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He doesn’t care that I look a mess, he doesn’t care that I’m hungover and probably smell like stale pizza. He doesn’t care that I ate so much last night that my mom probably felt the disturbance in the universe and is already itching to make me purge it all from my body. He doesn’t care that I’m not perfect, in fact, I think he likes me because I’m not.
Padding over to me, he fists the hem of the shirt and tugs it up and over my head, leaving me naked, my body unashamedly on display for him. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, lifting me off the counter and carrying me into the shower.
“Turn around,” he quietly orders the moment he lowers me to my feet.
I do as I’m told, closing my eyes and luxuriating in the feeling of being cared for. Hawthorn washes my body, coating me in a rich soapy lather, then massages shampoo into my hair. Once we’re clean, he wraps me in a huge fluffy towel and dries my skin, he even brushes my teeth for me. When he’s done, he takes my hand and leads me back into the bedroom.
Sighing, I sit down on the edge of the bed, and he sinks to his knees on the floor in front of me. “Feel better?”
“Much,” I whisper, leaning forward to press a kiss against his lips. “Thank you.”
Pulling back, he cups my cheek in his palm. “Are you ready to deal with your parents?”
“Not really, but I will,” I assure him, trying to sound strong and in control, when really my stomach lurches with just the thought of them being here again. “I’m worried,” I admit, so quietly I can barely hear myself.
“What about?”
“That I’ll lose myself when they’re here. That her voice will become the loudest thing in my head again,” I say on a broken sob, as emotion I hadn’t realized was so close to the surface breaks free.
“We won’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen,” he tells me, the dominant tone of his voice a promise, an order.
Nodding, I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in the crook of his shoulder, letting him carry some of my fear as he holds me close, like he never plans to let me go.
Instead of wearing anything from my own closet, Izzy lends me a pair of jeans and a tank from the bag of stuff she brought with her. There are plenty of my own clothes here, but I can’t bring myself to wear anything my mom picked out for me.
“You look hot in my clothes,” she says when I walk into the kitchen.
“Thank you for lending them to me, my wardrobe is all Mom-approved, and I…” I start to explain.
“I totally get it, I donated all of the stuff she forced me to wear to a women’s refuge the moment I moved in with Gulliver,” she says with a shrug.
“How are you so bright and cheery?” I ask, taking in how fresh and happy she looks.
“I switched to water after the second bottle of champagne, I can’t stand the stuff, no matter how good a bottle it is.” She smiles.
“Urgh,” I groan. “Why didn’t I do that?”
“You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten,” Hawthorn says, sliding his arms around my waist from behind.
“Shall we go for breakfast? I’m ready to get out of here, the whole house reeks.” Izzy giggles.
“Do you want to come back to The Escape? We could get out on the water.” Hawthorn asks.
“Yes,” Davis says, lifting his head from where he was sleeping with his cheek resting on the table only moments ago.
“That sounds like fun,” Izzy says, placing her coffee cup in the sink, then hoisting herself up to sit on the counter, just as Gulliver and a bleary-eyed-looking Kip walk into the room.
“We need to get out of here soon,” Gulliver says, searching out my sister, then making a beeline straight for her, pushing his way between her legs, like he needs to be as close to her as possible.
“We’re taking The Escape out,” Hawthorn says.
“Sweet, we’ll drop our stuff off at home, then see you at yours in an hour,” Gulliver says, nuzzling into my sister’s neck and making her giggle.
We leave as a group, closing the front door behind us before climbing into our cars that are still parked out front. A handful of photographers are stationed at the end of the drive, but we ignore them all as we open the gates and move in a convoy away from the house.
I don’t bother to look back, even though I know it’s doubtful I’ll ever set foot inside our parents’ home again, and a feeling of peace settles over me. Home isn’t a house anymore, it’s where I’m safe and loved, it’s where I’m surrounded by friends and family, ones who actually care about me. Home is where Hawthorn is, so instead of glancing back at what I’m leaving behind, I turn and look at the boy beside me, the one who wants me, who I think loves me in spite of everything I used to be.
* * *
