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The moment the paint touches his skin, something inside him awakens, and he coolly paints his entire face. He looks in the mirror, exhilarated by what he sees. But when he opens the black face paint and works on memory, drawing what he saw on his father’s face, that’s when he really comes to life.
The container drops into the sink, circling around and around, and as Shay grips the counter, staring at his reflection, he suddenly understands why Punky painted his face—it allows him to be someone else.
His grin is wide, grotesque, and his eyes are as black as the night sky. He feels comfortable in this skin.
“A little less black around the eyes. It’ll smudge otherwise.”
Shay meets Punky’s eyes in the mirror. He is embarrassed his father caught him, but Punky isn’t angry. He knew the day would come.
Shay’s mum was murdered like Punky’s; he was bound to give birth to the same demons as his dad.
“I love you, son. Always remember that.”
“I love you, too.” Shay doesn’t want to talk about why he felt compelled to do this, and Punky doesn’t want to make a fuss, so he leaves his son to deal with his emotions because Punky knows this is something he needs to do all in good time.
Punky makes his way back to the castle, smiling when he sees his three wains playing tag with Hannah. She lives here too. They all do. This is as much their home as it is Punky’s, and if he were being honest, nothing gives him more comfort than having his family all together.
When he walks up the staircase, headed for his bedroom, his body responds to her sweet perfume, just like it always does. Just like it did from the first moment they met.
He opens the door but pauses, needing a moment as he watches Cami getting ready. She wears a long gold dress, hugging her delicate frame. But as he closes the door and leans up against it, she knows she’ll have to change—as he’s seconds away from ripping it off her.
“Don’t even think about it,” she teases, slipping in her diamond earring.
“Too late,” Punky teases, pushing off the door.
He wraps his arms around his wife, pulling her back into his chest. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you. Dinner is at seven. Do you need a nap beforehand, old man?” she playfully says, looking over her shoulder.
“I intend on usin’ the bed, but not for nappin’.”
Cami yelps as Punky tosses her over his shoulder and walks toward their bed. Before she can protest, he throws her onto the soft mattress.
“Punky, I just did my hair,” she weakly protests because she wants this as much as he does. Her craving for him has only grown with age.
He lowers himself onto her, nudging her nose with his. They stare into one another’s eyes, finally finding their happily ever after. It’s not conventional, but it’s theirs.
“Shay was paintin’ his face.”
Cami doesn’t need Punky to explain the significance of that as she witnessed Punky’s war paint firsthand.
“Well, he is your son,” she says, running her fingers through his long hair.
Time has been kind to him as he still looks like her Punky, but like a fine wine, he only gets better with age.
“Whenever he wants to talk about it, we’re here. That’s all we can offer him. We can’t push because, well, he is your son.”
Punky grins, loving how she treats Shay like her own. She did that since he was a child. Their meeting was fate, and he never takes that for granted. Cami accepts Punky, knowing her husband is not what most would consider the good guy.
But to her, he’s her guy, and she wouldn’t change a thing. Besides, she isn’t one to take a back seat. She never was. They built this empire together—the blood is on both of their hands. For what’s a king without his queen?
“What’s that in your pocket?” She giggles. “Or are you just really happy to see me?”
Punky laughs, reaching for Ethan’s gift. “Happy anniversary from Ethan and Eva.”
“My sister would not approve of a gift wrapped that way,” she teases, accepting the small box.
Punky crawls off her, and they both lean against the headboard as she unwraps the present. She opens the box and is unable to contain her laughter.
