Page 124 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

Or the truth is even simpler.

Where there is great hate, there is great sex.

But did I ever hate him though? Or did my betrayed heart hurt from his true nature, because Prince Charming ended up being a beast?

To my surprise, I go for honesty. “I can’t think when you touch me, and the last thing I want is for the press to snag a picture of us kissing.” I shudder. “My dad might see it.”

By how his brown orbs glint in possessiveness, I know he loves my words, and his hold on me tightens. “He’ll just have to get used to the fact that you have a man in your life now.” He places his mouth on mine, not kissing me, and yet the touch sends awareness through my whole system. “One who needs you constantly and will touch and kiss you wherever the fuck he wants.”

He traps my moan with a deep kiss, my hand fisting his shirt and bringing him even closer while thousands of sensations travel over me in powerful waves, demanding an outlet. My body naturally starts to buzz with familiar awareness, already expecting to receive pleasure from this magnificent man.

A harsh and razor-sharp voice pierces through the fog though, dumping us in ice-cold water, and I tear away from him when Amalia’s words register in my ears. “Well, look at you liking your husband already.”

I swing my head to the right, where I see her standing in a stunning black dress that wraps her form, enveloping it so tight it leaves no doubt about the perfection that is her body. Several men glance in her direction and then do a double take while ping-ponging their eyes between us, and the murmurs already start.

Pushing Remi away, I step toward her and whisper, “Amalia.”

She raises her splayed palm and replies, “Not interested in whatever you want to say, Penelope.” She drills her stare into my husband who frowns, and his fingers squeeze me harder as if giving me silent support while my sister rejects me once again. “Let’s sign whatever we need so I can finally leave for New York.”

“Maybe we can talk afterward?” I offer, because the teenage girl who painted countless scenarios in her head about her twin still lives inside me, craving to get to know her and shower her with all the love in my pent-up heart.

But the remaining pieces of this said heart shatter when she sneers, “No.”

My shoulders sag, and the arm around my waist tenses, the bulging muscles flexing. “Careful how you talk to my wife, Amalia.” He issues a warning my sister hates, judging by how her eyes flash in annoyance, and yet she says nothing. Remi kisses my forehead, murmuring just for my ears, “Wait for me.” One more kiss and he motions to the double doors leading to the hallway, walking there as Amalia follows him, completely ignoring me.

I rub my forehead as a throbbing headache starts to form and go to the snack table, desperately needing to munch on something to calm my nerves. I almost jump in place when Santiago pops up next to me.

“Oh my God, you scared me,” I mutter, placing my hand on my chest and then biting a cookie.

He smirks, hooking his thumb on his pants pocket. “You’re an interesting woman, Penelope.”

“If interesting is the code word for weird, you aren’t the first person to point that out.” I’m still not sure what to make of the four, but hating them all is exhausting, so I might as well accept them while trying to get to know them.

“When you don’t fit certain societal expectations, or you behave in a way a lot of people don’t understand, you tend to gather a lot of labels.” A beat passes. “That’s why I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks.”

I glance in the direction Amalia disappeared, and my heart pangs, my insides rebelling at how much I’m affected by her rejection, since she doesn’t give a fuck about me.

It seems we are truthful representations of a medal with two sides, and my half got all the empathy and compassion.

Santiago must guess the train of my thoughts as he says, while snagging another whiskey glass from a passing waiter, “She’ll come around.” Our gazes clash, and an emotion passes in his eyes. “Maybe not today, tomorrow, or in a year. But eventually, she will.”

“I’m not sure I believe that. She probably wishes for me to never, ever speak to her again.”

Silence falls on us, and I lean on the table, sighing heavily, but freeze at Santiago’s question. “Do you know her greatest fear?” When I shake my head, he answers, “Your rejection.”

My brows furrow in confusion. “That makes no sense to me.” I’ve been the one who sought her, and she was running away the whole time.

He takes a sip from his drink. “Accepting you means showing you her true self. Her past pain and her present, in which she does hideous crimes to shut out the hurt polluting her every breath. Because once you experience hell on earth, you cannot turn your back on people who suffer just like you did.”

Swallowing past the bile in my throat, I whisper, “But I’m willing to look past it.” Maybe I haven’t made it clear enough? I’m sure her past is shit, and I assume she kills only bad people.

Not that it justifies it by any means, but in current circumstances, I’ll take it.

Never in a million years did I think I could be accepting of such things, but here we are.

“Are you?” I blink at this. “Because if you are willing to do that for your twin who treats you like shit, why aren’t you giving the same courtesy to my best friend?”

“It’s not the same.”

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