Chapter Twenty-Two
PENELOPE
The first thingI notice is warmth.
Not the usual soft, generic kind from my comforter and mattress, but heavy, solid heat pressed against both sides of my body. There’s weight at my back, a chest along my spine, a steady breath against the back of my neck. In front of me, an arm lies over my waist, hand resting just above my belly button, fingers relaxed but possessive.
I blink my eyes open.
Gideon’s the first thing in focus.
He’s right in front of me, close enough that I can see the tiny scar under his jaw, the one I have kissed exactly twice. His lashes are darker than his hair, his mouth soft and not in his usual flat line of control. He looks a little younger like this, which is ridiculous because he’s still older than me and still terrifying when he wants to be.
Behind me, Silas shifts, and I know it’s him before his arm even tightens. There’s a certain weight to his hold—firm, claiming, careful. He pulls me closer, my hips tucked against his, his chest rising slowly and warm along my back. His beardgrazes the top of my hair, a rough little reminder of exactly who’s there.
I’m completely surrounded. Gideon in front. Silas behind. Their legs tangled with mine under the blanket. I’m the center of a very specific universe, and my body is aware of it before my brain fully wakes up.
I lie there for a minute and just feel it.
Their warmth. Their weight. The way my body fits between theirs as though we’ve done this a thousand times and not just one very chaotic night after an engagement party from hell.
Once the hazy sweetness wears off enough for my brain to boot back up, I register something else.
They are both breathing like they’re asleep. Too evenly. Too carefully.
“Stop pretending,” I murmur, my voice rough from sleep. “I know you’re both awake.”
Gideon’s lips twitch.
His eyes open. “Morning,” he says, voice rough in a way that doesn’t help my blood pressure.
Behind me, Silas makes a soft sound, a half laugh in his chest. “You caught us.”
I shift a little to look back at him over my shoulder. He’s already watching me, eyes warm, hair mussed from sleep. It makes him look softer, except there’s nothing soft about the way he’s looking at me.
“You two always cuddle hostages,” I ask, “or am I special?”
Gideon hums. “You’re special.”
Silas’ arm tightens again. “And not a hostage. You asked us to stay.”
I did. Last night feels like a fever dream, but that part’s clear. The party. The reveal. The car ride with my admission spilling out of my mouth. Them undressing me with careful hands. Aglass of water. Their bodies on either side of me while my brain finally shut down.
I should feel embarrassed. Or trapped. Instead, I feel safe in a way that unsettles me more than anything else.
I try to roll onto my back and underestimate how little space there is. I end up more tangled, chest almost flush with Gideon’s, Silas pressed tighter along my spine. My knee slides between Gideon’s legs, and I feel the very clear evidence that I’m not the only one having a reaction to this setup.
His breath stutters.
Silas’ hand spreads wider over my stomach, anchoring me. “Careful,” he murmurs.
The warning prickles over my skin.
“Why?” I ask, feigning innocence. “Is there a problem?”
“Several,” Gideon says. His gaze drops to my mouth. “All of them wearing your face.”
Heat climbs up my neck. “That is very poetic for this early.”
