Cruel King: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Jillian Quinn

  Once inside, we plopped down on the plush couches. Mark took a sip from the bottle of champagne and handed it to me. “You know what I did on my eighteenth birthday?”

  “Hmm…” I raised my eyebrow at him. “If I remember correctly, you had friends over, got drunk, and then trashed the pool house. Oh, and you stepped on broken glass from the craft beer bottles you stole from Dad’s private stash, and the concierge doctor had to give you a few stitches.”

  He titled his head back and laughed. “It’s not a party worth talking about unless someone passes out or ends up in the hospital.”

  I shook my head at him, not amused. More like I was jealous that our father gave him such a long leash, when I was on constant lockdown.

  I raised the bottle in my hand and said, “To Dad not being here to ruin the night. He’s such a buzz kill.”

  “Why do you think I like it out here? No cameras and no one to watch me. I can do whatever the hell I want.”

  “Yeah, but you kind of need someone to look after you.”

  My brother had addiction problems, which stemmed from his underlying issue. Mark was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when he was my age, explaining all the erratic behavior and mood swings. He’d dabbled in drugs and alcohol over the years to dull his condition. After his last stint in rehab, disguised as a vacation in the Hamptons, the doctor prescribed my brother medicine that seemed to be working. At least he was more docile than before.

  Mark hopped up from the couch to lift a medium-sized box from the kitchen counter. The paper was bunched as if he’d gotten frustrated and balled it together long enough to slap a pound of tape and ribbon on it.

  I chuckled when he set it on the table in front of me. “You shouldn’t have. What did the wrapping paper ever do to you?”

  He rolled his eyes and sank into the space next to me, the plush cushions moving beneath his weight. “Hey, at least I tried. I could’ve pulled a Dad move and had the girl at the store wrap it for me.”

  I patted him on the shoulder. “You get an A for effort that’s for sure.”

  Mark smirked, stealing the bottle from my hand. “Stop giving me shit and open your present.”

  I laid the box in my lap and tugged at the ribbon holding the crazy mess together. My fingers slid beneath the seams of the paper, revealing a black box with no markings on it. “There better not be something gross inside,” I warned him.

  He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  For my tenth birthday, Mark thought he was funny and slipped a fuzzy fake spider inside one of my presents. I screamed for ten minutes straight, now terrified of spiders for life because of him.

  I flipped the top, the lid falling to the floor at my feet. A navy hoodie with COLUMBIA scrawled in white letters was inside, accompanied by a small box from Tiffany’s. All the men in my life were spoiling me today.

  Mark pointed at the sweatshirt. “It has your name on the back.”

  I held it up and turned it over to see PARISI in the same white lettering. The number twenty-three, my favorite, was below it.

  I dropped it onto the couch next to me and leaned over to give Mark a hug. “Thank you. A real gift for once, not something a lady I don’t even know picked out for me. Dad’s presents are so depressing. They only remind me of how much he doesn’t care. But you do.” I released him from my strong grasp and sat back. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, big bro.”

  He smiled and made a fist that he knocked into my arm. It was a light tap that didn’t hurt. “Don’t mention it. You deserve better than this.” Mark pointed at the Tiffany’s box. “Open it.”

  I couldn’t believe my eyes or the fact I was holding a pair of diamond and tanzanite flower drop earrings. My mouth opened wide in shock when I locked onto Mark. “These cost a fortune. I can’t accept them.” I tried to give him the box, but he pushed it back to me.

  “It’s not every day you turn eighteen. This is a special occasion, and I wanted you to remember it for a good reason for a change. Dad gave me access to some of the money in my trust fund. Don’t worry about it. They were on him.”

  We both laughed.

  So many birthdays were unsatisfying, sometimes ending with me crying or upset over something stupid my father did. But years of disappointment and being beaten down by life had made me tougher, more resilient to bad situations and crap holidays.

  I held my hand over my heart and sighed. “Mark, this was so nice of you. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like them.”

