Twisted (Never After #4)(47)

I walk over to see what it is, my breath catching in my lungs when I realize it’s my cell phone.

My head shoots up, my gaze locking on his.

“This is your home now, Mrs. Faraci.”





After Julian gave me my phone back, he informed me that despite his earlier threat of making me share his bed, he had set up a room for me that was on the opposite side of the house. He left shortly after without showing me how to get there.

But I navigated the expansive home without too much trouble, split between wanting to explore and wanting to immediately open my phone and try to get ahold of Aidan.

Aidan won out, and I made my way up the large staircase, choosing to go left instead of right when it broke in two different directions. After a few attempts, first running into a guest bathroom and then a large sitting room with floor-to- ceiling bookshelves and a glossy black grand piano, I found what I assume is my room.

If it isn’t, he can come kick me out later, because I’m staying here.

It’s soothing, if not a little creepy, how similar it is to my old bedroom at home— though I guess it’s not my home anymore. The same four-poster bed with cream drapes, tied back on each end. The same style vanity and a full-length mirror tucked away in the left-hand corner of the room. There’s a small desk sitting directly beneath the sheer-curtained window and a vase with lavender perched on the edge, creating a soft and pleasant scent.

Making my way through the space, I open the door to the left, which attaches to an incredible bathroom with a claw-foot soaker tub and an oversize shower that would easily fit five people.

The entire aesthetic of the place is gorgeous, and it pisses me off that I’m immediately feeling comfort in a strange place where I’m basically being held captive and forced to stay against my will.

Spinning around, my anger back intact, I move over to the sitting area that’s to the left of the bedroom door, my hand gripping my phone so tight I’m afraid it might crack.

Plopping down in the chair, I let out the first full breath since I’ve gotten here and toss my cell down on the small round coffee table in front of me.

And then I sit there and stew, picking it up again before dropping it back down. Over and over, I repeat the motion, frustrated at myself that I can’t seem to get it together enough to actually call Aidan. Something’s holding me back, and I know it’s the fact that now I have to tell him I’m married. My stomach pinches when I think about the “wedding,” memory of the arousal that coursed through me when we kissed staining my body like ink.

I want to call Aidan, but visions of how he’ll react slam into me, making me too nervous. I don’t want to upset him or deal with the repercussions of how he’ll respond.

Before I know it, an hour has passed, and I’m no closer to calling him, let alone looking through my messages, than I was when I first got the thing back.

What time is it in Egypt anyway?

My leg shakes and my teeth sink into my bottom lip, chewing until the skin breaks and the faint metallic taste floods my mouth.

This is ridiculous.

But what if he doesn’t believe me?

What if he no longer cares?

Blowing out a deep breath, I snatch up my phone again and unlock the screen, seeing a few unread messages and a handful of voicemails.

My heart sinks the tiniest bit, because I won’t lie, I thought there would be more. Regardless, I open the texts from Aidan, seeing him ask where I am and then a reply I absolutely never sent telling him that something came up with my father and not to come meet me.

My stomach churns.

Of course. That explains why he never showed up that night.

I know it was Julian, and it’s honestly so par for the course for him to pretend to be me and then play ignorant like Aidan left without a word, and I’m reminded, once again, how he can’t be trusted.

Still, after Aidan saying okay and that he’ll miss me while he’s gone, there’s nothing. He’s been there almost a week now and he hasn’t tried to say a single thing.

But I know he’s determined to win my father over by finding the lamp.

Anxiety clamps around my lungs and squeezes, making my vision grow hazy. Everything’s fine. He’s fine. Julian won’t hurt him unless I force his hand. But even as I think it, I don’t sound very convincing.

My fingers tremble as I type out a hasty text.

Me: Hi, I’m so sorry I lost my phone and just got it back :( I hope you weren’t too worried. How’s Egypt? I can’t believe I didn’t get to say goodbye.





My leg shakes as I wait for a reply, but after ten minutes of staring down at my phone and realizing I’m not going to get one, at least not right away, I type out another message.

Before I can stop myself, I’ve sent a long string of texts explaining myself, trying to answer any questions that he might have before realizing that maybe I’ve said too much or the wrong thing, so I send another message trying to explain the previous one away. I finally send four more before forcing myself to put down the phone and walk away, knowing it’s doing nothing but ratcheting up the high-strung energy that’s coursing through my veins.

Me: Are you mad at me? I don’t like being so far away from you, it makes me nervous. Me: Any luck on the lamp?





Me: I don’t know what you’ve heard, but it isn’t what you think. Can you talk?