Page 24 of Heiress Billionaire

“Figure it out.” I force a sarcastic grin that doesn’t meet my eyes, and he squints back at me.

“Zho-pa.” He grumbles an insult that roughly translates tobrat, and turns back to the stove.

“What did you just call me?” I snap my book shut, and he doesn’t look back. Instinctively, I stand to my feet and make my way through the icy air to his side.

“Move.” He crosses the kitchen with the pot, cigarette secured in his mouth once again.

“Why do you hate me?” His brows go tall at my demanding question, and he turns, pulls the unlit cigarette away from his round lips with a look of bewilderment.

“Youhate me.” He enunciates, and I say nothing, tense my brow to disagree, though I can’t.

“Don’t pretend it isn’t true, Esperanza.”

“My name is Espie.”

“No. It’s not. But that’s the fucking point, isn’t it?”

“I’m not following.”

“Shocker.”

“If that’s supposed to be some dig at my intelligence, I think you’ve overstepped the line marked ‘delusion’ and you’re free-floating in crazy-town.”

“Alright, calm down.” He presses a palm to his hangover headache, and I know it’s a hang-over because I can still smell the alcohol. As he brings the cigarette to his mouth again, remembering it isn’t lit, he growls deeply, kicking the cabinet, and recoiling with a limp before sending a few frightening punches to the sink. I watch in horror, frozen by the frigid air and his even icier mood. He slumps down onto the floor despondently after a few minutes, and I take the moment of silence to breathe deeply.

“Just leave.” He grumbles under his breath, twisting the cigarette around his fingers.

“No.” I quickly say, just above normal speaking volume, and he looks up, eyes fiery and determined.

“Leave!” He shouts, and I barely flinch, crossing my arms. This must be the drop that brims his glass because he flies up, right in my face, piercing blue eyes stabbing me where it hurts. Icouldjust leave. Could stop feeling his breath on my lips and his body heat collecting with mine, could stop everything right now by turning on my heel and exiting out that door. But I don’t. I’m frozen by his proximity, equally fearful as I am pulled to him.

And I hate him all the same, but want him nonetheless. God, what’s wrong with me?

His chest rises and falls, and the tips of his fingers reach for my lips slowly, intently. I watch him. Do nothing but follow his hand with my eyes. Feel the pulse of my heart beating in my ears faster than it should for standing so still.

I tilt into him, wanting him to touch me. Why do I want this? It’s just for a moment, I forget myself, that is until Olive’s footsteps down the main stairwell send us both flying away from each other like repelling magnets. Like the way we should always be.

She steps into the kitchen just as I raise my book to my face. It’s upside-down, but it’s too late because she walks in and sees us all flustered. There’s a beat where she’s just looking between us curiously and then finally her eyes land on me and I swallow the lump in my throat.

8

ADRIK

“Weird vibe.” Olive curls her upper lip. “Can I talk to you?” Her eyes go wide towards Espie, and I shove a hand through my hair nonchalantly. Espie follows her out of the room promptly, and I clutch my chest to shut up my heart. It’s beating so fucking fast it hurts, and I know I almost made a mistake. It’s these damn cigarettes. I need one, and I can’t have one, so my body found a distraction. That’s it. I still loathe Espie San Giovanni, and that’s not changing any time soon.

The only thing I can change now is finding a source of fire to light a cigarette and forget the burning in my throat and the itching all over my skin.

Last night I got properly drunk— downed half a bottle of vodka, stood out on the balcony in the freezing cold to light a cigarette and my fucking lighter fell into a mound of snow. I have half a brain to go outside and dig for it. But the snow is already taller than me, and that’s quite an extreme resolve when I haven’t exhausted all of my resources. Then there’s my headache also rendering me useless in dealing with the glare of light off every snow-covered surface.

I make my way out of the kitchen and down the hall. There’s a small staircase mid-way through, leading up to a massive library that overlooks the small town we used to think we ruled as children. What an awakening we had when we realized we were in fact not royalty at all. Not in the traditional sense, anyway.

I lumber up the stairs, trying not to step too hard because my entire body hates me when I’m hungover and any excess movement causes me to vomit. It’s why I’m always a little drunk at all times. Better this way. Better not to feel too much.

At the top of the stairs, I cross to the double doors, pulling them both open and searching the center of the room where the lounge area is. On the right, I see what I’ve been looking for. A nicely lit fire is still burning bright in the fireplace. I don’t know who lit it or when, but I don’t care because I can finally smoke.

My father would kill me on the spot if he knew I was smoking around these old books. And I do think about leaving after I’ve lit the cigarette, but I’ve made the effort to come up here, I might as well stay.

I cross to the window and open it up, taking my first drag of the morning, and then everything feels better. The air is freezing, but I don’t mind much because I think it’s helping my headache. Or is that just the nicotine kicking in?

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