  “How did you even know I was looking at them?”

  I set the box on the coffee table and curled up next to Mark on the couch.

  He passed me what was left of the champagne. “How do you think?”

  I grunted in frustration. “From Dad spying on my Internet searches?”

  He nodded. “Sorry.”

  I yawned, sleep and alcohol taking over me. “It’s not your fault he’s a psycho.”

  My cell phone was monitored along with my computer. A member of my father’s personal security team tracked every single thing I did. The GPS on my phone gave them my location at all times. Once, I’d turned it off and had a swarm of men with guns show up at my friend’s house to collect me. That was the last time I saw Jenny McAvoy. She was the last friend I’d attempted to have before my father paid her family off to keep her out of my life.

  The alcohol was getting to me, my mind a little fuzzy. I rested my head against the back of the couch and turned my head to look at Mark. “What’s it like to be free and live in the city?”

  “It’s fun, different from Long Island. You’ll like Columbia once you get used to being in the city.”

  “We’re so secluded out here,” I confessed. “This place feels like a prison.”

  “That’s why I had to leave. I couldn’t get better until I got away from all this.”

  He was referring to his mental illness. It wasn’t something we talked about often, but his outlook seemed to improve once he was at college.

  “I know Dad’s even harder on you, but it will get better.” Mark patted my hand to comfort me. “At least it did for me. He seemed to lighten up more once I was out of his house.”

  Exhausted from the day I’d had, I closed my eyes and muttered, “I hope you’re right.”

  “Tired?”

  I yawned again, this time louder. “Yes.”

  He covered me with a blanket from the back of the couch and took the bottle from my hand. My eyelids were heavy, and as much as I fought sleep, the alcohol won.

  Chapter Four

  Isabella

  In the middle of the night, a few hours after my birthday celebration had ended, I awoke to my father’s voice. He was yelling at Mark for getting me drunk. I thought I was still on the couch in the pool house, but I was in my bed with no memory of how I’d gotten there. They were in the hallway, their foreheads almost touching with how close they stood. Mark never backed down to my father, but he respected him for it. Whenever I tried the same thing, I paid for my retaliation.

  I sat up, about to tell them to be quiet, when Mark fled down the stairs, and my father rushed into my bedroom.

  “Where did you get this?” He had something in his hand.

  I blinked the sleep from my eyes, trying to focus on the object. My hand fell to my neck. It was the choker from Stephan. I didn’t remember taking it off, but I also didn’t recall how I’d found my way into the house. Mark must’ve carried me. I never slept in my jewelry. Some part of my subconscious must have been awake enough to remove it before I crawled into bed.

  “I bought it for myself,” I lied. “For my birthday.” Holding out my palm, I added, “Can I have it back?”

  With some hesitation, he placed the heavy white gold necklace in my palm. I squeezed it between my fingers, feeling closer to Stephan already. My father could never know who gave it to me. But I had no doubt he would check my credit card statement and determine I was lying to him. The charm w
as custom, something Stephan would’ve had to order in advance. My father was no fool, but he didn’t push the subject.

  “I don’t approve of you getting drunk. Just because you’re an adult now doesn’t mean you can make stupid decisions that could jeopardize your future.”

  “A few glasses of champagne won’t kill me. Normal kids my age hang out with friends on Friday night… not with their butlers.” I rolled onto my side, tucking the choker inside my pillowcase to keep it safe. “Why aren’t you in D.C.?”

  He frowned. “I came home for your birthday.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes at him. The clock on my nightstand read two-thirty in the morning. “You missed it,” I informed him. “Tell Tanya thanks for the gift.”

  Covering my eyes with the pillow, I blocked out the light from the hallway. It was giving me a headache along with this conversation.

  “It was from your mother and me,” he growled.

  “Thanks,” I shot back.

  The card was written in Tanya, his secretary’s, handwriting. I hadn’t even opened the box she’d sent to the house. It was hidden in the back of my closet with all the things I didn’t want to deal with. If only I could stuff my dad in there, too, right under the old pile of blankets.

