Page 39 of Thorn Evermore
“Wrong. You don’t get to decide how I see you.” He sighs, wrapping his arm around my waist. “Did Neal do this to you? Make you think you aren’t amazing? Because if he did, I’d like to have a chat with him.”
Staring into his eyes, I remember for just a second the offer I swore I heard earlier. “What would you say to him?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head on the specifics. Just know that he’d regret hurting you.”
I run my hands over his pecs. “No. It wasn’t Neal. Not specifically. It was a lot of Neals leading up to him. If I knew my worth, I wouldn’t have ended up with a guy like him in the first place. I’m getting better though. You’re definitely helping.”
“Good.” Thorn leans in and kisses my nose. “I want to erase every negative thought you have about yourself, because they’re wrong.”
“Thank you.”
“Come on. Let me show you just how amazing I think you are.”
I nod, taking his hand again. If Thorn wants me, maybe… I smile. Well, maybe Neal is wrong and I am a catch. If I can believe that, I can believe anything.
Chapter 11
KYSON
Thorn opens the door to his apartment and gently pulls me inside by the wrist, leaving me stunned by my surroundings. Based on the modern elegance of the building, I guess I thought Thorn’s apartment would be sleek and maybe even cold, but I couldn’t have been more off the mark.
It’s crowded with oversized, ornate furniture that appears to be antique. Artwork, large and small, covers nearly every bare space on the wall, and a massive gold and crystal chandelier hangs in the living room. It looks like something straight out of Versailles.
“Thorn. This is… magnificent.”
He spins around the living room, arms extended. “I love every single piece in here, but it’s dusty and underused.”
“Why?”
“I don’t spend much time here.”
I lightly run my finger over a Roman-era fertility statue. “But why? This is like living in a museum.”
It’s the first time a flicker of some darker emotion passes his features, but it’s gone in a flash. “Lots of reasons. Want to see my bedroom?”
“Very much so.”
A fresh smile graces his face. “Come on.”
Taking my hand, he leads me through the apartment and down a hallway, but my neck is almost sore from all the twisting and turning I’m doing to look at all his treasures.
He drops my hand to open two massive black double doors. On the other side is a room that makes my jaw drop. I can hardly process it.
“Thorn…”
He chuckles. “I know. Yves describes it as a Parisian brothel, which suits me just fine.”
I step into the space, my shoes sinking into the plush rug. Suddenly I feel like I shouldn’t have shoes on in this house.
The room is cavernous but decorated to the hilt. The far wall is floor-to-ceiling windows framed by silk drapes in a deep red—the color of wine, or even blood.
Another wall is covered with mirrors, with a velvet settee and two armchairs in front of it, all of them black. Even the ceiling is ornate and covered in gold, or at least something that appears to be gold.
But the bed… It’s obviously meant to be the focal point of the space, and it is. It’s massive and piled high with luxurious linens in cream and gold. There are enough pillows to make a whole other bed from them.
“I got it from an eccentric man who lived in Italy,” Thorn says softly behind me. “It’s very old.”
“How old?”