Page 66 of The Billionaire's Accidental Legacy

He didn’t know if he was intrigued or if he wanted to turn away. He’d wanted to find something other than the facade he’d cultivated. He wanted something other than the ash that was left in his mouth after his father died. The bitterness of revenge gone satisfied, and cold.

She’d shown him he could feel something.

He could not deny this moment. The look of pure ecstasy on her face as she took in every brushstroke of the artwork in front of her.

He vowed then to give her more memories. There were so many gifts that could be given away. Thrown away. Forgotten about.

The memory would stay with Jessie forever, and he realized that made his every interaction with her so much more perilous. So much more precious.

She was a rare thing. And she had been abused all of her life.

He felt the sudden urge to shield her entirely. From anything unpleasant in the world.

She stayed at the museum for hours. Until it was dark outside.

And he had never fancied himself a great lover of museums, but watching her was something that he might never tire of.

What a strange thing. To care for someone like that.

The thought brought him up short.

Caring for her.

And she was at risk.

He thought of her father again.

He would kill that man himself before he ever...

And there it was. His father’s violence making itself known, crowding into this moment when he had felt human.

He hated that. Hated his old man with a burning passion.

It had become everything he was, and yet...

He had not changed a thing.

He was having a child. He had not ended the bloodline.

His father was dead, and his mother was still gone.

Nothing was fixed.

When they finally finished and went back to the penthouse, he left her again, without touching her. Because he needed to distance himself from these feelings.

He couldn’t afford to have them.

He couldn’t afford to have any.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

JESSIEWASSTILLlost in the beauty of their trip to Paris when the day of the wedding came.

Maren was fussing about, and arranging her skirt, fiddling with her flowers.

“This really should be you,” said Jessie, looking at her sister.

“Why?” Maren asked.

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