Page 40 of Uncrowned

Why was the thought so hard to accept?

The man may have saved me from my father. He may have even saved me from John. But he had killed them. He’d taken their lives, and murder was not okay. I knew that. But why did I feel safer than ever? Why didn’t I fear him or feel angry for what he’d done? The questions kept repeating.

Guilt.

It lived in me like a home.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Mad at you?” He glanced over, and I sat up, looking at the table. It wasn’t empty anymore. It had an electric kettle sitting on top, and there was a small mini fridge next to it. “Penelope, why would I be mad at you?”

“I led you on. I touched you. I kissed you back.”

“Which I enjoyed. You’re not in trouble, and I’m not mad. Not at you.”

I watched V as he heated up the water.

“You’re mad at yourself. Why?”

“You tell me.”

He turned, crossing his arms over his bare chest to face me. At the tattoos covering from his wrists to his shoulders to his chest and waist, I gasped.

“That is… amazing.” I scooted from the bed, holding the hospital gown closed and tight around me as I headed forward. “You have tattoos.”

He didn’t move.

“Tell me why I’m mad at myself, Penelope.”

I stopped in front of him, studying the designs imprinted all over his body.

“I’m not sure why you’re mad. I truly can’t think of a single reason why. But it’s about me, right?” Before he could answer, I reached out, tracing my finger down the sword that was thrusting towards an opposing knight. Blood. Chaos. Heart. “This is fascinating.” I cautiously took his wrist, extending his hand so I could see more of the scene. I looked from where I held to his mask. “Are you mad at this? At me being so… pushy? Nosey?”

“No.”

“Good. I don’t want you mad.” I couldn’t help but let him go and look back to the gorgeous art. I followed the battle down to the bottom, realizing I was suddenly level with the lining of his pants. I eased up, hugging back to my stomach. “It’s so beautiful. The scene… what does it mean? Does it have meaning?”

“Not today.”

He reached forward, cupping my cheek, bringing my focus off the tattoos and back to him.

“Penelope, women are something I haven’t been interested in for a long time. Not like this. You’re different. You make me feel something. You make me question things that have never crossed my mind. That’s a good thing. But what I feel, it’s not good. Which is fine. You like me now. You won’t soon, and things will be easier then.”

I stepped back, out of his hold. “Easier for you. Not for me.”

“Easier for me because of you. This…” He reached back for my face, only to stop himself. “This is hard for me. If you’re mad, you’ll fight. You’ll push back. That’ll be better for both of us. Love never makes life easier. It complicates things. It makes people vulnerable. If you hated me, but tolerated me, was loyal to me, that would be for the best.”

“You’re serious. You really believe someone will try to hurt me or you?”

Hesitation.

“You don’t question my mention of love?”

I paused, looking down.

“We’re… not strangers. Not completely.”

“But you’re not acting as if I’m crazy for saying we’ll love each other someday when we shouldn’t. I could love you, Penelope. That scares me. It should scare you.” He took a step forward, pausing. “Do you think you could someday love me? If I were like before. When we talked?”