22
Vincent Hawthorne
T he moment she sits down right next to me, I finally relax.
Derisory, right? To be nervous about something as simple as spending time with her. But I am fucking terrified.
Spending time with her has been something that has been on my mind for a while now. Camilla is fascinating, and despite knowing how doomed we are, I can’t help but want to know more about her.
This woman could be anywhere in the world.
With her biology degree, she could be out there saving animals or studying for a better world in the future, and for some weird reason, she prefers to stick around.
What is keeping her from flying? From taking over the world?
“Why are we here?”
“Because,” I answer with a shrug.
If I say more, I’ll end up giving away the real reason—my curiosity and fascination. My endless interest is for someone who is out of reach.
The basket’s top lifts, and I start taking out and spreading the contents over the blanket. After a couple of minutes of cuddles, Primrose tucks herself next to my left and falls asleep. I don’t blame her. We walked for a good half an hour before we arrived here, and it was more for her with all of that back and forth because of the animals she kept chasing.
“I thought the goal was to have the day for yourself, responsibility-free.”
“And it is,” I agree. “With you.”
Her eyes widen and finally meet mine as a light blush creeps up her neck.
Adorable.
I can’t keep my eyes on her. And this time around, she doesn’t look away either. Usually, Camilla breaks the stare, and I am still uncertain if it’s because of the attraction or because she is still intimidated by me.
But now…as my eyes flicker to every corner of her face, memorising her smooth skin and plump lips. She keeps her eyes on me, too, thickening the tension between us.
It’s hard to resist her. But I shall!
For now, at least.
I want today to be different. All of the past interactions have had the same goal. While I love the sex, I want Camilla to understand that she’s worth much more than just that, even if I am not the one who can give it to her.
I wish I could…
“Have you eaten today?” I ask, trying not to let these fatidic thoughts take over my mood.
“Not yet. The fact that the manor was empty distracted me.”
“Good thing you prepared some food, then,” I smirk, looking at the contents inside the basket.
At the top, there are two containers with different kinds of sliced fruits. I open them, as well as the one containing the cheese and salami, and spread the containers on the blanket.
When I am about to take the container with the bread out of the basket, Camilla’s upper body lunges towards it, snatching the bread off my hand.
“I’ll prepare everything, Your Grace.”
I snatch the bread back and look at her pointedly.
“Little Milla, I am a duke, but I am not invalid. You’re here to spend time with me, not serve me.”
Camilla gulps but nods, and I take it as a sign to prepare the food, making both of us sandwiches. She tells me which ingredients to add, and I oblige before making one for myself.
“Thank you,” she mumbles shyly.
Instead of taking a bite, just like I did, she picks at the bread, eating extremely slowly while awkwardly looking around.
I’d like to think it’s because she’s distracted by the beauty surrounding us, but it feels like she’s still not completely comfortable in my presence. I need to work on this.
Noticing her expression, I see her symmetrical eyebrows furrow, creating a small crease between them. Looking in the same direction as her, I see the bread in her hand. Then she sighs.
What’s going on in that head of hers?
“What’s on your mind?”
“Oh,” she startles. “Nothing, Your Gra-”
“Fucking Hell, Camilla,” I exclaim, frustrated, cutting her off. “Call me Vincent. It’s just the two of us.”
I understand the hesitancy. The uncomfortableness. But fucking hell, I’ve been inside of her plenty. I’ve done things to her that warrant a bit more trust between us. I don’t fucking want her to be hesitant or fearful around me.
“I'm sorry. It’s just that—” she cuts herself off. “Never mind.”
Dragging my arse closer to her without waking Primrose, I grip her chin and force her to look at me.
“How many times will I have to tell you not to be afraid to call me by my first name when we’re alone? Or to not be afraid to talk to me as you wish? I am not a bogeyman.”
“It feels like you are...sometimes,” she mumbles, and I fake an offended gasp.
It’s only when she widens her shy smile that I speak again, “I know I have a…temper, but I’d never intentionally harm you or do something to hinder your life.”
“I know.” At least she sounds genuine. “But this is complicated. It’s supposed to be no strings, but that’s just...”
“Impossible?” I finish for her in a questioning tone. Tell me about it. “I know.”
Back to avoiding my gaze.
Ugh, this is so frustrating.
“I’m sorry,” I confess. “I know I’m the one completely at fault for being unable to keep my distance. I really can’t. I have been drawn to you ever since we were kids. The only thing that has helped has been the distance, and we don’t have that anymore.” When the silence stretches, I add, “I want to spend time with you. I want to get to know you.”
A dark crimson shade covers her cheeks. It makes her shiny eyes stand out, finally looking at me unwavering. My heart skyrockets in response, in a way it only does with her.
It’s a new and addicting feeling. Uncharted territory, but too sweet to refuse.
“Can I ask you a question?” Her voice is low and sweet, like music to my ears.
