Page 8 of Twisted (Never After)
“I’m not.”
My bottom lip trembles and I pull it between my teeth, twisting my head from his grasp.
His grip tightens and he brings me back to face him. “I’m not. I just… I’ve loved you since I was thirteen, and I’ve respected your wishes, waiting on the sidelines, having you in secret all these years while you figured out a way to tell him. I don’t want to lose the chance of getting his blessing. Let me prove to you I’m good enough, Yasmin. For himandfor you.”
My stomach churns.
“I can give you the world. But you have to let me actually be with you in public.” He peppers small kisses along my jaw, causing goose bumps to sprout down my neck. “I love you, Yas. Surely, your dad will see that you love me too.”
Nodding, I push down the fear and run my fingers through his silky brown hair. “Okay. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
But the next morning, when I’m sitting in my father’s office…Idon’ttalk to him.
Despite what Aidan may think, it isn’t that easy. I’ve tried a thousand times over the years to make the words pass my lips:“Baba, I’m in love with Aidan Lancaster.”But they never come.
At first there was nothing truly to tell. It was just a deep friendship, one that blossomed soon after he showed up at the estate, his mother becoming the head of our household staff when he was six years old. We were two kids spending our free time together in the summer and sneaking out to make snow angels in the winter. And when it turned into something more, I became protective, afraid of what I’d do if I lost Aidan all together and, if I’m honest, afraid of making my father upset. There’s a need for my dad’s approval that spawns deep in my gut, bleeding through every single one of my good intentions until it snuffs out all the light. He’s not a coldhearted man— at least not with me— but he expects a certain type of person to exist in our circle, and people in a lower income bracket don’t fit the mold. They’re staff members, meant to be seen and not heard. And definitely not meant to sweep in and steal his daughter’s heart.
I’m not sure where the insecurity stems from. Maybe it’s because my mother died in childbirth, leaving him to be the only one in my orbit, or maybe it’s because despite the less- than- ideal vision he has for me, he’s loved and supported me every day of my life.
He’s nevernotbeen there.
I would give my dad the world because it’s what he’s given me. I’d be selfish to pretend otherwise.
“Habibti, are you okay?” My father’s voice coasts through the air, skating along the tops of his dark wood furniture until it settles heavily on my shoulders, forcing me deeper into the rich burgundy leather of his oversize chair.
We’re in his home office, the place he spends most of his days now that he’s ill, and flashes of my time as a young child sitting in my father’s lap behind his desk while he taught me about the four C’s of diamonds— cut, color, clarity, and carat weight— come to the forefront of my mind. A warm feeling of love fills me up when I remember the way he’d bounce me on his knee while I stared into a magnifying glass and looked at the jewels he’d bring home.
“Yes, Yasmin,” Julian cuts in. “You look positively flushed. Care to share?”
I cut my gaze over to him, annoyed that he’s always here and clearly trying his best to get under my skin. I’ve always known that he’s my father’s sidekick, but until I got back from university, I didn’t realize that meant he would be forever lingering like a bad habit.
He stares at me with a challenge, his tall frame fitted in a perfect suit and his shoulder leaned against the wall like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. As if he didn’t become the world’s worst Peeping Tom last night as he watched Aidan fuck me, then get me off with his tongue.
“Don’t you have your own house to go to?” I snark. “Your own family to bother?”
He chuckles. “Why be there when there’s so much toseewhere I am?”
Embarrassment flows through me, my blood pressing beneath the surface of my skin.
“Does me being here bother you?” He tilts his head.
I shrug. “You’re like a roach, always lurking in dark corners.”
He smirks, straightening off the wall and sauntering toward me, leaning down slightly as he picks up my hand and presses a small kiss to the back. “I could teach you a lot about what happens in dark corners, gattina,” he murmurs.
My heart shoots to my throat.
“You two are like siblings,” my father says with a laugh.
Julian frowns as he stands up straight again. He smooths down the front of his black suit jacket, the veins on his hands pronounced from the ink that weaves around them. Squinting my eyes, I realize it’s a tattoo of a snake peeking out of his sleeve, and I track my gaze along his arm, wondering how far up the art goes.
A snake.
Fitting, I think.
A tingling sense of foreboding slithers up my spine and wraps around my neck.
“Baba,” I say, tearing my eyes away from Julian. “Can we talk in private?”
