Twisted: Chapter 19

Julian’s home is exquisite, which pains me to say. He’s so revolting that in my head, I’ve built up everything else about him to be just as bad, so when he drove us through the hidden hills of Badour, past the iron gates and down the rows of trees that line his quarter-mile driveway, I was taken aback by the  view, to say the least.

And now I’m in the family room that’s just off the open kitchen, staring out at the lush forest that hides his mansion from prying eyes. It’s a beautiful view, one that if this were any other scenario, I would bask in. The sun is starting to set over the tops of the trees, splashes of muted orange and pink breaking through the leaves.

But instead of enjoying the scenic moment, I’m trying to keep from throwing up.

I him. Like, actually kissed him. My tongue was practically halfway down his throat. And I can pretend that it was nothing more than me playing the part— and to be fair, that’s how it started— but I’m trying this new thing where I’m completely honest with myself. I have to be, or else my mind will get too muddled in the white lies to see the finish line and have a fighting chance of coming out of this on the other side.

And honestly…for just a moment, when he kissed me, I forgot where I was. Forgot who I was with.

My stomach heaves at the thought of Aidan finding out.

The sparkle of my new wedding ring glints off the dim recessed lighting in the family room, and I glance down, my heart squeezing at the sight. The ring itself is stunning, a yellow diamond cushioned between two trapezoid white diamonds. I don’t want to think about what it means that the man I hate more than the world picked something so close to what I would have chosen for myself.

And it makes me so fucking pissed, because it’s just another thing that Julian’s ruined for me. I can’t even take in its beauty without being reminded of the chains that are attached.

A champagne flute appears in my peripheral vision, and I tear my eyes away from my hand to look at Julian as he hands me the glass.

“A toast,” he says.

My lips purse. “There’s nothing to celebrate.”

He sighs, his brows furrowing, and I take a moment to look at him.

look at him. He’s a magnificent creation, and I’d be lying if I said he was anything less. He’s dressed down in a pair of jeans and a long- sleeve black Henley that’s pushed up past his elbows, tattoos scrawled along the lengths of his arms and peeking through the collar of his shirt. His tanned skin has literally no blemishes, and it’s like his jawline is cut from stone, framed with the perfect amount of stubble.

I hate how attractive he is. But I guess it makes sense that the devil would appear as perfection to lure away souls.

He sets down the glass I still haven’t taken on a round end table that’s next to the brown leather couch and then leans against the back, his eyes calculating as they stare at me.

“Things don’t need to be as miserable as you’re making them,” he says.

I scoff, turning my face away from him.

“It’s nothing personal, you know?”

“Spare me the bullshit,” I reply. “We both know what this is.”

Amusement sparks through his gaze. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

My spine stiffens as I stare at him, turning my body to face him fully. “This is you trying to control to get what you want.”

A Cheshire cat grin spreads across his face. “And what’s wrong with getting what you want?”

“Hurting other people is wrong, Julian. And blackmailing me so you can make it out on top after my father dies is sick.”

He straightens. “I— ”

I cut my hand through the air. “Save the bullshit for someone who’ll believe it. I’m not clueless, despite what you’ve always thought.”

He crosses his arms.

Cocking my head, I take a step toward him, and then another, not stopping until I’m right in front of him, craning my neck to see every single speck of emotion that might flit across his face.

“Did you ever care about him at all?” I ask.

He lifts his chin. “Who?”

“My father.”

His nostrils flare, the muscles on the sides of his jaw clenching as he grits his teeth.

“I bet you can’t wait for him to die, huh? So you can swoop in and steal everything that’s rightfully his. What, you gonna kill me too?” I spit.

I don’t mean to be so antagonizing—in fact, my goal was to  be the opposite—but now that I’ve lit the fuse, my mouth is firing  on all cylinders and there’s no way to rein it in. It feels good to throw my verbal jabs, especially since it’s the first time I’ve seen his blank exterior crack, small flashes of emotion blasting through like shooting stars across the sky.

His hand jabs out before I can blink, gripping my jaw so tight, my teeth cut into my cheeks, and he steps in close, his torso brushing against my chest.

Something jumps in the place our bodies meet, spearing through my middle and settling deep in my abdomen.

“Keep running that mouth,” he rasps, “and you won’t make it through the night.”

I press up on my toes, our noses grazing. My stomach tightens. “I don’t believe you,” I whisper. “You need me too much.”

His lips part, his eyes raging like a storm as his fingers twitch against my face. He releases me suddenly, and I drop back down onto my heels as he backs up until he hits the couch, running a hand through his tousled hair.

