Page 17 of The Heir

He answers but doesn't say anything, and it's a bit awkward as we breathe at each other down the line. "I'm not a brat," I finally whisper.

It's a bold faced lie. We both know it.

King stays silent for a few seconds. "Do you like them?" he asks quietly.

"Yes. But I'm in a relationship. I can't take these into my house, King."

"I don't think you need to worry about taking flowers into your house, Isobel. He won't mind."

I'm so shocked I stumble.

What the fuck?

My brows scrunch. "What? You don't think he'd mind me bringing in flowers another man gifted me?"

"No, I actually don't."

"King, that'sbeyondfucking rude.Christopher loves me."

It suddenly hits me like a ton of bricks that Christopher has never actually told me he loves me. I blink, trying desperately to think back, because….that can't be right. He's had to have told me he loved me at some point.

"Isobel," King sighs. "You don't need to worry about the flowers, take them inside."

"No.Again,I can't bring flowers inside my home another man gave me, that issodisrespectful."

"Hm. You're worried about the wrong thing. But if you're so nervous about it, if he asks you tell him 'you aren't worried about what you bring inside the apartment, so why should I be?' And see what he says… but I promise you, Christopher isn't going to say anything."

I'm standing there, blinking, perplexed. "King, what did you mean by that?"

"I have to go Isobel, call me if you need me."

"No, Goddamn it,tell me what you meant by that!"

"Goodnight Izzy." King hangs up and my arm drops. I stand there for a minute debating what to do, but then I decidefuck it.I push through the door and head inside, placing the flowers on the side table right as Christopher comes around the corner and greets me.

"Hey you," Christopher says, leaning in to give me a chaste kiss on my cheek. I stiffen at the smell of him, thinking it's familiar, but I can't place it. He turns and heads into the kitchen, grabs a bottle of water, and then walks back into the living room where there's a basketball game on the television. "Nice flowers."

He sits down and kicks his feet up, watching the game. Perplexed, I continue to stand there, patiently waiting for him toask why I have these kind of flowers, demand to see the note attached, ask me how my meetings and my day went.

You know, care.

I frown. "Thanks, I went to dinner with Anna tonight." That gets his attention because he turns to look at me curiously.

"Oh yeah? How's she doing?"

"She's okay, same old same old."

"That's good." Back to the game.

Short, to the point, boring.

My phone pings again and I look down seeing King has texted me the date and time for the next meeting. I shake my head, walking to the back bedroom to take a shower, needing to wash this fucking crazy ass day off. Thirty minutes later I climb into bed, moaning at the feel of the nice clean sheets. Christopher's anal about the fucking bed, making sure he changes our sheets about three times a week.

Honestly, I think it's a little neurotic considering we hardly ever have sex, but it could be worse, he could have nasty hygiene.

I pop my wireless ear pods in, listening to a ted talk and counting my blessings that I don't have a gross boyfriend and fall asleep before Christopher comes to bed for the night.

He's awake and out of the house when I wake up the next morning and again, I feel a sense of relief. Rolling over to his side, I put my nose to his pillow, smelling that scent I can't place.

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