31

OPHELIA

The next morning, I woke with my arms stretched across Lorenzo's side of the bed. It was empty, the sheets cold. My eyes opened. Had he really worked all night? The hum of the shower made me sit up. Maybe I just hadn't heard him come in.

I was a fairly light sleeper, but then again, his mattress was softer than anything I'd ever slept on, and the sense of security and safety that had developed within me since arriving at the Penthouse had definitely led to better sleep.

The shower shut off, and the door opened in a burst of steam. Lorenzo stepped out, wrapped in a towel. When he spotted me, he shuffled to a stop.

"Oh, hey, I didn't know you were awake."

I chuckled and yawned, stretching my hands over my head. "I wasn't. I just woke up."

He smiled but there was some tension in his face, and his eyes averted my gaze. Rolling to the side of the bed, I reached over and grabbed his hands.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He kissed my forehead, and then crossed to the master closet. "Work just kicked my ass last night. And we have a long day ahead. The press conference is at four, right after we pick up Cecilia from school."

Stifling my groan, I fell back onto the bed. "But we can lounge around until then right?"

"Oh, no," Lorenzo called. "You have your makeover today."

I bolted up from bed. "My what?"

Lorenzo peeked his head out of the closet, a playful smirk on his face. "Don't worry, you're going to love it."

"I hate it."

Behind me, Lorenzo chuckled. "You have to open your eyes first, Ophelia."

I clenched my eyes tighter, gripping the armrests of the salon chair. "I don't want to."

Hands gripped mine, spinning the chair around. "Ophelia, look at me."

Peeling my eyes slowly open, I peered at Lorenzo, who was crouched in front of me. "I'd think you're beautiful even if you were bald, okay?"

My hands shot up to my hair. "Oh my God, am I bald?"

Lorenzo chuckled. He stepped sideways, revealing the mirror behind him.

I didn't even recognize myself. The stylist had added sun kissed highlights to my dirty blonde locks. Instead of a cheap trim to chop off dead ends—my usual go to—I now had an actual haircut, complete with layers that framed my face, accentuating my cheeks, and making my eyes pop.

"Damn."

Lorenzo grinned. "Told you." He squeezed my hand. “I need to go meet with Jonathan, but I have a stylist waiting for you, and then I'll have my driver pick up Cecilia so she can meet us at the press conference.”

"Actually, I'd like to pick her up. I swore to myself that I would never become one of those moms who sends a driver or a nanny to pick her up."

"I get that. At least let my driver take you, okay? It's just easier that way."

I smiled at him. "Compromise it is."

What I had thought would be a quick shopping trip for one outfit turned into a scene out of Pretty Woman, the one where Julia Roberts is given an unlimited credit card. The only difference is that I looked nothing like a movie star. Quite the opposite.

Yet, my stylist, a petite brunette named Catherine, treated me as if I was royalty. With each measurement she took, she threw in unnecessary compliments that made warmth rush to my cheeks.

The clothes were a combination of casual and dressier ones, of high heels, flats, and sandals. Catherine offered me the complete freedom to choose whatever I wanted, and while the more relaxed outfits were easier to choose, I took her guidance for the dressier suits.

My head was spinning after what must have been the twentieth outfit, but my smile was also growing. I'd never owned enough clothes to fill a closet, not even the tiny cramped one in my old apartment, and Cecilia had only had a combination of six outfits or so. Not only that, they were all hand me downs from thrift stores or second hand shops.

I couldn't stop feeling the material of each piece. Most were smoother than anything I'd ever touched. Even the smells were intoxicating. Standing in the dressing room, I stared at the mirror, entranced by my appearance. I was wearing a pair of high-waisted pale yellow slacks, a white tank tucked inside them, and bold blue stilettos. My new cut hung softly on my bare shoulders.

This looked nothing like me...and yet, I could get used to it. A smile grew on my face.

Anyone would kill for this life, but I was still planning to run. Would that be a mistake?

Giving up the clothes, the money, the freedom...it would suck, but I wouldn't miss it because none of this felt like mine. How could I miss something I'd never really had?

But there was something I'd had before—ten years ago, to be more precise. And now I had it again.

I touched my lips, still raw from Lorenzo's kisses and the brush of his beard. I could still smell his cologne on me, and as I closed my eyes ,I returned to the last night we made love, to the feeling of him growing and throbbing inside me.

My eyes popped open. I couldn't remember the last time I'd addressed sex as making love. It stirred a discomfort in my chest that I didn't like.

On the bench in the dressing room behind me, my phone buzzed. I grabbed my phone and saw a text from Alistair pop up. We still hadn't spoken, and although I was still angry at him for lying to me and hiding my pregnancy from Lorenzo, I couldn't deny that I missed my brother.

However, when I opened my phone, my stomach sank.

Alistair had sent me a link to a news article, and when I saw the name of who'd written it—Jaxon Hall—I knew it wasn't going to be good.

The title alone made that clear.

Family of billionaire Lorenzo Kensington accused of ruining high-school ex-girlfriend's reputation. Could current girlfriend, Ophelia Wellington, be next?

The photo beneath the title showed me and Lorenzo sitting in the park, his arm draped over my shoulder, his lips kissing my cheek, a wide smile on my face.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Outside the dressing room, Catherine cleared her throat. "Everything okay in there?"

"Yep."

My blood started to boil. So this was why Alistair had lied to me in college? To protect me from something that happened to Lorenzo's ex in high school?