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Huffing, I stand up and face him. “Putting up the tent,” I deadpan. Obviously.
Everyone laughs. Like, hysterically. I stand, hands on my hips, waiting to be let in on the joke. “We don’t put up our own tents.” Dante is the first to stop laughing. “We have people for that.”
“So, in other words, you can’t put up a tent,” I sass. He shakes his head. “Expected,” I reply, turning to look at everyone else just sitting around. When my eyes meet Branson’s, I sigh. “Not even you?” I ask.
“No,” he replies. I sigh again, shaking my head. “Very disappointing. That made your hot meter go down by at least seven points. You’re a solid three now. Still impressive.” I wink. His eyes narrow at me, jaw setting.
While everyone waits on the crew to show up, I drop back down, working on our tent. It takes me around twenty minutes to get it done. Everyone is watching me like I’m a circus animal. And to them, I am. They grew up spoiled and rich. Never went to bed hungry. Never had to tape up a pair of shoes that were too small to begin with. Never had holes in their shirts that wasn’t some form of fashion trend.
I’m not judging. Really, I’m not. I’m sure being rich has its problems.
Once I am finished, Branson refuses to make eye contact with me. Or let me help bring in the bags, for that matter. I had probably made him feel like less of a man, but he should be grateful, because while everyone else is still waiting for theirs to be done, we can blow up our air mattresses and settle in. The air mattress thing is new to me, but Kalisha explains there are blowers for them in the car. I’ve heard of those things, but anytime I had gone camping we slept on the ground. Of course, what could you expect at an orphanage's summer camp?
Being in a group home or an orphanage was my favorite. Because there, I knew I could sleep peacefully. I knew I was going to get fed. I knew that I was going to be able to shower.
Foster homes were different. I had to sleep with one eye open and a sharp object under my pillow.
Sometimes I had to do certain acts so I could be fed.
Acts no girl should ever have to do.
Sexual, mental, and physical abuse were very real.
You could be rich or poor. Every color of the rainbow, it didn’t matter. Sick people were everywhere. And when they had their sights set on you…
My thoughts break off when Branson brings a king-size mattress in.
“Do you need me to go grab the other?” I ask carefully. I don’t want to wound his ego again.
“Nah, this is it.” He sets it down in the middle of the tent before pushing it up against one of the walls.
I laugh awkwardly. So, we’d be sharing. Not that we haven’t before, but I would hopefully be sober this time.
We start making our bed. Putting all the covers and pillows on it. Apparently, it gets cold at night here.
“Here,” Branson says, pulling out an extremely soft white and gray leopard print blanket. “I got this for you.”
My heart swells and my eyes glisten. “You got me this?” I ask softly, my hands running through the fur.
His eyebrow arches. “It’s a blanket, Darling. Not a Bugatti.”
It is so much more. No one had ever bought me anything. Ever.
I want to hug him, so I jump on him, my arms wrapping around his waist as my head snuggles into his chest. “Thank you,” I whisper into his shirt. He returns the hug, crushing me to his body.
“You’re being kind of weird.”
Easing back from him, I wipe under my eyes, looking at my shoes. “It’s just that… no one’s ever bought me anything before.”
He’s silent. I can feel his eyes studying me.
He walks over to me, brushing a tear off my cheek and giving me a gentle kiss. No words are needed. He lets me know that even if he doesn’t understand, he gets it. He understands me.And that’s all I can ask for.
Chapter 8
@RayneMarshall: “Everyone has secrets. The question is, do you want them to know yours?”
Rayne
