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“Princess, that doesn’t sound stupid at all.”
“It will when I tell you what I wanted help with.”
My chest tightens and worry builds inside of me. What the hell could she need help with? If it’s leaving, she can forget it. I’m not letting her go anywhere, not now that she’s officially mine. Fuck, I hope it’s not help with classes. Izzy would probably say yes, but Gulliver will lose his mind. We’ll be at the marina in a matter of minutes, but I can’t wait that long. “What did you need help with?”
Turning to look at her, I’m struck by how fucking beautiful she is. Before, she was gorgeous in a polished, classy way, but with the new hair and edgier makeup, combined with the post-sex rumpled look, she’s fucking stunning, and for the first time when I look at her, I don’t have a single doubt that she is meant to be mine.
“Princess,” I prompt. “What did you need help with?”
When her lips part, she says a single word. “Revenge.”
22
PENELOPE
I can tell I’ve shocked him. Honestly, I’ve shocked myself. I’m not sure what he was expecting me to say, but clearly, he wasn’t anticipating me verbalizing all the garbled angry thoughts that have been swirling around inside of me for the last two days into one single word. Revenge.
Parting his lips, he starts to speak, but before any words come out, he turns into the marina parking lot and slows to a stop. Unclipping his seat belt, he turns to face me, his brow furrowed in consternation. “Revenge?” he asks.
Gulliver’s huge SUV pulls up beside us, and our chance to talk privately is lost in a flurry of doors opening and people converging toward the boat. Sighing, Hawthorn climbs out of the driver’s seat and circles around to my side. I’m not sure if he intended to open my door, but I’m already standing beside the car, the door closed behind me. Taking my hand, he leads me up the gangplank and into the boat, while the rest of the group files in behind us.
Kicking off my shoes, I sit down in the armchair and curl my legs up beneath me, wishing I’d never asked to speak to everyone in the first place. A quiet one-on-one chat with Izzy would have been much easier than having to face this group of friends.
My plan this morning was to confidently assuage the school gossip by acting like a badass, then speak to my sister and ask if she and the others would be willing to meet with me. I thought I’d have the rest of the day to psych myself up to talk to them all. Only instead of things going like I’d anticipated, Hawthorn was there, and all my badass melted into a puddle of want and lust and need for him.
Instead of strutting away in my short skirt with my sexy new hair flowing behind me, I ended up jumping into Hawthorn’s arms and telling the whole school I was sleeping with him.
It takes me a few minutes to realize that the room is silent, and when I look up, five sets of eyes are all staring at me expectantly. I am not a stranger to groups of people looking at me. I’ve been paraded in front of rooms full of eligible bachelors like I was cattle at the market almost daily for years. But this feels completely different. I’m not playing the role of innocent heiress, and I have nothing anyone here wants—except Hawthorn, who just wants me.
When I catch his eye across the room, he must see the panic in my expression because he marches over to me, picks me up out of the chair, and sits back down with me in his lap.
“Penelope and I fucked to break the will,” he announces calmly. “I like her, she likes me, and now we’re together. Anyone got a problem with that?” he asks boldly, looking between his friends and waiting for them to say something.
Turning, I glare at Hawthorn, but he just shrugs at me completely unapologetic.
“But she’s a bitch, she’s the enemy,” Davis hisses angrily.
A part of me wants to sink into the seat and let the cushions smother me, because he’s right, I am the enemy. “You’re right,” I say.
“No, he’s not,” Hawthorn argues.
“He is, though. I’m an awful person. Some of the things I’ve done?—”
“Stop!” my sister shouts, interrupting me and garnering everyone’s attention. “Penelope, you don’t have to explain yourself to him or anyone else. You saved me, you saved both of us, and as far as I’m concerned, we’re good, you’re my twin,” she says imploringly.
Ignoring everyone else, I lean forward in Hawthorn’s lap and focus on my sister. “I’m so sorry, Izabella. I don’t think I’ve actually told you how sorry I am. But I am. I’m so, so sorry for how I treated you. It’s not an excuse, but our entire life, I was so jealous of you. You were smarter, nicer, and prettier. Mom and Dad were rarely home, but when they were, Mom would gush over how much everyone loved you and how they always talked about how special your eyes were. Then Great-Grandfather died, and he named me in his will, and suddenly they were interested in me. For the first time ever, I was important,” I tell her, tears filling my eyes.
Scoffing self-deprecatingly, I shake my head. “I know it’s pathetic, but I really wanted to be important to them. Overnight, I went from being the boring, stupid, ugly twin to being special, and I loved it. Suddenly, Mom and Dad said they weren’t going to travel anymore. They said I needed them to help me, and they started lavishing all this attention on me. The more compliant I was and the more I did as they said, the more attentive they were. I know it sounds like a lie, but after a while, I started believing everything they said. I believed them when they said it was okay to do things I knew were wrong. I believed them when they said we all had our roles—that mine was to be the perfect little virgin, to woo everyone on the list until they picked a husband for me, and that yours was to pick up my slack and be me when I couldn’t. I lost myself to the bullshit lies they told me because I was so desperate to be loved by them, and it wasn’t until that day, when they attacked you, that I woke up and saw how toxic our relationship with them was?—”
“It’s okay,” Izabella says, cutting me off.
“No, it’s not,” I protest.
“It is,” she whispers. “Because I think I would have done the same if I’d been the one named in that will,” she admits, getting up from her chair and moving toward me.
Compelled, I stand too, meeting her in the middle of the room. “No, you wouldn’t,” I say, accepting the hug she offers me, carefully wrapping my arms around her, and taking the comfort she’s giving me, even though I don’t deserve it.
“Penelope is going to move in here with me,” Hawthorn announces, his posture relaxed as he lounges in the chair I just vacated.
