Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
A smile breaks free across Jonathan’s beautiful lips. “I didn’t think you’d be this easily deceived.”
“You…you were joking?” That’s as rare as witnessing a mythical being.
“You think I would ever bet Aiden? He’s my only son.”
Phew. Deep down, I didn’t think he’d do that, but he also doesn’t joke. That’s the part that threw me off. “So what did you bet?”
“One of my subsidiaries.”
“I didn’t know you play poker.”
“I don’t.”
“You just said you won it in a poker game.”
“I only play when I know I can win. I don’t like unsure gambles.”
Considering Jonathan’s control-freak personality, that makes complete sense.
My attention returns to the road and the way the trees part as we pass through. “What’s the name of the island?”
“It’s under King Enterprises.”
“It should have a name of its own.”
“The prince called it a complicated Arabic name. It’s on the papers. If you’re so insistent on knowing it, I can call Harris.”
“You should name it something special to you. After all, not just anyone can own an island.”
“Huh.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, but it seems as if he’s never thought of that possibility. Jonathan is the type who doesn’t get attached to things like normal humans, and I guess that makes this whole suggestion pointless to him.
Oh well, at least I tried. I haven’t gotten to see most of the island yet, and it already looks like a small space cut from paradise.
Thoughts of why we’re here try to barge in. I think of Dad’s interview and his accusations, about the prosecution, media, and victims’ families.
The beauty surrounding me starts to vanish, its colours slowly turning to grey. This isn’t a holiday.
I’m running away — it’s as simple as that.
Jonathan releases my hand, letting it drop to his lap, and grips my thigh. It’s like he knows exactly where my mind went and is bringing me back to the present.
A strange type of warmth engulfs me as I fall into his presence. There’s something about his soft touch that, even if his features remain unreadable, I sense what he’s trying to relay.
Right now, it seems that he wants me comfortable above anything else.
We stop by a house in the hills that’s slightly hidden from below by tall trees.
It’s smaller than the King mansion, and it has a modern feel to it with its two-storey round architecture. The interior stairs are visible from the outside through the shiny glass walls.
“It’s different,” I tell Jonathan as we step out of the car.
“It’s the prince’s creation, not mine.”
The lack of Jonathan’s grandiose touch makes sense then. If it were up to my tyrant, he’d make it appear as intimidating as he is.
In every sense of the word.
Power isn’t only a tactic for Jonathan, it’s his philosophy in life.
From what I understand about his past, the way he lost his father made him merciless. Seeing his dad die of weakness made him take a figurative vow to never be in that position himself.
In a way, he tamed power and made it his best friend. They’re so intertwined now, as if they’re one being.
Jonathan grabs me by the waist as he leads me inside. Moses remains still as a stone in front of the car, arms crossed in front of him, one hand over the other. I smile back at him with a nod.
“Eyes ahead, Aurora.” Jonathan’s voice holds a clear warning.
“I was just acknowledging him. I don’t like ignoring people.”
His lips thin. “You were smiling at him.”
“So now I’m not allowed to smile at others?”
“Not if you can help it.”
“And if I can’t help it?”
We stop at the entrance, and he lifts my chin with two long fingers. I stare up at him with parted lips and he runs his thumb over the bottom one, back and forth, creating a sensual rhythm.
“Your smile, like everything else about you, is mine and mine alone. I don’t share.”
I’m trapped in the intensity of his grey eyes. In the storm lurking inside that he won’t hesitate to unleash on the world at any second. The fact that he’s willing to destroy the world for me shouldn’t affect me this much, but a strange type of giddiness overtakes me.
Clearing my throat, I pull away from Jonathan to take a look at the house. Its interior is as modern as its exterior. There’s nothing of the precise control and majesty that’s clear in every inch of the King mansion.
Here, it’s minimalistic but a bit cosier. I fall onto the plush sofa, throwing my head back. “This is so comfy.”
“We can get a similar one for home.”
Home.
No idea if he’s calling it that on purpose, but somewhere deep down, in that wrong part of my soul, I believe it.
Whether I like to admit it or not, the King mansion has become my home. Jonathan’s home is my home.