Page 28 of Unwritten Rules

The tension in my body eases miraculously at her softly spoken words, and I can’t help chuckling deep within my chest.

“That damn right side, woman.”

Drawing her legs up underneath her, she snuggles closer, her scent both comforting and intoxicating in equal measure, and although I know I shouldn’t, I can’t help dropping my head to rest on hers. Taking something that’s not mine to take, but at this moment, I can’t seem to find the will to care.

Coming back here, facing these demons, even with this seraph in my corner…it’s overwhelming, and I can’t help feeling like I did then.

Unworthy. Less than. Discardable. Unlovable.

“Because we both know I’m never wrong. I know things, I’ll have you know. Feel them in my gut. My intuition is on point.”

“Oh yeah? And what do you know, littlest DeMarco? What’s that gut telling you right now?”

She pulls her head from underneath my chin, her eyes meeting mine, our faces inches apart.

Her sweet breath ghosts across my skin when she answers with a smirk.

“It’s telling me I’m absolutely famished, Hawthorne. It’s screaming…” Her voice drops to sound like Venom eliciting a snort from me when she says, “FEED ME.”

My face almost hurts from how wide I’m smiling. “Well, let’s feed you, then, before you—”

I stop short when Mila’s fingertip lands on my left cheek.

“There you are. I’ve missed you.”

It takes a beat to realise she’s talking about my single dimple. The one that only appears when I smile as broadly as I am right now, and I realise it’s something that not many people get to see.

And seeing as I want more than anything to give her all of me despite the obstacles, I’m happy that she at least gets this small hidden part of me.

“He’s missed you too. Now, come on, let’s feed that gut.”

Standing, I turn to give her my hand and tug her up beside me before tucking her hand into the crook of my arm.

While we walk back the way we’d initially come, Mila’s full of questions about my childhood home.

“Who are these people?”

She gestures to the pictures hanging along the length and breadth of the vast hall.

“My ancestors.” I stop and point to the nearest one. “Here, we have Lord Nelson Hawthorne, eighth Viscount Hawthorne and my arsehole grandfather. Was a real piece of work, from what I’ve gathered.”

I pivot around to find Mila’s jaw slightly unhinged. “Viscount? What the fuck? Does that mean you’re—”

“Technically, I hold the peerage, but in reality, I try to avoid it like the plague. I hate having been raised to fit my father’s mould for me.”

I gesture around me, taking in all the ridiculous Viscounts surrounding us. “Alas, there’s no escape for me.”

Her face falls like a house of cards. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nathaniel. I should never have forced your hand.”

I step closer and place my palms on her shoulders, making her meet my eyes. “You know me, Mila. I wouldn’t have come back here if I didn’t want to do this for you. You didn’t force me to do anything. I swear.”

She chews her lower lip before nodding hesitantly. I pull her in for a side hug, ruffling her hair playfully and laughing when she screeches like a banshee.

“No, my hair! I’m going to look like I stuck a finger in an electrical socket.”

I smooth my palm over her slightly imperfect poker-straight dark hair, calming the electric flyaways and smiling sincerely into her eyes even as I tell myself to stop.

I can’t. The words just won’t stay in my mouth.