“You don’t have to ask for permission,” I whisper in her ear before kissing her cheek.
So far, she hasn’t stopped blushing. That alone is enough to rearrange quite a few organs inside myself, especially the heart and stomach—the first victims of her charm.
Her sweet innocence paired with the white sundress, showing more of her fair skin than usual, is also off-putting. Who would have thought that such a heavenly woman would live in such a sinful body.
Reign it in, Vincent; that’s not what this is about.
“How come you chose this place to spend the day?” Her voice is soft and tentative, trying—and failing—to hide the curiosity that’s burning inside.
“My father brought me here a few times whenever we visited,” I reminisce with a smile, looking over the river. “Besides those moments he’d let me play with you, this was the only other situation where he’d allow me to be a child. This time with him was like regular father-son time.”
“I didn’t know about that; I barely even left the manor and the orchard until I took over my mum’s job,” she comments.
“Do you miss her?” I can’t help but ask.
I do miss my father a lot. Even though he was the duke, out of the two parents, he was always the loving one. Weird that my mother was the exigent one when he was the one that carried the weight of the title.
Or maybe it was because he had been through the same thing that made him less strict with me.
The silence stretches, and it makes me focus back on her. She’s as pensive as I was just a second ago, but her face is tense, and her eyes are glassy.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”
“It’s okay,” she says through a shaky breath. “I do miss her a lot. And you?”
“Every single day.” I feel a sad, strained smile on my face as I remember more of him. “We played football together once. I was so happy I shrieked like a girl that day.”
We both laugh at my admittance.
“You know, we ride horses and play Polo and other suitable sports but not football. And I have loved it ever since I was a kid so I made it my mission to play it for as long as we could. I wore him down that afternoon. By the time he sat his bum on the grass and took a good look at me, he gasped at my dishevelled and dirty appearance. My mother gave me the biggest scolding of my life, but not even that made my happiness waver. I think I wore the hugest smile for at least a week back then.”
“He was a good father then, to be brave enough to go against your mother like that,” she muses.
I nod with a light chuckle because it’s true.
They never fought in front of us, but I remember often how their interaction was strained whenever we were present. It used to make me feel guilty because most of their fights were over me and what they thought was best for Edgar and me. I understand better now because I think that when my time comes to be a father...I will do the same as he did.
“Was it hard?”
“What?” I ask, not getting what she’s trying to understand.
“Growing up with all those expectations on you, with all that pressure about who you’re supposed to be..”
“Oh, yes,” I admit. “When I was around seven or eight and started to realise the severity of my life, I cried about it more times than I can care to admit. I envied Edgar the most. He’d get to go and play outside when he was done while I’d have to stay inside with all of the extra shit I had to learn.”
“Then, if it weren’t for those stolen moments your dad gave you...”
“My childhood would have sucked.”
“That’s awful.”
“It is what it is. I accepted my faith and responsibilities long ago; there’s no point in mulling over it. I still envy my brother, though. His worst-case scenario is to be a duke while I am the king. But even then, my mother will be so obsessed with me that she’ll probably let him marry whoever he wants,” I sigh.
I wish I could make that decision by myself.
“And best-case scenario?”
“I am the duke, and he is free to live off the family inheritance and marry whomever he wants, while I’ll be the duke, and my mother will still obsess over me. This time around, especially trying to get me married and strengthen our family’s power. Either way, I don’t win.”
“That’s awful.” Her small, delicate hand, which has been absentmindedly playing with the hem of her dress, covers mine.
Her touch is warm and comforting, as if she were encouraging me for what’s ahead. I am ready, but that still doesn’t mean I like it.
“My mum was very attentive and caring with me,” she starts to share with me, and I nod along, letting her know I am listening but not wanting to interrupt. “I think it might have been because my father was never around. She tried to compensate for his absence, but between her, your aunt, and uncle, I never felt unloved.”
I can’t help it. The curiosity gets the best of me and before I realise, I’m asking, “You never met your father?”
“No,” she sighs. “My mother told me that one day I’d know everything, but she died before she could tell me.” Her longing gaze tugs at my heart. If I often feel lonely in this world while still having my own family by my side, I can only imagine how she feels when no one is around anymore. It’s gut-wrenching, and no one should have to go through it.
Then she looks at me with something fierce in her eyes, showing me that despite how hard life has been, she is a survivor. Someone resilient enough to push through no matter what.
“But the truth is, I never needed him or missed him. I was happy and cared for. I can’t complain because I had and still have a good life. I’ve had love around me ever since I was born, and if he wanted to be around, he would. He chose to stay away, and I am choosing to respect that.”
Stunned .
That’s how her words leave me.
With every little detail Camilla chooses to share with me, I am more and more amazed. The kindness, soft fierceness, and love for life, no matter what…it’s completely bewitching.
This woman doesn’t have an evil bone in her body.
But again, I already suspected that.