Chapter 11 #2
I shake my head.
“Then how did your parents manage?”
I shrug.
“Don’t tell me they expected you to help. You were—what, thirteen or fourteen?—and in advanced classes in high school. You couldn’t get a job,” he argues.
I shrug again.
“You did get a job?” he snarls.
“Not a job, per se, but I did start making money,” I say.
“How?”
The lack of skepticism in his voice shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. So does the anger in his tone. I shift in my seat as instinctual fear races through my veins. After a deep breath and the familiar flare of pain from my scars, I answer as nonchalantly as I can.
“I started with patents and licenses then branched out into online freelancing.”
“While still maintaining perfect academics?”
His grip tightens on my hand. I wince. He releases me and runs his hand through his hair.
“You were also being bullied then, too, weren’t you?”
I wrap my arms around myself and close my fist around the gemstone on my ring.
“Fucking hell, Penelope. No wonder you hate me. I’m a monster for not noticing. That’s so much—too much—for anyone, much less a young girl.”
I shake my head but can’t force my mouth to form words. He still doesn’t have all the information.
With so much revealed, it seems impossible for there to be more heartache, but I haven’t told him the deepest and most painful aspects of my story. I don’t know if I ever will. They hurt too much.
Grief and misery weigh like stones in my heart.
I pinch my earrings, absently checking every piercing in my right ear—which is one more than the twelve piercings in my left ear—and bite the inside of my lip.
Even though I purposefully chose the smallest, simplest jewelry available for each type of piercing, each piece represents a moment I chose to keep fighting.
I’ve come this far already. I can’t quit now.
I angle my upper body toward Sebastian and wait until he turns into a brightly lit underground parking garage, parks in a VIP spot, and turns his full attention to me. After a deep breath, I barrel into the truth.
“I never fully hated you. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. Resentment, anger, heartbreak—the list of what I felt goes on and on, but hate was too hard.”
He leans an elbow on the center console and cups the side of my face in his massive hand.
“Don’t be so quick to forgive me, sweet pea. I’m already madly in love with you, but I don’t deserve your sweetness. I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you,” he rumbles.
I force my lungs to take a shuddering breath and quirk my lips in a lopsided half-grin.
“Then I’ll try to be meaner every now and then,” I jest.
He growls and leans across the vehicle until his forehead presses against mine.
“Not too mean, I hope.” His breath warms my face.
“The cruelest thing would be to lose you after finally finding you again.” After an uneven breath, he slides his fingers gently into my hair.
Their trembling captivates and awes me. “If you ever need space, just say so, and I’ll try to slow down or back off, but I meant it when I said everything I’ve done—everything I am—is for you, Penelope. ”
My nerve endings buzz.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He brushes his lips over my brow, cheeks, and nose before sliding his hand down the side of my neck to my nape and landing a chaste peck on my temple. With reluctance in his every move, he releases me and exits the car.
I take a deep breath, but even the itchy fiery sensation of my burn scars doesn’t diminish the buzzing in my veins. When he opens my door and offers me his hand, I unbuckle and bite back a moan as the seatbelt drags across my hard nipples.
“Wait, I… I need a minute,” I say as I reach past his proffered hand to the door handle.
In true gentlemanly fashion, he backs up, let’s me shut the door, then turns and blocks the window with his wide back.
Without him in it, the car is too confining, especially with the weight of the building pressing down on the parking garage, so I twist my ring a few rotations around my finger and gently gnaw on my lip ring until the throbbing between my legs lessens and my hands no longer shake.
When I knock on the window to let Sebastian know I’m ready to exit, he opens the door and helps me out as though I didn’t just close him out of his own car without explanation, and he engulfs my hand in his.
He retrieves our bags, refusing to let me carry anything, and leads me through double glass sliding doors and past the main elevators.
As he punches in his code to the double doors, my brain kicks into analyzation mode.
“This is the private elevator for the penthouse. I tried to set different alerts, but none of them work.”
I study the outer keypad before stepping into the elevator and looking over the control panel. As Sebastian inputs his code and we ascend, I note the high-end fixtures and smooth ride.
The entire building screams expensive but not flashy, and as he leads me through a simple receiving area and into the penthouse, I can’t help but correlate the quality and efficiency of the construction and furniture to his method of success.
