13. Willow
13
WILLOW
T he Beaumont Estate never fails to leave me in awe, but today, that wonder is eclipsed by the very real fear of my heart deciding to stop for good. Dying right after the absolute dreamboat currently driving me to his mansion confessed his undying devotion—and a four-year crush, no less—would truly be the worst timing imaginable.
My chest tightens, each breath trembling like it’s rattling against broken ribs. The towering gates swing open with their usual grandeur, the meticulous gardens and sprawling architecture coming into view, but I can’t stop dreading the idea of walking up the stairs. It’s as if the mansion’s size has grown even larger just to spite me.
“What’s that look on your face for?” Vincent narrows his eyes on me, his tone laced with playful suspicion.
I twist away, pretending to study the statue of a naked Greek man near the driveway like he’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. Which, to be fair, he isn’t—that honor belongs to the man sitting next to me. “Does your house have to be so fucking big?”
Vincent chuckles, his deep laugh resonating through the car like a warm hum. “God, you curse like a sailor.”
“I’m serious, Vincent!” I huff, crossing my arms tightly across my chest. “Your house is too big, and I just got out of the hospital. Now I have to battle your gazillion steps.”
Vincent’s grin widens, and there’s a spark of amusement in his emerald eyes as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “Who said you had to walk?”
Before I can process his words, he’s out of the car, rounding it in just a few strides. The passenger door swings open, and before I can protest, Vincent scoops me up like I weigh nothing.
“Vincent!” I squawk, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. “Put me down! I can walk.”
He smirks, his lips twitching into that infuriatingly confident smile. “You just said walking would be a battle.”
“I will wiggle in your arms,” I grumble, though my voice lacks any real heat.
A warm, easy chuckle rolls through him. “Oh please do.”
“Ugh, you’re gross.” I roll my eyes trying to keep my voice low.
“Only for you,” he teases, effortlessly carrying me toward the front steps. His grip is firm but gentle, his warmth seeping through my clothes, making my cheeks heat for an entirely different reason.
The front doors swing open without him needing to put me down, and the cool air of the foyer greets us like a breath of luxury. Chandeliers glitter overhead, casting light over the pristine marble floors. I should be dazzled by the opulence, but all I can focus on is the smug expression on Vincent’s face.
“See? No stairs for you,” he says as he starts up the massive staircase, his tone almost patronizing.
“This is embarrassing,” I mumble, staring down at the intricate designs on the carpeted steps.
“You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed,” he quips, his voice dipping into a tone that makes my stomach flip. “But seriously, Willow, you don’t have to push yourself. I’ve got you.”
Despite the lingering annoyance, his words soften something in me. I glance up at him, his jaw set with determination, his focus entirely on me. There’s something both infuriating and comforting about how serious he is about my well-being.
We reach the top of the stairs, and he takes a right down a hall that seems endless. Finally, he stops in front of a room and nudges the door open with his foot.
“This,” he says, stepping inside and gently lowering me onto the plush bed, “is your room. It’s right across from mine. If you need anything, all you have to do is holler.”
I look around, taking in the soft cream walls, the floor-to-ceiling windows with billowing curtains, and the massive bed that looks like it was stolen from a fairy tale. “This is... my room?” I ask, my voice tinged with disbelief.
“Yup.” Vincent stands back, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe. “You like it?”
“It’s... nice,” I admit, my fingers trailing over the soft duvet. “But I don’t need all this. I could’ve stayed in a guest room or something.”
“No, you have your own room because you’re not just a guest,” Vincent says, his voice firm but edged with something softer. His arms are still crossed, but the way his fingers tap lightly against his bicep tells me there’s more he wants to say.
I glance at him, my fingers still brushing the ridiculously soft duvet. “Not just a guest?” I echo, my tone cautious. “What does that mean?”
He sighs, stepping into the room and leaning casually against the edge of the dresser. “It means you’re more than someone passing through my life, Willow.” His cerulean gaze locks with mine, his words laced with quiet intensity. “I meant what I said earlier. Everything I have is yours, including me. This room, this house, all of it—it’s just part of what I want to give you.”
My chest tightens, a mix of emotions swirling—gratitude, disbelief, and a pinch of fear. “Vincent... that’s a lot to take in.”
“I know,” he says, his expression softening as he sits on the armchair by the window. “And I don’t expect you to have all the answers right now. But I want you to feel safe here. To feel... cared for.”
The sincerity in his voice almost breaks me. My throat tightens as I look away, blinking quickly to fight back the sudden sting in my eyes. “You’re making it really hard to argue with you, you know.”
He smirks, his usual cocky charm breaking through the seriousness. “That’s the idea.”
Despite myself, I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”
“Good thing you like me anyway,” he quips, leaning back with a lazy grin.
I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “Don’t push your luck.”
Vincent stands, moving toward the door, but he pauses before stepping out. His hand lingers on the doorframe, and for a moment, he looks at me like he’s about to say something else. Instead, he just nods, his voice quieter this time. “Rest up, Princess. You’re going to need all your energy for our date tomorrow.”
I blink up at him, confused. “Date? What are you talking about?”
Vincent smirks, his signature confidence cutting through the concern that’s been clouding his expression all day. “You didn’t think I’d confess my undying love and not take you out, did you?”
I groan, trying to sit up, but the effort makes my head spin. “Vincent, this isn’t funny. I just had a near-death experience, and you’re talking about?—”
“About giving you something to look forward to,” he interrupts, his voice softening as he comes back to bed, sitting just inches away from me.“Something to remind you that you’re alive, that you’ve got a lot more living to do.”
I narrow my eyes at him, unsure whether to be annoyed or touched. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you’re still here,” he counters, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “Now, no more arguing, get some sleep.”
He brushes a strand of hair away from my face, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. My heart stumbles—not the bad kind this time, but the kind that makes me hyper-aware of how close he is, how safe I feel when he’s near.
“Vincent-”
Before I can continue, he leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. It’s warm, tender, and leaves a trail of heat in its wake, spreading through me like a spark catching fire.
For a moment, I forget how to breathe.
Vincent pulls back, his eyes lingering on mine like he’s trying to say something he can’t quite put into words. “Goodnight, Willow,” he whispers, his voice low and velvety, like a promise wrapped in comfort.
“Night Vincent,” I manage, my voice barely audible, but he’s already turning away, heading for the door.
He pauses just before he leaves, glancing back with that signature smirk of his, softened by the edges of something unspoken. “Dream about me, okay?”
And then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me alone in the quiet room. But the warmth of his kiss lingers, and as I sink back into the soft duvet, I realize that for the first time in a long while, the thought of tomorrow doesn’t feel so overwhelming.