Just . . . Winter.
From the moment my father had started dictating his sordid plans for me I knew who I wanted. There was only one person. The only girl it could ever be for me—even though it would be so wrong of me to bring her into the shitfuckery that was my life.
It would be wrong . . . but it would feel so right.
Because Winter Blackstone was my Kryptonite. This I knew. One small slip of indulging in my desires to be closer and there would be no turning back. With my father’s edict burning a hole in my heart, I was being handed a reason to go there with her.
But I can’t.
I was fucked, and I knew it. This was a huge problem. I knew myself, and I knew how hard the struggle would be in resisting the temptation of her. For me, the allure of Winter Blackstone was something with which I was well familiar. Her unaffected beauty, her kind and generous heart, her gentle way of listening and knowing just the right thing to say in any situation, made her approachable and easy for people to love.
Love?
Did I love her?
Of course I did. I’d known her since she was a toddler, and she was a dear and trusted friend. But, if I was honest . . . Winter was much more than that for me and she had been for a long time. She possessed all of the qualities I could ever want in a wife. She couldn’t be more perfect for selling to the media along the lines of something like my father’s political campaign. YOUNG HEIRESS CHOOSES SOCIAL WORK OVER HIGH SOCIETY. The news agencies would eat her up and crown her their darling overnight.
You’re still fucked because she’s off-limits.
This was my truth. Because I could never be with Winter in the way I wanted to be. I could never have her. Not how I’d dreamed of having her when my innermost fantasies took over within my twisted headspace.
Winter was too good.
She was too sweet.
She was just too perfectly innocent . . . for the likes of me.