“I have work to do,” he says, his blank expression firmly back in place. “Drink the champagne or don’t, I don’t give a fuck. But you will not leave this house, and you watch the way you speak to me.”

I swallow back the retort that’s on the tip of my tongue, not wanting to push him further than I already have. I wasn’t lying; I do think he needs me alive right now, but that doesn’t mean he won’t hurt me if I push him too far. I shouldn’t be so willing to take that chance. Riya said she found someone who might be willing to work with me, and until I can meet with him, I need to play it smart, which means keeping my temper in check until I figure out what the hell I’m going to do to outmaneuver him. He may have me tied to him in name, but I’ll die before I let him take my father’s company.

“When can I get my things?” I ask instead. “You told me to pack, and I did, but the boxes are still at home.”

He turns around and stalks out of the room, and irritation heats my veins at the way he just straight- up ignored me. But before I can even move to follow him, he’s back, stopping next to the kitchen island that’s facing the family room where I am. He places something on the top of the island before sliding his hands back in his pockets.

I walk over to see what it is, my breath catching in my lungs when I realize it’s my cell phone.

My head shoots up, my gaze locking on his.

“This is your home now, Mrs. Faraci.”

After Julian gave me my phone back, he informed me that despite his earlier threat of making me share his bed, he had set up a room for me that was on the opposite side of the house. He left shortly after without showing me how to get there.

But I navigated the expansive home without too much trouble, split between wanting to explore and wanting to immediately open my phone and try to get ahold of Aidan.

Aidan won out, and I made my way up the large staircase, choosing to go left instead of right when it broke in two different directions. After a few attempts, first running into a guest bathroom and then a large sitting room with floor-to-  ceiling bookshelves and a glossy black grand piano, I found what I assume is my room.

If it isn’t, he can come kick me out later, because I’m staying here.

It’s soothing, if not a little creepy, how similar it is to my old bedroom at home— though I guess it’s not my home anymore. The same four- poster bed with cream drapes, tied back on each end. The same style vanity and a full- length mirror tucked away in the left- hand corner of the room. There’s a small desk sitting directly beneath the sheer-curtained window and a  vase with lavender perched on the edge, creating a soft and pleasant scent.

Making my way through the space, I open the door to the left, which attaches to an incredible bathroom with a claw-foot soaker  tub and an oversize shower that would easily fit five people.

The entire aesthetic of the place is gorgeous, and it pisses me off that I’m immediately feeling comfort in a strange place where I’m basically being held captive and forced to stay against my will.

Spinning around, my anger back intact, I move over to the sitting area that’s to the left of the bedroom door, my hand gripping my phone so tight I’m afraid it might crack.

Plopping down in the chair, I let out the first full breath since I’ve gotten here and toss my cell down on the small round coffee table in front of me.

And then I sit there and stew, picking it up again before dropping it back down. Over and over, I repeat the motion, frustrated at myself that I can’t seem to get it together enough to actually call Aidan. Something’s holding me back, and I know it’s the fact that now I have to tell him I’m married. My stomach pinches when I think about the “wedding,” memory of the arousal that coursed through me when we kissed staining my body like ink.

I to call Aidan, but visions of how he’ll react slam into me, making me too nervous. I don’t want to upset him or deal with the repercussions of how he’ll respond.

Before I know it, an hour has passed, and I’m no closer to calling him, let alone looking through my messages, than I was when I first got the thing back.

My leg shakes and my teeth sink into my bottom lip, chewing until the skin breaks and the faint metallic taste floods my mouth.

But what if he doesn’t believe me?

What if he no longer cares?

Blowing out a deep breath, I snatch up my phone again and unlock the screen, seeing a few unread messages and a handful of voicemails.

My heart sinks the tiniest bit, because I won’t lie, I thought there would be more. Regardless, I open the texts from Aidan, seeing him ask where I am and then a reply I absolutely never sent telling him that something came up with my father and not to come meet me.

My stomach churns.

I know it was Julian, and it’s honestly so par for the course for him to pretend to me and then play ignorant like Aidan left without a word, and I’m reminded, once again, how he can’t be trusted.

Still, after Aidan saying okay and that he’ll miss me while he’s gone, there’s nothing. He’s been there almost a week now and he hasn’t tried to say a single thing.

But I know he’s determined to win my father over by finding the lamp.

Anxiety clamps around my lungs and squeezes, making my vision grow hazy.

But even as I think it, I don’t sound very convincing.

My fingers tremble as I type out a hasty text.

My leg shakes as I wait for a reply, but after ten minutes of staring down at my phone and realizing I’m not going to get one, at least not right away, I type out another message.

