Wishing Well(23)
Inclining my head, I said, “You’ve had your first taste. You’ll see her again in three months. I fully expect you’ll be unpleasantly surprised to discover that you owe me a year’s profits from The Castle. Be sure to ice your cheek. We wouldn’t want it to swell.”
I had to make a concerted effort to erase my smile when I stepped back inside the hotel, had to feign continued anger when I entered my office to find Penelope in her seat, her arms wrapped around her body as she softly cried.
Kneeling in front of her, I rested a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? For all the years I’ve known Barron, he’s never acted that way before. I wouldn’t have left him alone with you if I’d known.”
Swiping at a tear, she sniffled. “It’s okay. It’s not the first time some asshole thought he could treat me that way. Being homeless tends to make people believe you’re less than human.”
“I told him he’s no longer welcome in Wishing Well. If you see him or if he ever bothers you again, be sure to let me know. I won’t tolerate a man treating any woman that way.”
Reaching up, I brushed my thumb over a tear that slipped along her jaw, and for the first time since I’d met her, Penelope didn’t immediately pull away from my touch.
It was apparent I was on the path of earning her trust, on the path of teaching her why I was the last man she should have let close to her.
“Why don’t you wash your face in my adjacent bathroom, and then I’ll take you on a tour of the hotel and surrounding gardens before you start your shift? It’ll give you time to collect yourself before returning to Theresa.”
Flashing me a small smile, Penelope nodded her head and stood to walk to the bathroom. Before stepping through the door, she turned back to me. “Hey, Vincent,” she practically whispered.
My eyes locked with hers, but I said nothing.
“Thank you,” she breathed out, “for everything.”
“It’s been my pleasure.”
She quietly closed the door of the bathroom, and I stood in place knowing full well that in three months, she wouldn’t be thanking me any longer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The bright sun fought to warm the breeze that blew through the gardens of the hotel, Penelope’s hair a waterfall of soft waves that revealed notes of red within the brown, gold hints that matched her eyes where they caught the brilliant light. Strolling beneath a sky that was a breathtaking stretch of clear blue, I folded my hands together behind my back while allowing her to silently discover the different seating areas and fountains, the secretive spaces that allowed privacy to those who desired to be outside but not in plain view.
“The gardens are beautiful, Vincent. Did you design them?”
Smiling, I answered, “I wish I could take credit, but I’m afraid I don’t have a green thumb. I hired professionals to create and tend the gardens, showing them pictures from my former home, hoping the climate was right to recreate what I remembered from my childhood.”
Her eyes met mine, the sunlight glimmering against the brown, teasing me with what those eyes would look like when filled with passion, with lust, with devotion. “You grew up in a place like this? Was it this peaceful?”
Not always, I thought as I remembered back to my family, to the problems I’d had at home growing up, to my mother’s death, to the problems that followed. Choosing to keep those secrets to myself, I decided on a far simpler answer. “Yes. Paris, like many cities, is a busy place full of people, activity, noise. But there are places where one can get away, private havens like the home where I was raised.”
“It must have been nice,” she mused, her eyes brightening when she saw the well set in the center of the gardens, the feature from which the hotel had gained its name. “Is that real?” Her gaze tipped up to me, “an actual well?”
Nodding, I mentioned, “It’s only ten feet deep, the city wouldn’t allow it to be dug any lower, and it’s supplied by city water rather than a natural aquifer or spring, but it’s as close as I could have it. We had a well just like it on a farm my family owned. I used to toss coins inside much to my mother’s dismay. She would always tell me that the well was intended as a water source for drinking, and that I shouldn’t pollute it, but how else was I supposed to make a wish?”
Her laughter was snatched away by the wind, the current of air as greedy for a part of her as I was. “What would you wish for?” she asked as she moved on hurried steps to the well, peering down once she reached it to see the myriad of glimmering coins other guests had tossed inside. I crept up to stand beside her, my eyes locked on her profile as she watched the dancing display of light over water. There was something far too innocent about this girl despite the time she’d spent on her own. Something so simple and youthful that it wouldn’t be difficult to grasp it with skilled hands and rearrange it to suit what I wanted.
“I wished to control my life. To own everything I could ever imagine. To have the world at my fingertips and an existence that was never boring.”
Glancing up, she grinned. “Looks like your wish came true.”
“Not entirely,” I answered, studying her. “There is still one area that has yet to come true. Perhaps I could toss you in the well and make that final wish happen.”