Page 157 of Please Open Me
When he pulled away, he kissed her cheek again and reached for the bowl to serve her, but Mason didn’t sit and take it.
Instead, her face twisted in anger before going flat. Tears gathered along her lash line as she stood up, threw her napkin on her plate, and stormed off.
And, I should have given her space. But that wasn’t how I worked. So I passed Rosie to her dad before chasing after her.
I was always kind of shocked by how agile Mason was. Honestly, it shouldn’t have been surprising, seeing as she worked out five days a week and was no stranger to running, but still. Someone under five feet tall had no reason to be faster than me. As she darted up the steps, I was so far behind her I could only guess where she’d vanished to.
Luckily, I knew Mason well.
She was in a strange place and, more often than not, was on the verge of a meltdown. She’d want somewhere soft, warm, and quiet to calm down. And, like a scared animal, she always clung to familiar scents and people.
And, according to her, I was her safe place.
So I didn’t bother searching the guest rooms or even the library I’d had built years ago with her in mind. I went straight to my room. Inside, the air smelled faintly like my cologne, and there was a small lump in the center of the bed, one swallowed by my rumpled comforter.
Quietly, I shut the door behind me and leaned against it for a second, watching her. The covers only covered about half of her head, leaving her hair to stick out. I had no idea what exactly caused Mason to run, but it saddened me that she felt like she had to.
“Princess, I don’t like that you ran from me,” I said calmly, trying to make this sound as nonthreatening as possible.
The comforter shifted. A muffled sniff told me she was still fighting tears.
“I wasn’t running from you,” she argued. “I just… I don’t need to be babied, that’s all.”
I exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to laugh. Mason needed to be babied more than anyone else on this planet. She’d been abused, physically and mentally, and tackled everything life threw at her with a smile. But telling her that would only make everything worse.
So, I bit my tongue before walking toward the bed and sinking beside her. The mattress dipped under my weight, and I leaned back, resting an arm under my head.
“I think I hate Lucian,” she confessed.
My brows arched.
Drugs were more unforgivable than murder in her eyes. Got it.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, fully prepared to tell her that he washerhusband, so divorce was the only option.
Well, that or therapy. Either way, Lucian was going to fight like hell.
“No,” Mason replied sadly.
“Can I talk, then?”
The blanket shifted. A faint hum, almost likeyes.
I rolled onto my side, facing her lump of a body. “My birthday’s in four days.”
Nothing from her except a faint rustle. I took that as she was listening.
“I’ll be twenty-four, which is older than I ever thought I’d get.” For years, I assumed either Alex would kill me, or I’d get the balls to do it myself.
But I hadn’t. And, I’d honestly consider my life right nowgood. It was the type of life I never wanted but somehow desperately needed.
Mason’s hand shot out from under the blanket, and I took it in mine before kissing her fingers.
“And… I’ve been thinking about what I want.” My heart felt uncomfortably light.
Mason couldn’t tell me no with what I was about to ask for. It wasn’t possible. Well, mostly it wasn’t.
“I want to stay in Portland, no more Hartwood.” No more cults. No more backwoods mentalities.
