by Rina Kent
The priest is talking about the importance of giving. The imam spoke earlier about how vulnerable children are and how much they need our support.
Layla and I are at the entrance, welcoming the invitees and giving out directions to whoever needs it.
Inside, her parents are doing background work since they’re a part of the organisation committee. Layla’s family is all about activism. Her eldest brother is a part of Doctors Without Borders, and the rest of her family participates in charities like these or ones that support passed soldiers’ families.
Layla even made an effort and actually wore a dress. An elegant floral scarf that I gave her for her birthday covers her hair and I kind of had to hold her down, with the help of her mother, to put some makeup on her face. She hates staying still for more than a minute.
I, on the other hand, have opted for a dark blue knee-length dress and left my hair loose. I brought my clothes with me and changed in Layla’s house so that I wouldn’t have to go back to the King mansion.
“Look at all the people who showed up!” she whisper-yells, her voice filled with so much enthusiasm.
“I know.”
“Imagine all those little faces happy. I wish I could adopt them all…wait, maybe I can.”
“Remove that crazy idea from your head right now, Lay.”
“Don’t be a fun-ruiner.” She pokes my arm. “Why are you in a pissy mood lately?”
“I’m not.”
Okay, maybe I am a little. Aiden’s visit has left a sour taste in my mouth, and I don’t know how to fix it. If I make an attempt to meet him, he’ll probably chase me out with a bat.
Now, every time Jonathan touches me, I stiffen, thinking about Aiden’s words and how true they are. But then, the pull drags me under and I get lost in Jonathan’s touch and those damn hands I’ve become addicted to.
It’s only when the spell breaks that I go back to the internal guilt trip, blaming myself for how I’m not even close to solving Alicia’s death.
I manically check with Paul in case I’ve received any more wooden box packages, but nothing appeared in my inbox.
Layla pokes my side. “Are you perhaps missing Johnny?”
“Lay!” I hiss, then smile as one of our clients greets us. As soon as she heads inside, I go back to glaring at my friend.
“What? You’re usually with him around this time.”
“I don’t miss him when I’m away from him.”
“Is that why you keep checking your watch?”
“Suck my dick, Lay.”
She feigns a gasp. “Blasphemy. The priest will soak you in holy water.”
I rub my arm and flip her off discreetly so no one sees. She laughs, bumping my shoulder with hers.
“He must be missing you, though. Imagine a grumpy Johnny sitting in his castle alone without you to entertain him. He must be waiting for you while drinking and sighing like an old man.”
“I didn’t tell him where I was going.”
She gives me a funny look.
“He’s not the boss of me, okay? He doesn’t need to know where I am at all times.”
“It’s not that…” Layla trails off when her gaze moves ahead. “Oh em gee, Daddy.”
At first, my heart stops beating when I think it’s Jonathan. My stomach dips and my forehead breaks out in a sweat. Then I follow her gaze and a sense of disappointment and confusion hit me at the same time.
Ethan and Agnus. They came. I didn’t expect much when I sent the invitation to the address on Agnus’s business card that I kept.
They’re both dressed in dapper suits, accompanied by a blonde girl wearing a white dress and carrying what seems like a heavy basket.
Ethan offers to help her, but she shakes her head.
Elsa — Aiden’s new bride.
My breathing hitches as I stare behind her, expecting to find Aiden’s grim features. But he’s not with them. A sense of relief mixed with the same disappointment from earlier grips me in its clutches.
“Layla, Aurora.” Ethan smiles at us, shaking our hands respectively. Agnus follows suit.
“Hear that?” Layla whispers. “Daddy remembers my name.”
“He’s not your daddy,” I murmur back, poking her side the hardest I can.
She winces but continues smiling as she peeks at Elsa. “And you are?”
“She’s my daughter.” Ethan’s voice drips with pride as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. “She wanted to join, if that’s okay.”
“Of course, the more the merrier.” Layla offers to take the basket from Elsa.
“Aunt and I made them. There are cupcakes and different lollipops for the children,” Elsa speaks to Layla but keeps stealing glances at me. The ring on her finger is blinding, and I pause as I recognise it. Alicia’s ring. I’d recognise it anywhere, considering she had a habit of touching it whenever she was absentminded.
The reminder of the time I spent with my sister comes rushing back in. The emotions. How much I miss her. It all hits me hard. I force myself to shut the door on those thoughts and steady my breaths.
“I’m sure they’ll love them.” Layla struggles to hold the basket. With her petite body, she’s like a toddler carrying a teddy bear twice her size.
Ethan steps in and takes the basket from her, helping her place it on the counter.
Layla pretends to faint behind his back so only I can see her, then mouths, “Daddy.” That dork. It takes everything in me not to burst out laughing.
“I must admit, I didn’t think you’d show up,” I tell Agnus.
“We do attend charities,” Agnus says in his eternal cool voice. He’s iceman. No kidding. He retrieves his phone, stares at the screen, and gives Ethan a knowing look. “I have to take this.”
He nods at us and disappears around the corner, making way for old ladies who come in carrying baskets similar to Elsa’s.
