Twisted (Never After #4)(53)

There’s a grunt from the bed, and I keep my gaze trained on my lap, not wanting to look up and see the rejection on my father’s face. But he surprises me when he says, “I don’t have the energy to be angry.”

My head snaps up, relief pouring through me when I see nothing but acceptance in his eyes.

Julian’s hand is still on my leg and his fingers squeeze my thigh. I reach down, slipping my hand beneath his and showing solidarity. He protected me in his own weird way, even though I’m not sure why, so I’ll play my part to perfection, the way I know he wants.

“We can still plan a wedding,” I chime in. “I want you to walk me down the aisle.”

My father opens his mouth to speak, but instead, a rough cough surges up in its place, and the sound makes my insides jump and my fingers grip a little tighter onto Julian’s.

The cough is harsher now than it ever has been before, and I feel useless, unable to do anything except sit by his side and watch him suffer through the pain.

My own chest feels like it’s splitting in two the longer my father struggles to regain his composure, and it isn’t until he has that I realize my other hand has grasped onto Julian’s wrist, bringing his entire forearm to rest in my lap while my fingers hold on to him so tightly it blanches his skin. His thumb is rubbing soothing circles on my palm, and even though it’s sick and wrong and everything I’m supposed to be against, I don’t pull away from the comfort he’s providing. It makes me feel a little less, and right now, sitting at my baba’s bedside while his body fails in front of my eyes, I’d give anything not to feel.

My father recovers, wiping beneath his eyes and reaching for the glass of water at his bedside table. I jump up to grab it for him, but he stops me halfway there with a sharp glare.

“I’m fine, Yasmin. Leave it.”

My heart drops. “I…of course. I’m sorry.”

He sighs, leaning back against his pillows and rubbing his eyes. “I’m tired, and if you keep your wife in the room, I’m not able to talk. She doesn’t need to be involved in the business, Julian.”

Julian’s quiet for a moment before leaning over and pressing his lips against my forehead.

I’m so choked up from everything that just happened, I couldn’t speak if I tried.

“I’ll only be a moment. Stay close so you can come back in and say goodbye.”

Swallowing around the knot in my throat, I nod. And then before I can take another breath, his lips are on mine.

It’s quick and chaste and shouldn’t be anything other than a show.

But it throws my entire world off its axis anyway.





Chapter 22





Julian





I should be in the office, doing my actual job of running a multibillion-dollar diamond conglomerate, something that I haven’t done enough of ever since Yasmin took center stage in my life.

We’re close to launching two new lines of jewelry, one for Christmas and one for Valentine’s Day, and since Ian isn’t at the office fielding the incessant questions and approving on my behalf things that I don’t have time to focus on, there are mounds of emails and meetings piling up while I ignore them to be with her instead.

Take right now, for instance, when it’s barely past five p.m. and I’m sitting in my family room, my body warmed by the crackling of the fireplace, as I watch her get drunk off my expensive whiskey.

“What are you looking at?” She squints at me, taking another sip.

I relax in the oversize chair, bringing my own glass up to my mouth. “You.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, throwing herself back into the couch. “You do that a lot.”

“What?” I ask. “Look at you?”

“Mm-hmm.” She closes her eyes, leaning her head against the cushions. “You never used to, not when I would have cared anyway. But now it’s like…I can feel you staring and all I want is for you to disappear.”

I frown, although I’m not sure why her words bother me.

Her gaze jolts open, her face turning toward me.

“So serious,” she mocks. “You know, Baba used to say if you frowned too much, your face would get stuck that way.”

“Fascinating,” I drawl, taking a drink of whiskey and reveling in the burn as it blazes down my throat and settles in my chest.

“I could see you being a grumpy kid, I won’t lie,” she muses. “Got any pictures to dispel my theory?”

“Enough,” I snap, not wanting to talk about my childhood.

She sticks out her bottom lip, scoffing and rolling her eyes. It’s an immature thing to do, and my hand tingles, imagining what it would feel like to spank her ass and make her sorry for the disrespect. I take another sip instead, trying to shake off the feeling.

It goes silent after that because I definitely ruined the moment, and I’m about to leave her to continue drinking on her own when she speaks, her voice quieter than before.

“How do you remember then?” she asks.

“Remember what?”

“You know…” She waves her arm around. “All the good stuff.”

I drain the rest of my glass and set it down on the end table beside me. “I’d rather forget.”