Page 103 of Hawthorne

“See? I told you so!”

Rachel intertwines our arms together just as we’re about to reach the restaurant.

“He arranged for us to meet in three days, right after Christmas!”

I smile knowingly, “See? Thankfully, I’ll be out of your hair by then!”

“Oh, don’t be silly! I love having you around, reminiscing on the old days and having so much fun and pyjama parties! I didn’t have those growing up!”

“Elite sure don’t have much fun,” I mutter, remembering how lonely Vincent’s childhood was.

“Luckily, my parents are not the strictest out there. Still, having strangers spend the night or let me sleep at strangers’ houses was non-negotiable for them. When I was old enough to decide myself, pyjama parties were no longer cool.”

At the doorway, a hostess greets us, “Good evening. Table for two?”

“Yes, please,” we say in unison.

We are led through the restaurant to our table and are immediately given the menus. My mouth starts watering at the sole mention of the dish names available. Rachel and I end up picking way more than necessary, revelling in the greasy and tasty food that meets our mouths.

For a few hours, Vincent has finally been off my mind as we both eat our dinners and talk about everything and nothing at the same time. We’re often met with curious glances because of our full waves of laughter here and there.

It’s not an over-the-top night, but it’s fun and held in amazing company. So much so that for the first time in a few years, I don't feel alone in this world. I don’t feel alone because I have someone, and Rachel has turned into that person, whether I want it or not.

We’re already arriving at her apartment when my phone pings with an incoming message. I can’t fathom who it would be at almost midnight, not to mention the fact that not that many people have my number.

Rachel excuses herself to the restroom while I sit down on her couch to open it. Primrose quickly climbs up onto the couch—yes, Rachel allows it—and immediately starts begging for cuddles.

I absentmindedly start rubbing her ears as I unlock my phone.

Edgar.What does he want at this ungodly hour?

I click to open the message, but instead, a full-screen video starts.

There’s a big, bulky body working out at the manor’s gym. Well, the gym Vincent had installed when he moved in. And not even on purpose—or maybe yes—the half-naked body doing non-stop pullups is Vincent’s. Glistening with sweat, his backmuscles are swollen and straining with every movement, and yet, he keeps doing them nonstop as if he was directly plugged into an energetic current.

He doesn’t seem to be aware of the fact he is being filmed. There is a floor-to-ceiling mirror in front of him, so I can get a good look at both his back and front.

His eyes seem to be shut, but I can’t quite make it out due to the distance. I bet a hundred euros that Edgar is recording this without his brother’s permission.

With a low grunt, he finally let’s go of the suspended bar, landing on his feet graciously. Then, he picks up a towel, wiping it on his sweaty face and neck before sitting on one of the machine’s benches.

“See? The poor sod has to overwork himself to release some of the steam. That’s what happens when you abandon him to his hand!”

I gasp, looking around the empty apartment, expecting to see a shocked Rachel, but the hallway is empty, and I hastily lower the phone’s volume.

His voice wasn’t loud but having my phone’s sound on the maximum level makes it quite audible to everyone in the same room. And it is enough to make Vincent swivel his head, turning in the camera’s direction. Edgar’s direction.

“What the fuck are you doing, Edgar?” Vincent bellows, approaching his brother in long, purposeful strides. “How many times have I told you I don’t want you sharing me on your stupid social media!”

“Oh, no, no!” Edgar answers, backing away from his brother.

He is indeed such a teaser; it’s almost endearing how childish Edgar is sometimes. Annoying, in other circumstances.

“Just a souvenir to sweet Camilla, so she doesn’t forget a lovesick duke is waiting for her in this old manor.”

I cover my mouth, giggling at his words. He does look tired and unkempt but lovesick? Edgar is so dramatic. At the same time, Vincent’s stance falters, and a frown settles on his eyebrows.

“Little Milla?”he blurts, and I feel my cheeks aflame.

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