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As if sensing blood in the water, the journalists pepper the family with questions.
“Thomas, what about your other daughter?” someone asks.
“Lizzy, does your sister support your career?” another calls.
“Thomas, why have Patricia and Lizzy been in your movies, but your youngest never appears?”
Thomas holds out his hand to Lizzy, who scampers to her fathers’ side eagerly, smiling for the cameras.
FUCK.I need to reach her. I weave as quickly as possible through the journalists, just as Thomas opens his big fucking mouth again.
“Penelope just isn’t suited to film the way Lizzy and Patricia are.” Thomas attempts to diffuse the awkward moment.
“Penelope, it’s been a while since we’ve seen you. What have you been doing all this time?” one shouts, thrusting a microphone in her face. Her eyes widen and dart to her parents, as though she doesn’t know what to say. I step forward amongst the crowd, willing her to look my way. When our gazes connect, I give her a nod, supporting her as I continue to move closer.
She takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving mine.
“I just started an animal rescue, and I work as an accountant,” she replies, her voice quiet.
“That seems so different from the careers of the rest of your family. Did you ever consider acting or modeling?” The reporter continues.
“I enjoy working with animals, and no, I never considered a career in the spotlight,” she answers. Her hands are clasped together, knuckles white with the force of trying to hold herself together.
“Yes, my dear sister Penny belongs with the pigs instead of the stars,” Lizzy interjects with a mean-spirited laugh, breaking her ‘America’s Sweetheart’ façade. Her eyes glint, hate darkening them.
“Can you tell us more about that, Lizzy?” The paparazzi are circling, knowing they will have plenty of fodder for the tabloids. Penny’s face has turned white and her eyelids are blinking constantly, fighting to stop tears from falling. But her family’s cruelty is just too much. I push my way to her side, climbing up onto the stage just as a single tear rolls down her soft cheek.
“What is there for me to tell you? You’re all looking at her,” Lizzy scoffs.
“She has a face for radio,” Thomas jovially jokes.
And I’m done. I’m so fucking done with these shitty people and their nasty jabs.
No one gets to talk to the love of my life like that. Not now. Not ever. Publicly humiliating the most wonderful person I have ever met.
Whirling around, I spot the trio laughing at Penelope’s expense and before I know it; I’ve rocketed back my arm and released it soundly into Thomas’ gaping mouth.
“Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit,” I snarl, towering over his body as he falls to the ground. “Clearly you don’t know her at all, and you never fucking bothered. Penelope is my everything, and from now on, if you want to speak to her, you’re going to need to go through me—and I’m never going to let you hurt her again.”
I want to hit him again, release all my rage on his fucking piece of shit face. My foot yearns to stomp and kick him into the ground, but Penelope’s glassy gaze stops me.
The lightbulbs continue to flash and pop; phones are recording every moment, and it’s time for me to get us the hell out of here.
Scooping Penelope up, so that she doesn’t trip again, I cradle her against my chest and march out of the museum into our waiting limo.
“Little Bird, are you…” My body turns toward Penny, but before I can get a word out, her mouth is covering mine. The kiss is feral, our tongues dueling as she clamors across the seat to straddle my body.
My hands reach up and bury themselves in her hair, feeling all the little pins keeping it neat. I grab a fist full and gently tug her head back until I can see her eyes. Her gaze is hooded and filled with lust, not tearful, as I expected.
“Are you sure you want this?” I ask. After the heightened emotions of the gala, I need to be absolutely sure.
“Yes,” she moans, placing feather-light kisses along my jaw. “No one’s ever stood up for me before. I love you so much.”
She writhes in my arms, her warm center rubbing over my already hard cock. A wet spot appears on my pants, even through two layers of material, and her heat beckons me. Thrusting up, I rub against her and I want to sheath myself inside her more than I want my next breath.
My hand slaps down on the limo wall, looking for the buttons to raise the screen between us and the driver. Finding it, I give it a hard jab—no one is going to see my Little Bird beside me.
The material of her dress is smooth in my hands as they span her waist. Taking a firm grip on her hips, I press her down against me roughly, urging her to move faster, harder as she chases her pleasure.