  “Happy birthday, Isabella.” He said the words through gritted teeth.

  His anger caused me to smile against the pillow. I didn’t respond and kept my eyes closed, hoping he would leave. A beat passed before he finally got the hint I was tired and didn’t want to talk to him. He stomped out of my room, closing the door behind him. The silence was nice. I welcomed it.

  Before I dozed off again, I unzipped the protective case covering my pillow and made sure Stephan’s necklace was secured inside. I couldn’t trust my father with it. The second he found out I didn’t buy myself a present I would be screwed. He would demand to know where it had come from. At least it was in a place where no one would find it.

  On Sunday morning, my phone buzzed along my nightstand with a text message. I clutched the phone in my hand.

  Nicki: Wanna hang out today? I’m going to a book signing in Midtown if you want to come with me.

  My fingers hovered over the keyboard, about to type, when I considered what lie I would have to tell my father to get out of the house. He was still pissed about me drinking with Mark on my birthday. Maybe I could sneak out without him seeing me.

  For a split second, I wondered if someone was staring at this message, waiting for me to reply. A chill crept up the back of my neck. I had no idea how fast a response time my father’s security team had when it came to intercepting my incoming calls and messages. I said a silent prayer it wasn’t immediate and typed out a quick message.

  Me: Sure. What time?

  Nicki: 2pm. Meet me out front of Strand.

  Strand Bookstore, a landmark in the East Village, was an independent bookstore and a popular tourist attraction. I’d been there once when I was younger.

  Me: Perfect. See you there.

  I pushed myself up from the mattress and tugged my hair from the ponytail on top of my head. Before I set foot in the city, I needed a hot shower and some concealer for the dark circles under my eyes. Realizing I was about to have a girls’ day out, my excitement was so uncontainable I couldn’t stop smiling. My face hurt from how much I was doing it.

  After I showered, I slipped into a pair of jeans and a cranberry colored tunic. I sat in front of the vanity and added some product to my curls, fluffing them with my hands. My father had the same loose curls, which he kept short. We looked alike in so many ways it sometimes sickened me. He was an evil monster, and yet when I stared in the mirror, it was like looking at his reflection.

  I wondered if one day I would end up like him. If it was even possible for someone to be so cruel and still live with themselves. He made my blood run cold. His presence sent chills up my arms.

  A little concealer under my eyes helped to cover the dark circles. Accompanied by a light gray shadow and pink lipstick, I looked more like myself. I inspected my appearance in the mirror one last time, before I slid a winter coat over my shoulders and grabbed my handbag from the chair in the corner of my room.

  My father was in his study, which made it easier for me to creep out the front door and slide in the back seat of the black Mercedes parked in the circular drive.

  “Hey, Fernando,” I said to our driver. “Can you take me to the Strand Bookstore in Manhattan?”

  He smiled at me in the rearview mirror. “Of course, Miss Parisi.”

  I was old enough to drive, with a driver’s license sitting in my wallet, and still, my father wouldn’t allow me to have my own car. My trust fund was on lockdown until I turned twenty-five. Over the years, I’d tried to take the train several times. Hell, I’d even walked off the property to escape, only for him to hunt me down. It was easier for him to stalk my location if Fernando drove me everywhere. And that made my life somewhat simpler because I didn’t have to argue.

  Nicole waited for me out front of the bookstore in a pair of loose jeans, sneakers, and a black North Face jacket pulled up to her mouth. She rubbed her hands together and approached my car, tugging on the doorknob.

  “You’re here,” she squealed. “We’re going to have so much fun today.”

  I thanked Fernando and told him I would be a few hours. He sped off down Broadway, disappearing into the masses of cars. Manhattan was the complete opposite of where I lived—overcrowded and far too loud. But I loved it.

  I raised my hands above my head and closed my eyes, taking in the sounds and smells of the city. “What book signing are we attending?”