Before I can stop myself, I’ve sent a long string of texts explaining myself, trying to answer any questions that he might have before realizing that maybe I’ve said too much or the wrong thing, so I send another message trying to explain the previous one away. I finally send four more before forcing myself to put down the phone and walk away, knowing it’s doing nothing but ratcheting up the high- strung energy that’s coursing through my veins.

I wait another few minutes before I groan, tossing my phone back on the table and deciding to break in my new shower. Anything to get my mind off the clusterfuck of messages I just sent.

The shower itself is incredible, and as the hot water cascades over my shoulders and down my body, I close my eyes and breathe deeply, trying to shake off the anxiety that clogs every pore. There’s always been an incessant need inside me to please other people, to make sure that I’m well liked and that everyone around me is taken care of and happy, and although over the years, I’ve learned different coping mechanisms for easing the burden of my runaway thoughts, there’s never been anything that’s completely cured me of having to put everyone else before me.

I know it’s a flaw, something that ends up putting me in more trouble than it’s worth, but for the life of me, I don’t know how to break it.

In fact, the only time in my life where I felt the overwhelming urge to please somebody is when I’m around Julian.

My mouth sours at the fact.

Reaching out, I get some soap in my hand from the automatic dispenser on the wall and start to smooth my hands over my body, thinking about how different it feels when I’m around him and concerned about whether he’s thinking badly of me.

I hate him, of course. But underneath that, it’s almost…freeing.

The thought makes my chest pinch tight.

Trying to refocus, I go back to the sham of a ceremony at the courthouse today, wondering how long it will take for a paper to run an article on the nuptials.

And then, before I can stop myself, as my hands brush over my breasts, I think about that kiss.

The one I haven’t allowed myself to think of since it happened, because if I did, I’d have to admit that I liked it. But now, here in the safety of solitude, I give in and let my mind wander, if only to get some reprieve from the thoughts I can’t control that are running through my head.

Softer than I expected, and I wonder if he’d be just as soft in other places.

My fingers ghost over my nipple, and I inhale sharply at the sensation. Slowly, I work my hand down the front of my body and slip my fingers over the top of my pussy, lightly brushing my clit.

A tingle surges through me when I apply pressure, and before I can stop myself, I’m imagining Julian on his knees, his tongue inside my pussy the same way it was devouring my mouth.

He’d be demanding, I just know it, but instead of it being a turnoff, it sends heat flaring through me, imagining him holding me in place and taking control of my pleasure the same way he controls the room whenever he walks into it.

I picture my fingers running through his hair, pulling on the strands until he groans from the pain, and my palm presses faster against my sensitive nerves, a slight moan escaping me into the air.

My muscles cramp and tighten, my body vibrating from the pleasure, and then I’m falling over the edge, my orgasm crashing through me and Julian’s name leaving my lips on a shaky exhale.

It takes a few minutes for me to recover from the visceral experience, and when I do, the reality of my situation creeps back in, and I feel sick for what I’ve done.

Even though nobody will ever know except for me.

Despite my temporary lack of conscience and control, I exit the shower feeling slightly better. Showers always tend to cleanse away the negative energy clinging to my soul, and I feel more relaxed after the orgasm, as long as I don’t focus on who I was imagining it was that was giving it to me.

I also don’t think too hard about the fact that my exact type of shampoo and conditioner is already in there, and the lotion I like to use is stocked with backups in the cabinet to the left of the sinks.

Maybe he’s the kind of man to always make things happen within a day. He’s certainly powerful enough to snap his fingers and have people ready to serve, and while I know it should put me on edge that he’s recreated almost every comfort from my home, I revel in the familiarity, even if it’s only here to provide me with a false sense of security, one that I definitely shouldn’t be feeling.

When I go to check my phone again, there’s a new message. My heart skips as I open it.

Frowning, I type out a reply.

I inhale a shaky breath, not knowing what to say. It doesn’t feel right to lie to him, but I don’t want him to lose faith in what we’re trying to do, to lose faith in us. Not when my goal is still to be able to be with him freely.

Just as soon as I figure out how to get out of the mess I’ve made and meet with the lawyer Riya said she found. I have no intention of keeping the Faraci name.

Pausing before I press Send, I think about what I want to write. I could hold off on saying anything, but then, I’m not sure whether Julian’s goons will tell him. And I’d rather him find out from me, even over text, even if he’ll be mad, versus finding out from somebody else.

My stomach cramps and my hands grow clammy as I type and erase, then retype a message out.

Bile rises through my esophagus, and I swallow around the sour taste in my mouth, my stomach tossing and heaving.

And then I drop my phone, running to the toilet just in time to throw up.