by Rina Kent
Jonathan straps a seatbelt across my chest, then asks Moses, “Is everything set?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did Harris confirm?”
“Yes, the flight is scheduled upon your arrival.”
“Whoa. Hold on.” I stare between Moses’s bald head and Jonathan. “What flight? Where are we going?”
“Away from here,” Jonathan says simply.
“Away, where?”
He runs his knuckles over my cheek, and I resist the urge to close my eyes and lean into his touch. He always gets to me when he does that. “A place where they can’t find you.”
“T-they?”
“My resources tell me the prosecutor will issue a warrant to bring you in for questioning, and there might be a travel ban.”
“They can find me?”
“If Maxim’s lawyer can, so can they. Besides, he’s the one who revealed your new identity.”
“Won’t I, you know, be considered a fugitive if I leave the country?”
“There’s no travel ban at the moment. This is completely legal, but even if it isn’t, who fucking cares? I won’t let them have you under custody until the trial — that’s out of the question. Besides, you need to clear your head.” His hand grabs both of mine before he lifts them and kisses my knuckles. “You haven’t stopped shaking.”
I’m breathless, caught in a trance by the way his lips glide over the back of my hands. He’s not only kissing them, but in his own way, he’s also comforting me.
Who knew there would be a day where Jonathan King comforts me?
“There. That’s much better.” He cradles my hands, which have stopped trembling, on his lap.
It takes everything in me not to wrap my arms around him in a hug. He’s offering me an attentiveness that I never thought anyone, let alone he of all people, would show me.
“Then what?” I murmur now that I’m in a calmer state.
His thumb traces the back of my hand, eliciting small bursts of comfort. “I’ll figure it out, but for now, we need to stay away from the media turmoil. When they find out you’re no longer here, Maxim’s lawyer will play a media game and fully expose your new identity. We’re not only talking about where you’re living and your company, but everything he already knows will be discussed by the entire country.”
“Holy shit,” I breathe out in a low murmur. The scenarios he’s painting in my head form like a black doom.
“I know it's a difficult time, Aurora, but we need to get ready for all possibilities.”
“Oh my God! What about H&H and Layla?”
“Harris is on it. I currently own H&H, so Layla should be fine, but I can’t guarantee they won’t harass her or her family. They should go stay someplace else. I have Harris arranging a safe hotel for them. Can you ask her to go with him?”
“Uh…yeah.” I pull my phone and wince when I find about ten missed calls from Jonathan and five from her.
Jonathan’s hawk-like attention doesn’t miss what’s on my screen and his tone hardens. “And next time, answer my fucking calls, Aurora.”
“I’m sorry. I…wasn’t thinking.” I’m still not — not straight, anyway.
“You were with Ethan.”
“I’m thankful he was there.”
Jonathan’s grip tightens around my wrist, but he says nothing. He also recognises that I shouldn’t have been alone in the midst of people who most likely would’ve gotten my head on a stick.
I dial Layla and she answers after the first ring. “What the F, mate! Don’t ghost me. That stuff gives me PTSD now.”
“Sorry, Lay. Something came up.”
“No kidding. Harris is at our house, saying we need to go, or something.”
“Yeah, Lay, please go with him. I…I’m so sorry I got you, Kenza, and Hamza involved in this. I’m so sorry.”
“What are you talking about?”
The whole case is public now, and she’ll see it eventually. However, I don’t want her to hear about it from strangers. “Maxim Griffin, the one who’s currently all over the news?”
“What about that psycho?”
“H-he’s my father, Lay.”
There’s no answer from the other side. It’s the first time Layla’s been speechless, and it’s not the good type.
“A-are you going to say something?”
“Wait up. So you’re, like, the daughter who reported him?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“I’m s-so sorry, Lay. I know I should’ve told you before and I’m sorry you guys will be implicated in this when my new identity is revealed, so just tell them you didn’t know. Say I played you, lied to you.”
“Bollocks. Where are you?”
“I’m leaving for a bit. Please follow Harris. It’s for your own safety. Please.”
“We’ll go to our relatives in Birmingham. Don’t worry about us. You just take care of you, okay?” Her voice turns brittle at the end and she pauses before saying, “Remember, you’re my ride or die, mate. I’ve got you.”
“Lay…” I choke on my tears, gripping the phone hard.
By the time I end the call, I’m too emotional to talk. The fact that Layla is on my side without even hearing the full story squeezes my heart. I didn’t know I needed her support until now.
Jonathan takes the phone from between my fingers and powers it off.
“Why are you taking it away?”
“Journalists will start bugging you.”
The rest of the way is spent in silence as Jonathan holds my hand in his lap, still stroking my skin.
If it weren’t for my loud thoughts that don’t seem like they’ll be cooling down anytime soon, I would’ve fallen asleep on his lap like I usually do when we’re in a long car ride.
We arrive at a secluded landing area of an airport and a plane waits for us. When we come out, Jonathan places a hand on the small of my back and leads me to it. Moses carries bags, which I didn’t know were already packed and loaded, from the car.