Once finished, Ethan motions at me. “Elsa, this is Aurora.”
“We’ve met before,” she whispers. “At the wedding.”
I fidget, struggling to maintain a smile. “Right. Sorry about back then.”
Elsa shakes her head. “I’m the one who’s sorry about what Aiden did afterwards.”
“He told you?”
“He doesn’t have to. I could feel he went searching for trouble as soon as we were back from the honeymoon.” She touches her ring finger. “I just want you to know that losing Alicia has changed Aiden drastically, and it’s not necessarily for the better. Seeing you and knowing you existed after such a long time didn’t sit well with him. It’s not that he hates you, it’s that…”
“He hates how much I look like her. I understand.”
Her electric blue eyes light up. “You do?”
“It’s not easy to see a ghost.” I know that more than anyone else. “Where is he?”
“He’s with my doctor.”
“Your doctor?” I throw a curious glance between her and Ethan.
“I have a heart condition, and Aiden basically possesses my attending physician. Whenever he doesn’t answer the phone, he barges into his workplace or house.” She rolls her eyes. “Like today.”
Ethan squeezes her shoulder. “He only wants to make sure you’re fine, Princess.”
“I know that, Dad, but he can be so extra. Dr Albert hates me because of it.”
It strikes me then. The difference between Jonathan’s behaviour and Ethan’s. My tyrant disapproves of Elsa and doesn’t shy away from expressing his opinion. On the other hand, Ethan doesn’t seem to disapprove of Aiden — despite his menacing feelings towards Jonathan.
One is definitely more parental than the other.
“Tell you what, Aurora.” Ethan meets my gaze, still holding his daughter by the shoulder. “We plan to have a family dinner with Aiden and Elsa this weekend. How about you join us?”
I gulp. This could be either my last chance to try and fix things with Aiden, or to completely screw it up.
“Please come,” Elsa say
s. “I’ll make sure Aiden behaves.”
I smile at the enthusiasm in her tone and face. There’s something about her that’s both bold and innocent. I wonder how she gets along with a hot-headed person like Aiden. He’s so much like his father, it gives me whiplash.
“I will love to.”
“You will not.”
My back snaps upright and I nearly yelp like a damsel in distress at that strong, authoritative tone.
The entire atmosphere shifts from familial and fun to stormy and dangerous in a fraction of a second as Jonathan strides to the middle of the scene as if he’s the master of it.
The priest’s words and the slight chatter coming from the inside filter and vanish into thin air. Even the people greeting and passing us by might as well be invisible right now.
My entire attention is attuned to the man standing before me in his pressed black suit, diamond cufflinks, and dark leather shoes that I could see my face in if I squint hard enough.
There’s something about Jonathan’s presence that throttles and pins me in place without him having to touch me. The fact that it’s effortless on his part makes him even more frightening. He’s a man in power and he’s well aware of the fact.
All I can do is watch as he dominates the room and everyone in it. Or maybe it’s only me.
His black hair is styled back, revealing that strong forehead and his too-sharp jaw.
He is too sharp.
Everything about him is, from his suit to his face and down to his damn character.
He looks perfect tonight — masculine, groomed, and out to ruin lives. Which is funny since I don’t ever remember seeing Jonathan dishevelled.
Being presentable seems to be his default mode. It’s an extension of his infuriating confidence and how, if he chooses to do so, he can own any place he walks into.
Then I recall that he shouldn’t be here. I didn’t even tell him about the charity event.
“What are you doing here?” I pull myself out of the trance his presence never fails to trap me in.
He places a hand to his pocket. “I was invited.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“Black Belt.” Jonathan raises his brow at Layla.
My eyes snap to the culprit beside me, and I whisper-yell, “You invited Jonathan?!”
She fakes a smile at Ethan, who’s meeting Jonathan’s glare with one of his own, and then at Elsa who seems suffocated by the tension.
Layla pulls me by the sleeve of my dress into a corner and says in a low voice, “To my defence, I didn’t think he’d come.”
“Why would you invite him in the first place?”
“Why do you think? His bank account and the amount of money he writes on cheques.”
“I thought you hated Jonathan.”
“I don’t hate his money. Come on, mate. Think of the cause.”
“Ugh. Fine. But one of these days, I’m going to kill you, Lay.”
“I know you love me. Besides, you don’t have to check your watch now that he’s here.”
I hit her shoulder so she’ll shut up and she hits me back before we re-join the others.
“Sorry about that.” Layla grins. “Some differences in logistics, but it’s all cleared up now. Aurora is happy to have you amongst us, Johnny.”
He narrows his eyes on me even as he speaks to her, “The name is Jonathan.”
“You call me Black Belt. Why should I call you by your full name?”
Ethan and I smile, but Elsa stares frantically at Layla as if begging her to take it back. Jonathan’s bored expression doesn’t change. He watches Layla and everyone else like they’re disposables — if they have something to offer him, they’re good, if not, they’re out.
Right now, he seems to be weighing Layla’s worth, contemplating whether he should let it slide or crush her to pieces.