I stop three paces past the door and stare in mute shock.
This apartment is nothing like what I expected.
Sure, the open concept layout and the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across the living room, dining area, and kitchen fit the cold billionaire image, but everything else—from the kitchen appliances, furniture, decor, and everything in between—gives off a cozy, homey air. I blink and fight a wave of tears.
The odd mix of colorful comfort with the sleek nighttime cityscape as the backdrop fills me with awe.
Between the sewing machines, painting easels, messy but organized DVDs and gaming consoles, and clean yet lived in kitchen, the entire apartment feels just as welcoming and loving as the two women who no doubt run the house.
Logically, after visiting the hospital, I knew Sebastian lived with his grandmother and mother, but I never imagined he’d center his life around their comfort.
Jealousy spears through me. Not only do I wish Samuel could be half as attentive and caring for our parents as Sebastian is, but I also want to be the center of Sebastian’s universe.
Every cell in my body glitters as he gives me a sample of my wish. He steps in front of me, filling my vision with his gigantic frame, and aims bottomless brown orbs into my soul.
“You look sad,” he murmurs.
I close my eyes. He cups the sides of my head in his hands—avoiding the scar near the base—and brushes his thumbs over my cheeks.
“My security system can wait until tomorrow if you want to plunder the fridge for leftovers then borrow the guest room for the night.”
I use the constant discomfort from my scars and the dampness in my panties to refuse his offer.
“No, I’d rather mess with the security system first,” I say.
“Whatever you say, sweet pea.”
He plants a kiss on my forehead, gives me an abbreviated tour, and points me to the control panel before heading into the kitchen.
After flipping through the menu, I study the specifics and make a mental list of things to check before turning away.
Before I can ask for my laptop, I find it set up at the dining room table with a mouse and keyboard I’ve never seen before, a sticky note with his log in information to the security website on the screen, a brand of soda I haven’t had in years to the right, and a homemade muffin on a white saucer with blue designs to the left.
I plop into the seat, not realizing how shaky my legs are until I take the weight off them, and pop open the can of soda.
The fizz and caffeine work their magic, and I power on my laptop with renewed vigor.
A nibble on the muffin reveals a cinnamon and apple combination, and I finish the entire thing before I even log in to the website.
When the consumer side of the site proves too limiting, I open a new tab and access the employee side through less than legal means. After solving several simple issues, I dig a little deeper and roll my eyes at the overly complicated setup.
Deciding not to provide a service they won’t pay me for, I bypass the stupid and focus only on what will improve Sebastian’s experience.
When I finish, I close all tabs and lean back.
Exhaustion adds a thousand pounds to my head. I sigh and lift the can of soda to my lips.
“Is it that terrible?” Sebastian asks from behind me.
I startle and choke.
A dissonant chime sounds from my laptop.
Panic rips through me as a bubble pops up with a bright red warning label and a preview of my hater’s email.
Still choking, I spill the rest of the soda down my front and into my lap as I scramble to close the pop up. Sebastian reaches into my lap and grabs the soda can. His head blocks my view of my screen, but I click the mouse over and over in hopes of hitting the little x in the corner.
When he wraps thick fingers around my wrist, my stomach sinks with dread.
“Someone’s threatening you?” he growls.
Fiddlesticks.
“It’s anonymous and completely harmless. I’m just gathering evidence to send to the cops if it escalates,” I lie.
He swivels his head and meets my eyes. Bent at the waist with the empty can in one hand and my wrist in the other, he’s so close I could count the hairs in his eyebrows if I weren’t so mesmerized by the intensity of his chocolatey irises.
“I may be an idiot when it comes to technology, but I’m not illiterate. His location is pinned in the bottom left corner. You’re tracking him.”
“Why do you assume it’s a man? It could be a woman.”
“You have him labeled as jerkface hater dude.”
I internally curse my own stupidity and search for a plausible excuse, but my brain refuses.
After a moment, Sebastian sighs and rises to his full height.
I squeak when he pulls me up by my wrist and tugs me along after him.
He doesn’t give me a chance to say no, but he also shortens his stride and keeps his grip on my forearm loose.