THIRTY-TWO ROWAN

THIRTY-TWO

Rowan

I LET my hands fall away from her face at her question, my brain scrambling to come up with a lie. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I’ve been honest with you from the very start. I told you things I’ve never told anyone and you didn’t judge me for it. Well, you sort of judge me for Bentley, but I think that’s only because you’re jealous, which isn’t a good look for you, Rowan. There is nothing to be jealous of there. He’s not worth your anger.”

She’s right. I’m jealous of any guy who’s touched her before. I want her all to myself. I realized that when I watched her talk with August, who doesn’t give anyone the time of day. But he talked to my Bells and I didn’t like it.

Fuck that guy. He needs to stay away from her. I don’t care what Arabella says. He’s not harmless. He’s a shark swimming in shallow waters looking for his next meal, and Bells is a tasty treat.

“How many girls, hmm? If the number is huge, that’s okay.” Her expression turns serious, her eyes still glassy from crying.

She’s beautiful. She’s all mine and I don’t know why I’m so fucking stressed out over my answer but here I am, dodging it for as long as I can. “Every one of those girls has made you who you are today. Didn’t Taylor Swift sing a song about that? What am I saying, she totally did. And I always thought it was unbelievable how she felt that way, but I can relate. I really can because those girls who loved you before made you into this version of yourself, and I like who you are, Row. I really do—”

“You’re rambling, Bells.” I drop a kiss to her lips, silencing her completely and she falls into me, her arms winding around my neck, her soft body pressed against my hard one. I love the shape of her, the way we fit perfectly together but she pulls away before I can deepen the kiss, extracting herself from my arms.

“Stop trying to distract me with your lips and just tell me.” She steps closer again, resting her hands on my chest. “Please.”

Tipping my head down, I press my forehead to hers, my heart hammering in my throat when I whisper, “Zero.”

Her brows crinkle. She’s silent for what feels like a million hours but is probably at the most fifteen seconds. “What?”

Of course, Bells would force me to repeat this. “My answer is zero.”

She takes a step backward, her confusion obvious. “You’ve never been with … anyone ?”

“Well, I have. I’ve messed around with a couple of girls. Nothing too serious.” I think of the girl who broke my heart when I was a sophomore. Again, I refuse to think of her name—it doesn’t deserve to take up space in my brain. But how she led me on only to get with someone else, fucking broke me a little.

Does that make me weak? Maybe, but I swore I would toughen up instead and never let another girl get under my skin like she did. Until now.

Until Arabella.

“I don’t understand.” She shakes her head.

“I haven’t had sex with anyone else,” I admit, my voice so damn low I can barely hear it. “I’ve never gone down on another girl either. Just you.”

She blinks, her jaw working, like she wants to say something but can’t come up with the words. Great. She’s probably going to reject me. Fucking Bentley Saffron Jones has more experience than I do, and that guy looks like an asshole. I know this because I googled the prick and can’t believe what a wimp he is. And my Bells had sex with that guy. Five fucking times.

I don’t know if I’ll ever fully get over it.

“Well.” She clears her throat, squaring her shoulders. “You’re really good at it, Rowan. Your instincts are on point.”

It’s my turn to not know what to say. How do I reply to that? Gee, thanks? Though I can’t deny what she said is reassuring. I’m not a complete failure, though I already figured that out considering the way she comes every time I put my mouth on her.

“You’ve really never been with anyone else?” She rests her hands on my chest again, smoothing them up and down, and my body instantly reacts. Doesn’t matter if we’re arguing or I’m embarrassed or she’s pissed, my dick jumps to life every time she puts her hands on me.

“Is it that big of a deal?”

“I suppose not.” Her smile is small. “I’m your first.”

“We haven’t even done it yet.” I touch the side of her head, threading my fingers through her soft hair.

“We will,” she says with complete confidence. “You keep promising me that it’s happening tomorrow. Like your dick is my birthday present.”

I laugh. She says the most ridiculous things sometimes. “Maybe it is.”

“That’s not a bad present.” Her laughter fades. “My only regret is that you weren’t my first. I wish I would’ve saved myself instead of giving it away so easily.”

“Your reasoning made sense. Don’t have any regrets, Bells. You doing what you’ve done made you who you are right now.” I tug on her, pulling her closer. Repeating the words she said to me. “And I like who you are.”

“Oh, Rowan.” She throws herself at me and I catch her, staggering a little from the unexpected force of her body, bumping into the wall. “I’m sorry I got mad at you.”

“You haven’t acted right all day,” I point out, gathering her closer. Burying my face in her hair. “Are you feeling better?”

“No.” Her answer is muffled against my chest and I slip my hand beneath her chin, forcing her to look at me.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” I demand.

She glances around the corridor, then takes my hand and leads me into her bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind us. “Sit.” She points at the bed.

