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Ever the professional, Beth quickly neutralizes her expression, offering me a polite nod of acknowledgment as Gulliver ushers me inside and back up to the bedroom I stayed in on Friday night.
“This can be your room, unless you don’t like it, in which case there are several others you can pick from if you’d prefer,” Gulliver says, his voice gruff, yet weirdly accommodating.
“This room’s beautiful, thank you,” I say, moving past him and into the familiar space. My brow furrows when I spot several Van De Burg garment bags hanging on the closet door.
“Are these yours?” I ask, pointing to the bags.
“No, they’re yours, they’re the clothes you picked on Saturday morning. I had Fitzy bring them back here instead of sending them to your parents’ after you left,” he admits a little sheepishly.
“Why?”
“You weren’t answering your phone. I figured if the clothes were here, you’d have to come here and get them,” he says with a rakish grin.
“You were going to hold my new leather jacket hostage?” I ask, arching a brow at him.
“I don’t like to be ignored.” Shrugging, he closes the distance between us and slowly lifts his hand to cup my bruised cheek. “I’m so fucking sorry this happened. I won’t ever let them hurt you again,” he says, but it’s more than just words, the look in his eyes says it’s a vow, and I shiver at the intensity of his promise.
“I don’t need you to protect me.”
“But maybe I need to protect you,” he whispers, leaning down and pressing a featherlight kiss against my lips. “Come down when you’re ready, I’ll ask Beth to make us all something to eat.”
I nod, and he turns and walks away. My skin prickles once I’m alone, and I glance down at my perfectly tailored black jeans and pale pink cashmere jumper. I hate this outfit. In fact, I hate most of the clothes packed in my case because they’re things my mom picked for me so I could look like my sister in case anyone thought I was her when I was out of the house.
“Can I help you unpack, Miss Rhodes?” Beth asks, appearing in the doorway.
“Do you have a trash bag?”
Her brows pull up in question, but she nods. “Of course, let me go and fetch one for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, turning away from her and dragging my case up onto the bed. Unzipping it, I pull out each item of clothing, flinging everything that’s Penelope’s style to the floor and placing the few items that I actually chose for myself onto the bed.
Beth knocks gently on the still-open door a few minutes later, and I turn and move toward her. “Thank you,” I say, reaching out to take the trash bag from her. “Do you know of a donation center or a charity or anywhere that could make use of these clothes?”
Her eyes widen slightly, and she steps into the room. “These ones?” she asks, pointing to the pile of designer clothes on the floor.
“Yes, it seems wasteful to throw them away. I’d rather someone else use them if they can,” I say, shaking out the trash bag and then folding each item and placing it inside.
“There’s a woman’s shelter about thirty minutes from here. They’re always looking for donations. But there are thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes here. Are you sure you don’t want any of them?” she asks, her eyes a little wide like I’ve lost my mind.
“I’m positive.” I nod. “I know you’re trying really hard not to look at the state of my face, and I appreciate that more than you know. But these clothes, and the person I was forced to be when I wore them, aren’t me. I won’t pretend anymore, so I have no need for any of this stuff,” I tell her, still carefully placing skirts and shirts into the bag. “I’m never going back,” I whisper.
Beth’s nod is full of understanding as she moves and picks up a shirt off the floor, folding it and passing it to me. “How about I run these things over to the shelter once I’ve made you all some lunch? I’m sure they’ll appreciate them.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, not speaking again as we work side by side, placing all of my Penelope-approved wardrobe into the trash bag.
“Hey, is everything okay?” Gulliver asks, strolling into my room and glancing from me to Beth to the huge trash bag.
He’s changed out of his school uniform and into baggy sweats and a muscle vest. For the first time, I can clearly see his tattoo, and my eyes run over the ink on his skin, taking in every detail. It’s a huge bird, drawn in black and white, its wings spread wide and soaring over a setting sun. The artwork is exquisite, and the tattoo I’d been so intrigued about when I’d seen it peeking out of his collar is actually the tip of the bird’s wing.
“Izzy,” Gulliver calls, pulling me from my daze and making me drag my eyes away from his huge, toned arms and chest.
“Er, oh, what?” I say, clearing my throat.
“I asked if everything was okay?” he asks with a smirk that says he knows I was ogling him.
“Oh, yeah, fine. I’m just getting rid of the stuff that’s from my Penelope Appreciation Society wardrobe. Beth offered to run it over to a woman’s shelter that’s not too far from here.”
“Oh, okay, are you coming downstairs?”
