These Thorn Kisses (St. Mary’s Rebels 3)

“Pinky Winky Promises,” he whispers, his thumb tracing the curve of my bottom lip.

“I wore it for you,” I whisper back, my fingers waking up and sifting through the thick strands of his hair. “I thought I wouldn’t get to see you tonight so I wanted to feel that you were close. I also wore your belly chain.”

He swallows. “Bronwyn, I —”

“You were right,” I blurt out, stopping him. “When you said that I need to stop. I do. I do need to stop. All this time I kept thinking that if I did what they wanted me to do, if I made up for not being an ideal daughter, they’d be happy. That maybe they’d even come to… love me. So I took it all. I thought it was my due. To obey them, to do the things they want me to because I’m not all the things that they wanted in a daughter. But I can’t do it anymore. And so I’m going to tell them.”

I smile when I say this and he notices it with a frown, slightly angry on my behalf and also curious. “Tell them what?”

My smile widens and I squeeze my arms around his neck. “I got in.”

“You…”

I nod enthusiastically. “I got into art school. NYU. I heard back from them yesterday and I wanted to tell you. But I was already back home and I’ve been dying. I’ve been absolutely dying to tell you, Conrad. And I thought that I’d have to wait till Monday, which totally sucked, but I can —”

He stops me with a kiss.

A hard, somehow both affectionate and passionate kiss.

Before he pulls back and God, he gives me the most breathtaking smile that I’ve ever seen from him. His lips all stretched up, his teeth showing.

And then he chuckles as his thumb rubs my cheek in the most precious way. “You got in.”

I grab his wrist. “I did. I’ve also got a scholarship. And I wanted to tell you first.”

He swallows at that, his eyes going liquid, staring at me like they sometimes do.

When I feel like the prettiest, most wonderful girl in the world.

“Are you proud?” I ask, even though I don’t need to.

I can see it all over his face.

He chuckles again, his eyes turning even softer. “Yeah. Fuck yeah, I’m proud.” He even comes in for another kiss. “My pretty little wallflower.”

I bite my lip at his tender, tender tone. “And I didn’t really have a plan about when to tell my parents. I know I kept saying that when I get an acceptance letter, I’ll tell them then. But now it’s here and I was panicking yesterday.” I shake my head. “But I’m going to do it. I’m going to tell them that it’s not a phase. And that I’m going to art school and they can’t stop me.”

A fierce expression colors his features then. A protective, possessive expression as he says, his fingers flexing on my face, “No they fucking can’t.”

I stare into his blue eyes. “And you made me see that. You just keep inspiring me, don’t you?”

Another smile, this one smaller but no less beautiful. “No, it was never me. It was always you. There’s just something about you. About the way you are. About how you see things and feel things. I…” Then, his eyes flickering over my features, “You could be…”

“I could be what?”

His jaw clenches with something. Something profound I think. Something extremely moving as he rasps, “I think… I think you could be someone’s dream girl.”

I go still then. He goes still too.

Still and frozen and… stunned.

Like he can’t believe he said that.

The same thing that I said to him, back when I thought he was having an affair with Helen. And I said it because he was mine. He was my dream man.

He is.

A man so good and protective and so fucking loyal. A man who makes my heart race and my knees tremble. Who sees me and accepts me and supports me.

A man who loves me.

So does that mean…

Does he mean that I could be his dream girl?

Is that why… Is that why he said he wanted to keep me? Just now, just a little bit ago when he was angry.

When he begins to move away from me, I tighten my hold and blurt out, “Conrad, I —”

A knock at the door eats up my words.

It stops my breaths.

And then comes a voice that both jars me and makes me hold on to him harder.

“Con, you in there?”

Helen.

It’s Helen.

Still on Conrad, my eyes turn wide and fearful. His eyes though are far from that. They’re angry and hard, his jaw clenched. And it clenches more when Helen knocks again. “Hello? Con?” She mutters to herself then, “Damn it. Why’s this door locked?” Before raising her voice again to repeat, “Hello? Is anyone in there?”