Twisted (Never After #4)(30)

I watch him from my peripheral vision, annoyed that he’s putting on such a show, acting all suave and charming when he’s anything but.

The hostess— Andrea— glances down at her computer system and then back up. “He’s already here. I’ll take you both back.”

We start to follow her, but it’s difficult to walk with the way Julian’s arm is still around my waist, making me stick to him like glue.

“Quit touching me,” I murmur out of the side of my mouth. “You look like a skeevy predator.”

It’s not true. He looks incredible, and any other woman would most likely be thrilled to be seen on his arm regardless of the age difference, but I’ll die before I admit it out loud.

He glances down at me as we walk. “And you look fucking sinful in that outfit. I’m not allowing anyone to think you’re here by yourself.”

My brows shoot to my hairline, the shock of his words making me lose any retort I had. Did he just compliment me? Backhanded, of course, because I can take care of myself, but still, I don’t think he’s ever so much as said thank you, so this is a shift in demeanor I wasn’t expecting.

It puts me on edge, this stark one-eighty in his personality, and despite what he seems to think, I’m not clueless. I know he’s buttering me up, trying to play the angle of a doting fiancé.

“You make me sick,” I hiss.

His fingers tighten around me, squeezing so lightly I’m not sure if I imagined it, and then we’re at the table and a tall blond man with broad shoulders and a dark suit is rising from his seat, his gaze flickering to Julian and then to his arm around my waist before they stop on me.

I shift in my spot, uncomfortable with the attention. It feels slimy, like I’m a prize he’s set his eyes on and is determined to win. I stand there in limbo, wondering if I should introduce myself or sit down first, and then the choice is taken from me as Julian pulls out the chair next to me, prodding me lightly so I move to sit. He waits until I’m settled, his hand never leaving the back of the chair, and then he pushes me in.

My mind spins at the chivalry, and my eyes narrow up at him.

I know your tricks, asshole.

He moves to sit next to me and props his ankle on his opposite knee, adopting a casual air as he waves over a waiter and orders a Glenlivet neat and a glass of cabernet for me.

Maybe I should be annoyed that he ordered for me, but the truth is that public places and people I’ve never met make me uneasy, and by the end of the night, I always have a headache from masking my anxiety and holding my jaw too tightly. The direction from him is soothing, and I hate to admit it makes me relax, even just the tiniest bit.

“Where’s my father?” I ask, suddenly realizing he still isn’t here.

“That’s a good question,” the man across the table cuts in. “I was under the impression I’d be meeting not only Ali’s beautiful daughter”— his eyes run up my torso, resting on my breasts before meeting my gaze— “but also Ali himself.”

Julian hums deep in his throat just as his drink is placed in front of him. He reaches out and grips the glass tumbler, the black ink on the back of his hand flexing with his fingers. “Things change. Now you get to meet me.”





Chapter 12





Julian





Once I made myself known to be there in Ali’s stead, I expected Alexander’s countenance to change. For him to become more pliable and willing to grovel at my feet the way so many others do. Possibly for recognition to dawn in his eyes.

But if anything, the ire behind his gaze only grew.

“And who are you?” he asks haughtily.

“He’s the bane of my existence,” Yasmin pipes in.

I flash her a grin before focusing again on the man across the table who’s trying to take what I’ve decided is mine.

“Or I guess you could call him my father’s bitch, if that’s more your speed.”

My teeth grit until my molars ache at the disrespect, and if I didn’t need her to experience what life would be like if she ended up with this idiot, I’d lash out, maybe drown her in a bathtub so I wouldn’t have to hear her speak again.

“Forgive Yasmin,” I say. “Despite her obvious beauty and rather large inheritance, she still has a nasty habit of being jealous.”

Yasmin lets out a bark of laughter.

I turn my face toward her, tsking before I turn back to Alexander. “Hope you can handle it. Alexander Sokolov, I’m guessing?”

He nods stiffly, tapping his thick fingers on the table. “Yes.”

“Interesting last name,” I continue. “Russian?”

His jaw locks, eyes narrowing on me. “Correct.”

I nod, throwing an arm around the back of Yasmin’s chair. “Fascinating to have you so…invested in Ali’s daughter.”

“Mr. Faraci,” a voice interrupts. I look over to see the hostess who led us to the table standing next to me with an apologetic look on her face. “So sorry to interrupt, but you had a call. A Mr. Godard requesting you call him back as soon as possible. He said he’s tried to reach your phone.”

I nod, irritated that Ian called the fucking restaurant when he knows I’m busy.

“Julian Faraci,” Alexander says, recognition flashing over his face. “Of course. I’ve heard so much about you.”