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“Yeah, I do.”
“No, you don’t,” I argue. “I know you all seem to have jumped on the Penelope-isn’t-the-devil bandwagon, but you need to stop. I’m not nice and innocent and sweet like my sister is. I’m a bad person, and I’ve done truly awful things, and just because I did one thing that was sort of good, doesn’t negate all the shitty things I’ve done in the past.”
Nodding slowly, he assesses me, like he’s seeing me for the first time. “I can see how you and Hawthorn ended up together,” he says, shocking me with the change of subject.
“We’re not…” I start, and then swallow down my objections, because we are, kind of.
His familiar smile slips into place again. “I’m not going to be a dick anymore, okay? You’re one of us now. Hawthorn’s my brother, and you’re his girl, Izzy’s my sister, and you’re her twin, so you’re family too. We don’t have to be fucking besties or anything. But I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry for being a dick, and I’m going to stow my bullshit from now on, okay?”
Dumbfounded, I just nod, freezing to the spot when he pulls me in for a hug. Dropping a quick kiss to the top of my head, he takes my hand and drags me into class and to the back row of seats, glaring at the guy in the seat next to his until he picks up his stuff and moves.
The rest of the day is weird. At least one of the guys is in all of my classes, and just like Davis, they drag me to the back row, where they always sit, and make me sit next to them.
By the time the final bell rings, I haven’t spent a moment on my own all day, and honestly, I’m exhausted. All I want to do is go home, to my real home, and curl up under my comforter in my own bed. Only it’s not my home anymore, and considering how pissed my parents are, I’d lay money on the fact that the contents of my room have probably been thrown in the garbage by now.
A pang of homesickness washes through me, and sadness settles like a weight on my shoulders. I don’t miss my parents; they’ve never been a source of comfort for me. But I miss the simplicity of my old life. It was busy, controlled, and rigid, but at least I understood it. I understood my purpose and role in it.
This self-doubt and constant questioning of who I am and what I’m doing is starting to drive me crazy. I’m not really a whiny person, yet I feel like the biggest woe-is-me bitch ever right now. So my parents are borderline abusive, manipulative, and evil, whatever. We’re rich, powerful, and connected. Most people would put up with anything to live my life.
I sigh with relief when firm arms curl around my waist and pull me back into a hard chest as the scent of Hawthorn surrounds me. The realization that just this one innocuous touch is enough to instantly calm me is rattling, but I don’t fight it. Instead, I turn into him, burrowing my face against his chest and wrapping my arms around his back so I can cling to him.
Holding me tightly, he chuckles softly, nuzzling his lips against the top of my head. “Hey, Princess,” he coos.
“Can we go?” I ask, my face still pressed against his blazer.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just tired,” I tell him, not willing to admit that I’m more than ready to get away from his friends and my sister. If I could, I’d go back to the hotel, but I know if I suggest it, he’ll go all growly on me.
“You guys ready?” Hawthorn asks the others.
There’s a unanimous murmur of agreement, but I don’t pay any attention. Prying me off his chest, Hawthorn drapes his arm across my shoulders and leads me toward the front of the school and our limo.
After a full day at school, everyone has seen us all together, so we don’t wait around on the steps and head for the limo the moment it crawls to the front of the line.
“Dinner at ours?” Izzy suggests, and I have to hold in a groan.
“I should actually go get my stuff from the hotel,” I say. “If you can drop me off at the Haywood, I’ll grab a cab over to Gulliver’s afterward.”
Hawthorn stiffens, but I smile at him, trying to reassure him.
“I’ll go with you,” he says.
“You don’t need to come; I literally just have a handful of stuff. I’ll grab it, then pay my bill and come straight over to you,” I say, trying to sound casual.
His eyes narrow. “Penelope,” he says, his voice gravelly and full of warning.
“I’m more than capable of getting my handful of possessions on my own,” I hiss angrily, glaring at him and daring him to argue with me.
“Fine,” he snaps, his eyes narrowed into slits.
Fifteen minutes later, I watch the limo pull into traffic and exhale a slow, ragged breath. Walking across the lobby, I press the call button for the elevator, then ride it to the fourth floor. Sliding the key card into the lock, I turn the handle and step into the empty room. It feels like it’s been weeks since the last time I was here. So much has changed since I spent four days moping and trying to figure out if I should take a risk and ask for help.
The room is exactly how I left it. My makeup is spread out on the small dressing table, and my spare uniform and handful of clothes are hanging in the closet. The emptiness feels a little desolate, but I still drop my bag and key card onto the floor, flop down onto the bed, and sigh wearily. Inhaling slowly, I let my body melt into the comforter, the relief of being alone so overwhelming that tears well in my eyes. It’s not that I don’t want to be with Hawthorn, I do, it’s more that I’ve forgotten how tiring it is to pretend.
When I planned to ask my sister and her family for their help, I never imagined that I’d be living with Hawthorn, starting a business with the five of them, and suddenly spending all my time with this group of people who seem to think I’m one of them, all in the space of a couple of days.
I’m overwhelmed, and the urge to call my mom and have her take over is so tempting. Then I remember that she wouldn’t care if I dropped dead now that the money is gone.