Elsa and I simultaneously release a breath when he doesn’t press the matter. Lay seriously needs to keep her mouth shut. Sometimes, it’s like she doesn’t care who she’s talking to. The girl is too fearless for her own good.
“I’ll send you the address to the house,” Ethan tells me as if we were never interrupted.
“Thank you.”
“I said —” Jonathan’s face remains blank, but his tone gains a firm, final edge “— she will not be there.”
“Is that so, Aurora?” Ethan asks.
“Maybe we should reschedule,” Elsa suggests. “Next week?”
“She’ll not be there next week either,” Jonathan shoots her down.
“There’s no need to reschedule, I’ll be there.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” Ethan’s lips curve in a slow smile.
Jonathan towers over me, his woodsy scent closes imaginary hands around my throat and squeezes. He speaks low so only I can hear him, “Did you hear what I said? You will not be there and that’s final.”
“Last I checked, you’re not my keeper.” I bypass him and motion at Ethan and Elsa to follow me, leaving Jonathan with Layla.
That should be fun.
I spend the rest of the evening trying to ignore Jonathan’s looming presence. He somehow ends up in circles of people who buzz around him like bees to honey. It’s almost as if he’s stealing the limelight away from the children with his presence.
Pretending he’s not there, I continue networking and introducing the associations’ representatives to the donors.
When I was young, I took everything for granted, and because of that, I need to revisit my choices and try to make a difference.
No matter how small that difference is.
Charity is all about giving, and I always feel like I haven’t done enough of that — giving, that is.
I’ve taken and taken and haven’t even stopped to look back once. Now, I have the choice to do something different.
Layla’s mother, Kenza — which literally means treasure — is a plump woman in her mid-fifties with pale skin and dreamy hazel eyes. When she catches me roaming around, she hugs me and rubs my arm. She has a French accent she acquired from her time living in France. Like Layla, she covers her hair with a hijab, but unlike her daughter’s hip-hop style, she wears modest, elegant dresses. “I’m so happy our Layla got to know you, Aurora.”
“I’m so happy you gave birth to her.”
“Believe me, so am I.” Then she leans in to murmur, “Don’t tell anyone, but I hate boys.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“Seriously. The only reason I kept giving birth was so I’d get a baby girl. Though she did turn out to be like her brothers, didn’t she?”
“Sort of.”
We laugh and she reaches into her pocket. “Hold on, Layla has been teaching me how to take selfies.”
She pauses when she doesn’t find her phone. “I lost it again.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you find it. I’ll call you.”
“It’s on silent mode.”
“Where was the last place you saw it?”
“At home. No. At the storage room. Or was it in the bathroom?”
I laugh. Kenza plays a constant lost and found game with her phone. “I’ll go check the storage room and you check the bathroom.”
We part ways and I head to the small supply space that was originally filled with cleaning equipment. Now it contains all the baskets and gifts people have brought in for the children.
Something glints on the ground and I get on my hands and knees to check it out. Nope. Not the phone. It’s a lollipop wrapper.
I’m about to stand back up when the door clicks behind me and Jonathan’s strong voice fills the space.
“I like the view.”
26
Aurora
My spine jerks upright at Jonathan’s now very recognisable voice.
It doesn’t matter how much I hear it or how much time I spend in his company. It will always hold a frightening edge that’s meant to be obeyed.
Worshipped even.
Despite my ear
lier retorts, I admit taking refuge in the public setting. Now that we’re all alone, I have absolutely no defence against my tyrant.
I scramble to my feet, realising the position I’m in — on my knees with my arse in his full view.
The moment I stand up, a scorching warmth appears at my back like a volcano nearing an eruption. I don’t even get to turn around as Jonathan grabs both my wrists and pins them with one hand at the small of my back.
My breathing shortens and that now-familiar heat shoots through my limbs and settles between my legs.
“Do you think it’s okay to defy me, Aurora?” His voice lowers as his lips graze the shell of my ear. “Is that it?”
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, but you do. That’s why you’re doing it on purpose. Do you like to see me lose control?” He pushes his hips forwards and I suck in a crackled breath at the feel of the hard bulge nestling against my arse.
“Or do you perhaps like to be punished?” His other hand yanks my dress up. Shivers cover my skin, but it has nothing to do with the cold air and everything to do with how he grabs my arse as if that’s what he was always meant to do.
“I did nothing to be punished for,” I speak firmly, even though my legs have turned into jelly.
“Nothing to be punished for?” His hand comes down on my arse and I yelp, my thighs shaking and coated with the evidence of my arousal.
“N-nothing,” I breathe out.
Slap.
I gasp, the sound ending in a moan. “…aaah.”
“You’re mine, so act like it, mean it, fucking breathe it if you have to. You do not get to defy me in public again. Do you understand?”
My quivering lips set in a line, I refuse to give him an answer.
Slap.
“I said. Do you understand?”
A full body shudder goes through me and my hands curl into fists in his hold, but I still don’t say a word.
“We can do this all night.” He grabs my arse with false tenderness, and I nearly moan at the sensation before he slaps the skin again.
A whimper rips out of me, and I hate how needy it sounds. I hate that no matter how sore my behind is, I can’t help wanting more.
