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“Is… there anything I can do to help?” I ask her.
“No,” she says. “I don’t need your help.”
It’s almost pointed, the way she says that, and the pain in my chest just gets worse.
I look around the kitchen, trying to find something I can do for her. Anything to get her to look at me, to stop talking like she’s annoyed I’m here rather than happy to see me.
“I could wash dishes for you,” I finally suggest. “Or work on something in the main room. Anything you need.” It sounds almost desperate, and I guess that echoes how I feel right now.
Penelope puts a bowl down with a sharp tap, and looks up at me with eyes that are blazing. “You don’t have to do this,” she says.
“Do… what?”
“This! This whole… performative… thing! I know you don’t actually care about me, so you don’t have to pretend like you do. You can go back to the office, and I’ll be fine on my own.”
Her words hit me hard—like physical blows, and I blink at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”
Her face crumples with pain, and she averts her eyes, staring down into her butter and cinnamon sugar mixture. “I know younever wanted this fake marriage, and I know that this whole thing—the way I feel—is my fault for going and catching feelings for you anyway. I know I’m stupid for letting that happen when you said up front how things were going to be.” She laughs dryly, and there’s more pain in it than humor. “It’s probably for the best if we just avoid each other from now on, don’t you think? I can stay out of your way, so you don’t have to be bothered with me, and then I don’t have to get my heart broken being reminded that you don’t…”
There’s a storm of emotions churning inside me, my mind racing. I can’t stand the thought of avoiding her on purpose. It was already hard enough to handle being in the office without her there, and I can’t imagine how bad it would be if I just never saw her.
Everything in me is demanding that I fix this, so I take a breath and try.
“Do you really believe I don’t care about you?” I ask her.
“I know you don’t,” she says quietly, still not looking at me. “I don’t blame you for it. I know why. You’re still hung up on someone else. The Beta that you loved.”
The truth of her words stop me in my tracks, and the old ache from that wound flares up all over again.
“I’m not mad at you for it,” Penelope continues. “I get it, I really do. You loved her, and she’s gone, and that has to be really hard. But the thing is… I can’t keep hurting myself by being around you like this, hoping that one day you’ll actually care.”
I stand there silently, unable to find the right words. My heart feels like it’s being squeezed, both from the reminders of what I lost and the fact that Penelope has been in so much pain about all this.
Finally, she looks up at me, and her eyes soften ever so slightly. “Can I just have one thing before we go our separate ways?”
“What is it?” I ask, speaking for what feels like the first time in a while.
“Can I just have a kiss? A real one? Just one. I wants to know what it would feel like if it were real between us, you know?”
She looks nervous about asking, and that combined with the request snaps something inside me. The words come tumbling out before I can even consider them, and I just let it happen.
“You don’t think this is real?” I ask. “You don’t think I have real feelings for you?” Penelope opens her mouth, but I barrel on before she can say anything. “I’ve been trying to keep my distance. Trying to keep my walls up because I know how badly it hurts when something or someone you care for is ripped away. But I am so fucking tired of pretending I don’t think about you every second of every day, angel.” The nickname rolls off my tongue, as if my body physically can’t hold it back any longer. “I’m tired of pretending that I don’t know every line and curve of your face, every nuance of your scent. I can’t fucking breathe without you, and I don’t know what to do with that.”
Her beautiful mismatched eyes are very wide as she takes that in, shock clear on her face. “I… Mr. Blackwell?—”
“Stop it,” I snap, cutting her off. “I hate hearing you call me that.” My voice is raspy with emotion as I hold her gaze. “Call me by my name. My first name.”
Her mouth moves and she licks her lips, hesitating. “Tristan,” she whispers faintly.
It sounds so good from her mouth, and it hits me right in the chest, all the emotion and feeling I’ve been holding back finally overflowing.
I cross the kitchen in two strides and reach for her, pulling her flush against me before lowering my mouth to meet hers in a deep kiss.
Chapter 34
Penelope
The kiss stuns me, freezing me up for a second. When I asked Tristan for a last kiss, this is not what I was expecting. I thought he’d go for something chaste, a brush of lips that he could pull away from quickly and still stay he’d fulfilled my request.