The flight attendant, a redhead with a blinding smile, welcomes us in. Jonathan doesn’t release me until we’re inside, and that’s only because the entryway doesn’t fit two people at the same time.
The luxury is clear in the furnishings, from the dark ceiling and flooring to the light caramel plush seats that appear custom-made.
The only flights I’ve ever taken were from Leeds to Glasgow, then from Glasgow to London. And those were the lowest classes available. I have no idea what first-class looks like, but something tells me this is a step further.
It isn’t until we’re completely inside that I notice no one but us is here.
“Did you book the entire flight?” I ask Jonathan.
“Didn’t need to. This is my private jet.”
Right. Not that it should be a surprise that Jonathan has his own jet. He travels around the world a lot. Or that’s what he did before I came along, as Harris likes to remind me in his snobbish tone.
He lets me sit by the window as if he remembers when I told him that I’d never left the UK. I’ve never had the chance to look out from a window seat and have always wondered what it would feel like.
Jonathan fastens my seatbelt, then does his own as a suave male voice fills the space.
“Welcome aboard, Mr King and Miss Harper. We’ll be taking off in a few minutes, so please fasten your seatbelts. We will reach our destination in approximately thirteen hours. I wish you a comfortable flight.”
The voice disappears and I’m about to ask Jonathan where we’re going, considering the time we’ll have to spend on the plane. Before I can open my mouth, the flight attendant reappears and nods when she makes sure the seatbelts are in place.
“Can I get you water? A drink?” She focuses on Jonathan and her smile widens as her voice drops. “Anything?”
I narrow my eyes at her as she blatantly flirts with Jonathan. Is she one of his ex-fuck buddies? There could be no other explanation for the way she openly flirts.
“We’re good,” I say, glad I don’t snap.
She’s still focused on Jonathan as if my words don’t matter and I want to claw her eyes out.
It’s only when Jonathan dismisses her with a finger that she leaves, but she does so with a deliberate sway of her hips.
“I didn’t know redheads were your type,” I say before I get the chance to measure my words.
“They aren’t.”
“Well, you obviously had a thing with her.”
“Her?” he repeats, slight amusement shining in his eyes.
“The flight attendant.”
“I haven’t.”
“Are you telling me women just flirt with you?”
“They do. Doesn’t mean I pay them any of my attention.”
I peek at him through my lashes. “Not even her?”
“No. I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
“But you did with me.”
“True, though I never considered you business.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip at his unsaid words. The fact that he considers me pleasure.
The plane starts moving, then ascends. My nails dig into the plush armrest of the chair. Once again, Jonathan takes my hand in his, and my nerves slowly calm.
I get lost in the early evening sky and the city lights as they get farther away the higher we ascend. The view is mesmerising. I can’t believe how much I’ve been missing out in life. I’m twenty-seven going on twenty-eight, yet I feel like a toddler in this world.
“It’s so beautiful,” I murmur.
“Indeed.”
My attention snaps back to Jonathan, and just like the other time in the park, he’s not watching the view, he’s watching me.
“Right,” I joke. “You’ve probably seen this scenery like a thousand times.”
“It feels like a first with you.”
My lips part, but no words come out. God. He sometimes says shit that turns me speechless and so utterly touched. How the hell does he do that?
“Are you comfortable?” he asks.
“Mmm.”
“You might want to rest. Here.” He fiddles with something on the side and both chairs fall back in a comfortable reclined position. Jonathan removes the seatbelts and pulls up the armrest so there’s nothing between us.
I don’t hesitate as my head rests on his chest, half my body covers his like we do when we sleep. His fingers caress my hair, and I lean farther into his touch.
It could be his soothing heartbeat or the peaceful atmosphere or that I’m putting a pause on the chaos back home, but sleep comes almost immediately.
“Where are we going anyway?” I ask in a half-sleepy tone.
“To my island.”
19
Aurora
Jonathan owns an island.
No shit. He owns a fucking island.
I’m dazed during the entire drive from where the plane landed to wherever the hell he’s taking me.
The early morning sun shines through the branches and leaves, almost like a welcoming ceremony.
The roads are narrow and tropical trees decorate the sideways as far as the vision goes. Moses drives with ease, knowing exactly where we’re going.
That makes one of us.
“How did you get this island?” I inch closer to Jonathan. For some reason, his nearness always makes me feel safe in unknown places. Actually, that happens in all places.
He’s leaning back against the car’s leather seat, legs wide apart and his entire demeanour relaxed. My hand is nestled in his on his hard thigh. He hasn’t let me go — not during the flight and not after we got into the car. “I won it ten years ago from a Saudi prince in a poker game.”
“Poker?” I nearly shriek.
“Yes.”
“He must be devastated for losing it.”
“Not really. He has a few more islands scattered around the world.”
“What did you bet?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“If he bet an island, you must’ve put up something of so much value.”