I do as she says, settling on the edge of the mattress, hating how uneasy I feel. This is probably nothing, though I’m sure I’m also in denial. It’s not like her to act so down and out. She’s cheerful all the time, even when she feels like her world is crumbling.

Arabella starts pacing in front of me, not speaking a damn word, and I finally can’t take it anymore.

“Just say it,” I demand, my voice sharp.

She comes to an abrupt stop directly in front of me, throwing her hands up in the air. “I’m taking that apprenticeship. In Paris.”

I absorb her words, letting them soak in, fighting my automatic reaction to growl, “Hell no, you’re not.” That would be selfish of me, and while I can admit I’m a selfish person, I refuse to shit on her dreams. My father wouldn’t do that to Mom, and I won’t do that to Arabella.

That I’m even comparing my relationship with Bells to my parents is just … fucking mind-blowing.

“Okay.” I say the word slowly.

“My mother convinced me that I can’t pass up this opportunity.”

“I agree. Your mother is right.”

She appears taken aback by what I said, but forges on. “The position starts in January, so I won’t return to school after winter break.”

I can’t imagine what Lancaster Prep will be like without Arabella there. She’s in every single one of my classes. I wait for her out front every morning, eager to catch a glimpse of her, wanting to see what crazy outfit she’s wearing. I’ll miss that.

I’ll miss her.

“My mother said she wants to spend Christmas in Paris.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “So right after finals, I’ll be leaving for France, and I’ll meet my parents there. We’re going to stay at The Ritz through the holidays.”

“That sounds nice,” I say to fill up the silence in the room after her confession.

“No, it doesn’t. It sounds dreadful. Christmas at a hotel? There will be no sparkling tree in our room. And we won’t be with family or listening to Christmas carols. Do you love Christmas songs, Row? I do. I start listening to them early. I’ve been listening to them every day while we’ve been here, mostly when I’m taking a shower.”

The last thing I want to listen to is a cheerful holiday song while I’m jacking off in the shower to thoughts of Arabella’s beautiful naked body, so yeah, no shower Christmas carols for me.

“But I don’t want to be the rotten only child who doesn’t want to spend Christmas with her family when I’d much, much rather spend it with … you.” She inhales sharply after her confession, the panicked look on her face telling me she can’t believe she just said that.

Rising to my feet, I take her hands and clutch them in my own. “This is a great opportunity for you, Arabella. I’m glad you’re doing it. I’ll miss you at Christmas, but I understand that your parents want to spend the holiday with you before you leave them.”

Leave them. That’s funny. More like they’re always leaving her.

“But I want to spend it with you,” she whispers, her hands trembling in my grip. “You probably think I’m silly, but I’ve already envisioned it. Your family is so close and I—I love it here. I don’t want to spend Christmas morning at a beautiful hotel. I mean, I’m sure it’ll be gorgeously decorated everywhere we go, and we’ll have a nice time, but that’s not what Christmas is about. I want to be surrounded by family, even if they’re not my own.”

The tears start again and fuck me, I hate seeing them. I hate her parents for making her cry and forcing her to spend Christmas with them when it’s obvious that’s not what she wants.

It’s not what I want either.

“I have to compromise for them every single time.” She’s crying for real now. “They forget all about me for the most part, but the moment my mother put in a good word for me and got me this apprenticeship? Now I’m supposed to be eternally grateful and eager to spend time with them in Paris. And I’ll do it. I’m the dutiful daughter who always does what she’s told, but I don’t want to be there. Not when I can be with you.”

I yank her into my arms and let her sob into my shoulder, running my hand over her hair, not saying a word because words won’t comfort her right now. She’s too upset and she’s allowed to be. I don’t know what it’s like to have shitty parents because I’m fortunate—mine are the best. But they try their hardest because they didn’t have great parents, and I guess I just lucked out to be born into a home full of love and a mom and dad who actually care about their kids and want the best for them.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur against her hair, though my words feel useless. “We’ll make the next few weeks the best we can.”

She slowly pulls away so she can stare into my eyes, hers red-rimmed and her face flushed. “We will?”

I nod, wiping away her tears again, soaking them up with my fingers. “What have we got? Three weeks?”

“If that.”

“And it’s your birthday tomorrow.”

Arabella nods. “I hate my birthday.”

“You won’t tomorrow. It’s going to be the best birthday you’ve ever had. I guarantee it.” I give her shoulders a little shake.

“You sound like a salesman.” Her smile is tiny, and I take the small victory, even if she did just insult me. “But I’ll trust you, Rowan.”

“Good.” I go still when she touches my face, her fingers drifting down my cheek. Tracing along my jaw.

“Thank you for trusting me,” she murmurs, and I lean my cheek into her palm. “With your honest answer earlier.”

It hits me that I do trust this girl. So damn much. I trust her with everything.

Including my heart.