced at least twice a day.
Ignoring my remark, he questions, “Drinking already? It’s only nine in the morning.”
“It’s nine in the evening somewhere in the world,” I counter. “That’s good enough for me.”
“What’s gotten your knickers in a twist, brother?” Edgar smirks, irking me. “Was it that beauty that seemed to captivate you all evening last night?”
Suddenly, a good punch to the jaw doesn’t sound bad. But we are civil in this family—or so I’d like to think.
“I’m not in the mood for your pseudo-funny arse, Edgar. Why did you come to interrupt my work?”
“Camilla White has bloomed quite well, hasn’t she?” He smirks.
I can’t help the growl that leaves my chest, confirming whatever it is he came here to do.
“Ha, I knew it!” His head tilts back for a chest full of laughter with his hand pointing at me as if he were a five-year-old mocking a kid who has fallen flat on his arse.
“What the fuck do you want?” I grit out, letting him wind me up.
Suddenly, he sobers up and looks me straight in the eyes, studying me.
“What?” I exclaim, exasperated, bringing the Port glass to my lips.
“Oh, you want to fuck her alright,” he taunts.
I choke on my drink, spitting it all over myself and him.
“Are you mad, Ed?” I tap on my chest, trying to control the cough that overcomes me.
Great.
It wasn’t enough that she’s invaded my mind, now I have my little brother making fun of me for it.
“I don’t blame you, Vince. She is stunning,” he tuts, and I side-eye him. Don’t I know it. “You going to hit it?” he asks.
The casual way he speaks about it, as if she were someone to hit and leave, doesn’t sit right with me. My first instinct is to tell him to fuck off and not talk about her like that but…it’s not my place either.
“No,” I answer instead. “She’s not one-night-stand material.”
“Really?” he asks, his eyes still locked on me and my body language. “Oh,” he exclaims, in doing so, his mouth shapes in an exaggerated 'o', as if he had just figured out the cure to cancer. All I can do is roll my eyes at his childish antics. “You like her?”
“I don’t know her enough to like her, Edgar,” I answer curtly.
My words come out strong and confident, but inside, I am anything but.
“Didn’t look like it.” One side of his lips quirk up, in that naughty way he’s always done when he’s in on a secret. Though, this time around, it quickly falls as if he has just realised something. “She’s out of reach, brother. You, out of everyone, know that best.”
I nod, looking away from him. I know.
I’ve had my share of women in my life. I’m no saint, but I am not about deceiving them into something that can’t be.
“Unless it is only physical attraction, I’d advise you to stay away, brother. At least, for her sake.”
Thankfully, I will probably not see her again for quite a while because seeing her often would be a…problem.
I nod again, and he chimes in, sporting a smirk, “Of course, you were always the one with the head screwed on right out of the both of us.”
He’s right.
We’ve both experienced a lot, but I’ve always been the discreet one. I have a reputation to keep, as the duke and possible future king. Edgar might become duke if I end up having to “step up”, but if not, he’ll be able to live a carefree life and not worry about this kind of responsibility.
I envy him sometimes. In my eyes, to be able to do that, you must be a lucky bastard.
“Now, let me go back to work,” I state before placing the glass on the desk. “I’ll see you at supper, brother.”
Edgar nods in confirmation before slipping out of my office—once my father’s.
Hawthorne has always been one of the most influential families in the kingdom, and besides the shares we hold from the Crown’s business, my dad still made it his mission to invest in new businesses, something he found to be crucial for the survival of our nation. Renewable energy.
He made it his life goal to make us as oil-free as possible, which he managed. In Monera, the only things moved by gas are cars, and even those are slowly being replaced by electric cars.
The king loved the idea, of course. Reducing the dependability on other country’s exportations was like music to his ears.
And in the last couple of decades, I have invested in quite a few other areas, enlarging the Hawthorne name into several other markets. This job is what has kept me sane for all these years.
After the drinks and conversation with my brother, skimming through the paperwork seems easier now. Even though his words were harsh to hear, they were needed. I accepted my fate years ago. For my mother, my father, my whole family, the whole country…I know what I need to do, and there is no preventing me from fulfilling what everyone expects of me.
My phone lights up with an incoming call, and I frown at the family’s attorney number displayed on the screen.
“Vincent Hawthorne,” I greet right after the pad of my index finger swipes the smooth screen surface to accept the call.
“Your Grace, I am sorry to disturb you,” Harry’s voice sounds from the other side. “Your aunt’s will has finally been released for reading, and I was calling to ask when will you be available for an appointment?”
I have been expecting this call for a week now. Surprisingly, since I was chosen to be her heir, it was only a matter of time.
“I can open my schedule for tomorrow morning,” I say while looking at the calendar on my laptop. “Is that alright with you?”
“S-sure, sir,” he stutters.
“Harry, if you can’t, you can tell me, and we can rearrange. I am not the boogeyman.” I laugh bitterly.
“I can, sir, it’s just the housekeeper’s presence is also required. It can’t be read without her, so I’ll just have to make sure she can also come tomorrow.”
What?
Why would she be called to go as well if she’s just the housekeeper?
“Do you know why?” I ask.
“No, Your Grace.”
“Well, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow morning then. Have a nice day, Harry,” I say before hanging up the call.
And just like that, Camilla has seeped her way back into my mind.
Hoping it’s not permanent.