He raises a brow. “And you want to know what I consider most valuable?”
“Sort of. What was it?”
“My son.”
“W-what? You bet Aiden?”
His expression remains the same. “That’s what I said.”
“How…how can you even bet a person?”
“It’s more common than you think.”
“I…I can’t believe you bet your own son — your only offspring. I don’t think I want to talk to you right now, or ever. And I’m totally telling Aiden so he knows what you’ve done. What if you’d lost, huh?” I poke his shoulder. “Huh?”
A smile breaks free across Jonathan’s beautiful lips. “I didn’t think you’d be this easily deceived.”
“You…you were joking?” That’s as rare as witnessing a mythical being.
“You think I would ever bet Aiden? He’s my only son.”
Phew. Deep down, I didn’t think he’d do that, but he also doesn’t joke. That’s the part that threw me off. “So what did you bet?”
“One of my subsidiaries.”
“I didn’t know you play poker.”
“I don’t.”
“You just said you won it in a poker game.”
“I only play when I know I can win. I don’t like unsure gambles.”
Considering Jonathan’s control-freak personality, that makes complete sense.
My attention returns to the road and the way the trees part as we pass through. “What’s the name of the island?”
“It’s under King Enterprises.”
“It should have a name of its own.”
“The prince called it a complicated Arabic name. It’s on the papers. If you’re so insistent on knowing it, I can call Harris.”
“You should name it something special to you. After all, not just anyone can own an island.”
“Huh.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, but it seems as if he’s never thought of that possibility. Jonathan is the type who doesn’t get attached to things like normal humans, and I guess that makes this whole suggestion pointless to him.
Oh well, at least I tried. I haven’t gotten to see most of the island yet, and it already looks like a small space cut from paradise.
Thoughts of why we’re here try to barge in. I think of Dad’s interview and his accusations, about the prosecution, media, and victims’ families.
The beauty surrounding me starts to vanish, its colours slowly turning to grey. This isn’t a holiday.
I’m running away — it’s as simple as that.
Jonathan releases my hand, letting it drop to his lap, and grips my thigh. It’s like he knows exactly where my mind went and is bringing me back to the present.
A strange type of warmth engulfs me as I fall into his presence. There’s something about his soft touch that, even if his features remain unreadable, I sense what he’s trying to relay.
Right now, it seems that he wants me comfortable above anything else.
We stop by a house in the hills that’s slightly hidden from below by tall trees.
It’s smaller than the King mansion, and it has a modern feel to it with its two-storey round architecture. The interior stairs are visible from the outside through the shiny glass walls.
“It’s different,” I tell Jonathan as we step out of the car.
“It’s the prince’s creation, not mine.”
The lack of Jonathan’s grandiose touch makes sense then. If it were up to my tyrant, he’d make it appear as intimidating as he is.
In every sense of the word.
Power isn’t only a tactic for Jonathan, it’s his philosophy in life.
From what I understand about his past, the way he lost his father made him merciless. Seeing his dad
die of weakness made him take a figurative vow to never be in that position himself.
In a way, he tamed power and made it his best friend. They’re so intertwined now, as if they’re one being.
Jonathan grabs me by the waist as he leads me inside. Moses remains still as a stone in front of the car, arms crossed in front of him, one hand over the other. I smile back at him with a nod.
“Eyes ahead, Aurora.” Jonathan’s voice holds a clear warning.
“I was just acknowledging him. I don’t like ignoring people.”
His lips thin. “You were smiling at him.”
“So now I’m not allowed to smile at others?”
“Not if you can help it.”
“And if I can’t help it?”
We stop at the entrance, and he lifts my chin with two long fingers. I stare up at him with parted lips and he runs his thumb over the bottom one, back and forth, creating a sensual rhythm.
“Your smile, like everything else about you, is mine and mine alone. I don’t share.”
I’m trapped in the intensity of his grey eyes. In the storm lurking inside that he won’t hesitate to unleash on the world at any second. The fact that he’s willing to destroy the world for me shouldn’t affect me this much, but a strange type of giddiness overtakes me.
Clearing my throat, I pull away from Jonathan to take a look at the house. Its interior is as modern as its exterior. There’s nothing of the precise control and majesty that’s clear in every inch of the King mansion.
Here, it’s minimalistic but a bit cosier. I fall onto the plush sofa, throwing my head back. “This is so comfy.”
“We can get a similar one for home.”
Home.
No idea if he’s calling it that on purpose, but somewhere deep down, in that wrong part of my soul, I believe it.
Whether I like to admit it or not, the King mansion has become my home. Jonathan’s home is my home.
That’s a scary thought.
I vaguely remember that I only have a few months left of the agreement we had, but I stopped thinking about that a long time ago.
I bite my lower lip as I open my eyes. Jonathan stands in front of me, his jacket slung over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He lost the tie somewhere during the flight. Some strands of his black hair are tousled and falling over his forehead, making him appear the most ruggedly handsome I’ve ever seen him.
