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Her words are meant to bring me comfort, but the effect is the opposite. Why am I not relieved by the fact she’s not hunting for a ring and the white fence? Why am I so determined to make this trip unforgettable for her?
Fuck.
Chapter Sixteen
Spencer
AsIstandbythe door, I can hardly contain my excitement. Percival has planned an entire day just for us, and it’s not just any day—we’re going on a road trip. My heart races in anticipation of what lies ahead.
“Spencer, you ready?” he asks, his charming smile making me weak in the knees.
“Absolutely,” I reply, unable to keep the grin off my face.
We hop into his luxurious car and drive to our next destination—a museum I’ve always wanted to visit but never had the chance to, a wonderful Mediterranean Villa with manicured gardens and a famous last-name at the front door. The moment we step inside, I’m struck by the grandeur of the place. It feels like stepping into another world, one that’s full of history, art, and magic.
“Wow,” I whisper as we begin to explore. Percival’s hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining, and I feel a little giddy.
“Check this out,” he says, pulling me toward a massive painting that takes up an entire wall. The scene depicts a chaotic battle, with soldiers charging forward, swords raised and faces twisted in fierce determination. As I take in the vivid colors and intricate brushstrokes, I feel my own artistic soul stirring within me. “It’s incredible, isn’t it?”
“More than words can say,” I answer, my green eyes wide with wonder.
We wander through the various exhibits, discovering ancient artifacts and marveling at the craftsmanship of long-lost civilizations. At one point, we come across a collection of sculptures so lifelike, I half expect them to start moving.
As we continue through the museum, I find myself lost in thought, trying to decipher what it is about Percival that has me so captivated. He’s nothing like the men I’ve known before, and yet I feel drawn to him—not just physically, but emotionally as well. Every touch from him sends shivers down my spine and gives me goosebumps, making me yearn for more.
“Spencer?” Percival asks, pulling me out of my reverie. “You okay?”
“Of course,” I say, smiling at him. “Just caught up in all the beauty around us.”
“Speaking of beauty,” he says, gesturing toward a breathtaking exhibit of stained glass windows. The sunlight filters through them, casting an array of colorful patterns on the floor below. I gasp in delight at the sight, momentarily speechless.
“This is amazing,” I say slowly.
“Anything for you,” he replies, his eyes turning soft, and the terrifying part is, I believe it.
~~~
Leaving the museum behind us, a rush of excitement goes through my body as we head to our next destination. The sun is shining brightly, casting its warm glow on everything it touches.
I can feel the electricity between us crackle, and time seems to slow to a crawl. In this instant, surrounded by the enchanting lanterns and the captivating murals, I am completely lost in Percival Hills—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The road trip continues as Percival drives us along the coast, each curve revealing a new breathtaking vista. The ocean stretches out to the horizon, its endless expanse of blue sparkling beneath the sun rays. I press my hand against the cool glass of the window, eager to soak in every stunning detail.
“Check this out,” Percival says, tapping his phone screen and showing me a photo he’s taken of a massive sand sculpture competition taking place at a nearby beach. “They’re creating some insane masterpieces down there.”
“Let’s go!” I declare, excitement bubbling up within me.
“Say no more,” he replies with a smile, steering our car toward the beach.
Once we arrive, my eyes widen in awe at the incredible creations dotting the shoreline. Towering castles, intricate dragons, and whimsical fairy tale scenes crafted from nothing but sand and water. I feel a surge of inspiration for my own art, and Percival seems to sense it.
“Your paintings are gonna be even more amazing after today, Spence,” he tells me, flashing that charming smile of his.
“I won’t ask how you know that. My aunts talk way too much,” I respond, a warm blush creeping across my cheeks.
We wander among the sculptures, pausing occasionally to snap photos or simply marvel at the skill of the artists involved. Percival gently takes my hand, guiding me toward a particularly impressive piece—a mermaid perched upon a rocky ledge.
“Look at her,” he points, leaning in close so I can read his lips. “She reminds me of you—strong, determined, and beautiful.”
