Own Me (The Wolf Hotel, #5)

“Most people would say that’s the Mad Hatter. Or the Cheshire Cat.”

“Okay, fine! But the Queen of Hearts is the villain. That’s always the best role to play.” At least, it’s the most fun to watch. “Good for you, Vi. I’ve never had the guts to stand onstage.” I didn’t mean to shorten her name, it just happened. It’s what everyone in the Outdoor Crew did if they didn’t give you a nickname like Red. Connor was Con, Ronan was Ro. Some of the guys called me Abs.

Violet’s cheeks lift in a small smile. If it bothers her that I called her that, she doesn’t say anything.

“Abbi?” Henry’s deep voice booms from the penthouse entrance.

“In the kitchen!” I call back, my heart skipping beats, both in excitement and apprehension.

“You’ve got five seconds to take off your clothes before I bend you over the counter and—”

“Look who’s here!” It’s nearly a scream, my voice up several notches with sudden panic. In hindsight, maybe my plan wasn’t the best idea after not seeing him all week.

Henry appears then, freezing momentarily as he spots Violet, mid-flip with a pancake. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I had no idea you were here,” he says slowly. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Henry blush, but his cheeks are flushed red.

“Obviously not.” She wrinkles her nose as she returns to her pancakes. “I guess we’re not eating at the counter. Is the table safe?”

He shoots me a “Thanks for warning me” look.

“Welcome back.” I overcompensate with a wide smile. “I hope you’re hungry!”





“So that’s how you two ended up here, in matching pajamas?” Henry asks between mouthfuls. Violet may be messy in the kitchen, but she makes perfectly round and tasty dollar pancakes.

“Yeah. The first half is due on Monday. We worked on it last night. I think I’m halfway done?” She says it like it’s a question rather than a fact. “As for the matching pajamas, that was all Abbi. Your fiancée is odd.”

“What? I liked them! The material is so soft!” I emphasize that by smoothing my palm over my sleeve.

Henry smirks. “It’s a little early for Christmas, isn’t it?”

“Christmas?” Violet peers at her pajamas, not understanding.

I laugh. “They’re red and blue, Henry.” To her, I explain, “He has a hard time with blue and green.”

“Huh. Really …” She cocks her head and looks at him as if this tiny bit of information is fascinating.

“Why?” Henry pauses, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Do you too?”

“Nope. I’m normal.” She bites off a piece of her bacon.

Henry snorts. “You like your school?”

“It’s fine.” She shrugs, chewing. “It’s school.”

“Violet is playing the Queen of Hearts,” I chip in.

“Who’s that?”

“You know, Alice in Wonderland? Girl falls down a rabbit hole?”

“Oh. Right. A fairy tale.” Henry frowns, and it dawns on me that Crystal McGuire was probably too busy spending her husband’s money and embezzling from a children’s charity to read bedtime stories to her kids. “So you like acting?”

“I guess.” Another shrug. Did I shrug so much when I was her age?

Henry studies her for a long moment as she eats. “Your mother was involved with the school plays at Hartley.”

Violet nods. “She used to put me in drama camp every summer. She insisted I had natural talent.”

“She played the piano.” He says this more to himself, as if his memory is jogged.

Violet’s eyes wander to the baby grand. “Yeah. She did the music for our plays when I was in middle school.”

“Do you play?”

“Nope.” Violet’s mood is souring quickly with talk of her mother.

Henry’s phone chirps and he reaches for it without hesitation. I’ve gotten used to this—his tether to his company—but I reach out beneath the table with my foot to nudge his shin. A silent plea for him to ignore it.

“It’s important. Just a sec,” he murmurs, his focus already on the screen.

As important as getting to know your daughter?

“So, when is this play?” I ask.

“Beginning of December.”

“That’s only a few weeks away. Are there tickets left?”

“Uh … I don’t know. Why?” Violet stammers.

“Because we want to come. Right, Henry?”

He’s scowling at his phone.

I nudge him under the table with my toe again. “Violet’s play is in a few weeks. We’ll go and see it, right?”

“Right, yeah,” he says, but he’s distracted. A curse slips from his lips. “Abbi, you and I need to talk.”

The hairs on my neck prickle from his suddenly serious tone.

My phone rings then, and Mama’s name shows up on the display.

“Don’t answer that,” he barks, spiking my anxiety.

“What is going on, Henry?”

Smoothing his palm over his mouth, he hands me his phone.

I read the headline, and my stomach drops.





CHAPTER 18





“How did they get these!” I scroll through the myriad of pictures from Wolf Cove, printed in the front-page tabloid article that’s now gracing magazine racks all over the country. And here I was, wondering why I hadn’t heard from Luca/Frank/Hank/Satan in weeks. It’s because he was pulling together this story.

These are stills of security camera recordings, and there are many, all the way back to the very beginning, the night a bearded Henry carried my drunk ass back to my cabin.

There’s a snapshot of Henry towering over me in the lodge’s main hall the day he scolded me for showing my jealousy as Rachel served him drinks, and one of Henry with his hand settled on the small of my back while we’re walking along the path—he was always so careful about touching me outside the cabin.

They aren’t all security photos, though. There’s one from the grand opening Saturday night, with me in my fabulous dress, standing morose in the background while Henry ignored me all night. Just below it is a still of me in Michael’s arms that same night, and then one of him leading me into his cabin.

And another of me ducking out of the cabin in Michael’s clothes the next morning.

More security pictures in the following weeks, after our ugly breakup and Henry’s departure, show my relationships with Ronan and Connor unfold—the hugs and friendly leans against each other by the lake. It’s all innocent enough, and yet it paints a totally different picture when paired with the Wolf Hotel Billionaire’s Innocent Farm Girl Not So Innocent headline.

My eyes burn with the threat of angry tears as I graze over the first paragraph again.