AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Until him, I thought boys were simple. My mom explained how to play with them, how to tease, how to coax, and how to lead them around with promises that I was never going to fulfill. But Hawthorn doesn’t react the way he should.
For years, I’ve been taught to act and behave a certain way. But when I do, he’s cold and disinterested. Then, when I feel at my weakest, in the moments that I’m too sad and pathetic and feeble to be the person I’m expected to be, he’s sweet and affectionate.
I don’t understand.
“When you’re acting like you think Penelope Rhodes ought to act, I call you Penelope. When you’re acting like the girl who gave me her virginity, the one I want to be around, the one I can’t keep away from, I call you Princess.”
He’s acting like I have a split personality or something, like I can control it.
Fitzy’s been asking me questions all through dinner, but I don’t know what answers they expect me to give. I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what I like, all I am is who I was told to be, but I can’t admit that.
“Right,” Fitzy announces, placing his silverware on his plate and pushing off his stool with a bright smile. “I didn’t know your exact measurements. Hawthorn said you were a size two, but having seen you, I think you might be closer to a zero, so some of the things I brought won’t fit, but how about we try some things on, and you can see if you like them?” he suggests.
“Okay, thank you.”
“I have a few more bits that I think might work in the car, I’ll just go grab them and the changing screen,” he says, striding through the boat and out onto the deck.
As soon as we’re alone, I feel the weight of Hawthorn’s gaze settle on me. He said he wants me to be Princess, but I don’t know who that is. Sometimes being near him is easy, but other times, like now, it’s hard because I don’t know what he expects of me. He likes to be in charge, and when I’m struggling to understand how to behave in this new reality I’ve found myself in, it’s a relief to allow him to take control. But I can’t allow myself to want and need him when he’s made it clear that he only likes the broken parts of me.
Sliding off my stool, I look around the small kitchen space. At home, we have staff who cook and clean, but this is a boat, and I haven’t seen anyone here other than him either time I’ve been here. “Thank you for dinner,” I say politely. “Do you have a dishwasher, or something?” I ask, feeling foolish.
“Have you ever used a dishwasher?” he asks, his lips quirking up into a smile.
“No, but?—”
“Come here.” He beckons me toward him.
Sighing I wrap my arms around my waist, feeling like I need to hold myself together. “Hawthorn?—”
“No,” he says decisively, cutting me off before I have a chance to speak. “I like you, Princess.”
“All of me, or just the broken parts?” I ask, shocking myself.
Reaching out, he snags my wrist, carefully pulling me off the stool and slowly reeling me toward him. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like you have to behave a certain way. But I realized something tonight. I realized that I like you when you’re disarmed. I like you when you’re not playing games and when you’re being real. I like your perfect, flawless body, and I like the way you melt beneath me. I like the way you instinctively sway toward me when I’m close and how soft and sweet you are when you let that hard, practiced shell dissolve. I like that you let me take charge and that you like it too. I realized that I don’t want or need anything from you, I just fucking like you, Penelope.”
“I—”
His lips press against mine before I can speak again, slowly moving his mouth against mine in a way that’s different from the others we’ve shared. This kiss isn’t about lust or want, it feels more indulgent, like he’s kissing me just because he likes me and he wants to, and I don’t ever want it to stop.
The noise of a throat being cleared shatters the moment, and I try to pull away from him, but he doesn’t let me. Holding me tightly, he kisses me for a moment longer before he slowly pulls his lips from mine, keeping me pressed against his chest as he turns his attention to Fitzy.
“You ready to pick some clothes?” Fitzy says, with a smirk.
“Sure,” I say with a nod, stepping away from Hawthorn the moment he releases me.
Fitzy sets up a large screen in the corner of the living room area and motions for me to step behind it. “Okay, I’m a pretty good judge of size, so I think these should fit,” he says, handing me a bra and panty set made of pale-blue satin, edged with soft lace, then stepping out to give me some privacy to change.
It’s not a color I’d normally wear, but once it’s on, I love the way it looks against my skin, and I’m amazed to find it fits perfectly.
“Okay, so since we spoke about dresses and that’s a comfortable staple in your current wardrobe, I thought we could start there,” Fitzy says from the other side of the screen a moment before a garment bag appears.
Taking it from him, I unzip it and pull out a deep emerald green dress. Removing it from the hanger, I slip it over my head, smoothing the fabric down my body. The dress is fitted around my torso, with capped sleeves and an A-line style that flares slightly from the waist with a triangular cut-out section that reveals a small glimpse of the skin between my breasts and stomach. It’s exactly something my mom would choose.
“How does it fit?” he asks.
“It fits perfectly,” I say, and it does.
“Can I see?” he questions.