  Nicole flicked her blonde off her shoulder and laughed. “Technically, I didn’t lie about that part. But it was just an excuse to get you to come into the city.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “What did you do?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek with a sneaky look on her face. “I invited someone.” Nicole hooked her arm through mine and led me inside the bookstore. “Well, he kind of invited himself and asked me to make it happen.”

  We moved through the stacks until we reached the back of the store, where Stephan was waiting for me.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “Stephan asked me to help him. Don’t be mad. I know your dad hates him, but I also know you have a crush on him. So…”

  The muscles in my face hurt from smiling so much. “Mad? No way. This is the best surprise ever.” I hugged her and whispered into her ear, “Thank you. You’re the best friend ever.”

  Stephan approached us, dressed in fitted dark jeans and a long-sleeved gray oxford rolled up to his elbows, with the top two buttons open. His black hair had a slight wave to it, a few strands falling onto his forehead.

  “I had to see you again,” Stephan confessed. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

  I blushed from his words. They were so sincere and sweet. “I would’ve seen you tomorrow at school.”

  He shook his head, unsatisfied with my answer. “I didn’t want to wait another day.”

  “This is a big risk.” I sighed, keeping my fingers crossed my father didn’t know Stephan was here. “I could get in a lot of trouble.”

  “I was careful.” He tugged on my hand to pull me into his chest.

  His breath on my lips forced me to close my eyes and suck in a deep breath. He gave me a quick peck that went straight to my core, igniting a fire beneath my skin. If we were alone, I would have leaned back against the bookshelf and let Stephan claim my innocence. He’d asked me to let him be my first of everything, and I had every intention to wait for him.

  I angled my body to look at Nicole. “Is there a book signing today, or was that a lie?”

  “Oh, no, that’s real. My favorite indie author is signing here.” She removed a paperback book from her oversized purse and held it up for me to see. “I’ve been a fan of her work for the last year. She’s an amazing writer. You’d love her.”

  I inspected the cover. A
man with bulging muscles held a woman in a Victorian dress in his arms. “Historical romance isn’t my thing,” I admitted.

  She shrugged. “You have no idea what you’re missing. J.P. writes the hottest sex scenes ever. Like, fan me hot.” She waved the book in front of herself.

  I laughed. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Who needed to read about sex when I had Stephan in my life? The orgasm he’d given me with his fingers was life-changing, earth-shattering. One hour with him awakened my sexual desires.

  “How long do you have?” Stephan brushed the hair from my neck, his fingers sending a pulse of electricity down my arm.

  I leaned into his touch. “A few hours. If I’m not back by dinnertime, my dad will have a fit. He has this thing about us sitting down to eat dinner together on Sundays, even though we’re not a real family.”

  He laughed. “Ma is the same way. She makes my brothers and me come home for Sunday dinner, too.” Stephan hooked his arm around my back, staring down at me. “It’s still your birthday weekend. What do you want to do today?”

  “I’d like to go to the Met. I haven’t been there in a long time, and they have an exhibition I want to see.”

  Stephan kissed the top of my head and held me tighter. “Let’s go then. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “You like art?” I asked Nicole. “They’re showing works from the Château de Versailles.”

  Nicole forced a smile, and before she responded, I knew she had no interest in art. “Nah, that’s okay. You guys go ahead. I want to get this book signed.” She held up the paperback, hugging it against her chest as if it were her prized possession. “I’ll meet up with you later.”

  I frowned, upset that she didn’t want to hang out with us. “But I was hoping to spend the day with you, too.”

  “Go ahead.” She shooed us away with her hand. “I promise to join you after I meet my literary idol. I won’t be long.”

  “Okay.”

  Before I left the store, it occurred to me that someone was probably tracking my cell phone. I removed it from my purse and handed it to Nicole. “Can you hold this for me?” She stared at it, confused, and so I added, “My driver dropped me off here. If I leave so soon and without you, it might cause some suspicion.”