Twisted (Never After #4)(24)

I swing the door open, and Julian is standing on the other side, his head cast down, inky black hair on full display, one of his arms propped against the right side of the doorframe. His eyes slowly move from the top of my bare feet, up my legs, over my baggy shirt, until he finally meets my gaze.

“Of course, it’s you,” I sneer.

“Ciao.” His forearm flexes as he forces his way into my room, tattoos peeking out from beneath his rolled-up sleeve.

“Please.” I wave my arm dramatically before shutting the door behind him. “Make yourself at home.”

He plops down on my bed, his body bouncing slightly on the mattress. “Such a wonderful host. Do you always welcome men into your bed so lovingly?”

I squint my eyes, irritation stabbing at my middle like a dull knife. “Are you implying I’m a whore?”

His head jerks back. “That’s a pretty wild conclusion to take from what I said. Are you sure you don’t have something heavy weighing down your conscience? Guilt, perhaps, over your harlot ways?”

My cheeks puff out with my breath as I close my eyes and try to keep from walking over and smacking him in the face. “Are you sure you’re thirty-six? You act like a prepubescent boy who isn’t getting his way.”

He doesn’t reply this time, simply cocking his head, his dark eyes sparking as he stares at me with a maniacal grin on his face.

“Quit looking at me like that,” I demand, fidgeting from his gaze. “Where is Aidan?”

His playful smirk drops, and he leans back on his elbows, the mattress bowing slightly underneath him. I cringe at the sight of him on my bed, side-eyeing the sheets and making a mental reminder to have them changed so they don’t smell like him when I try to go to sleep.

He shrugs. “Busy packing, I assume.”

My stomach drops. “I’m sorry, he’s what?”

“He didn’t tell you yet?” His face shows genuine surprise. “I’m sending him to Egypt with my assistant, Ian.”

“He wouldn’t leave without telling me,” I reply.

“Of course not.” His voice is sarcastic, and he stands, moving toward me, waving his arms in the air. “They’re going to hunt down the lamp that will grant all your wishes, giving you both your happily ever after.”

I back up, not wanting him to get close.

He smirks, his footsteps halting. “Are you afraid of me?”

“Please,” I scoff. “Don’t give yourself so much credit. I just know you have a nasty habit of coming into spaces where you’re not wanted.”

His smile drops completely then, and he walks forward, doing the exact thing I just told him he would. Getting into my space.

My breath hitches in my throat at the dangerous glint in his eyes, so similar to the fire that was burning in them the night he watched me get fucked by another man, and I curse my stupid, traitorous body for reacting to him at all.

He doesn’t miss the action, and I hate the way it makes me feel like he, once again, has gained the upper hand.

“Oh, gattina.” He chuckles, ghosting his finger down the apple of my cheek until he’s cupping my jaw. “If I come, I promise, you’ll be begging for it.”

My heart trips.

“You better get used to me here,” he continues. “Your father only has a couple of months left, and I’d hate to see what happens if you aren’t under my protection once he’s gone.”

Maybe I should take more stock in the thinly veiled threat, but the words “couple of months” and “my father” in the same sentence have me suddenly struggling to breathe too much to focus on anything else.

I reach up, my hands brushing against his broad chest as I push him away.

He goes willingly, backing up a few paces and running his tongue over his bottom lip.

“What do you mean, a couple of months?” I force out.

“I mean your father is a very sick man, Yasmin. Or are you living in a delusional world where he isn’t going to die any day?”

His words attack my chest like splinters, plunging deep and sharp. “I don’t…” I shake my head, pressing the back of my hand to my overheated face. “He has more than a couple of months, Julian, please.”

Julian blows out a breath, his eyes calculating, as though he’s trying to decide whether I really believe what I’m saying. But why wouldn’t I? I know he’s sick and that he’ll eventually get worse until he passes, but to pretend he’s worse off than he is, it’s just cruel. I know realistically, hospice is a six-month death sentence at best, but…a couple of months?

Slowly, Julian steps back in again, his hand reaching out and cupping my cheek, lifting my face until I meet his solemn stare. “He doesn’t, gattina.”

I blink rapidly to clear the sudden fogginess from my eyes, the warmth of his touch sending ripples of unexpected comfort through me.

The feeling catches me off guard and I rip my face away. “How the hell would you know?”

He smirks. “Upset that Daddy didn’t tell you first? Looks like you’re not the favorite after all.”

I stuff down the storm that brews at his words and shake my head. “It doesn’t make any sense. He wouldn’t expect me to get married in…” I pause, my brows furrowing. “He only has a couple of months?”