Guarded King (Empty Kingdom #3)

Chapter 48

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHLOE

W hen I step into the kitchen, I find Carol and Dad at the table, each with a cup of tea.

Dad is grinning, and Carol is chattering, but when they notice me, a light blush stains Carol’s cheeks.

I stop in my tracks, my heart tripping over itself. Is there something going on between them?

And if so, is that a good thing or a bad thing? I like Carol, and I want Dad to be happy, but how does that work when she’s being paid to care for him?

The moment the thought enters my mind, I chastise myself for being so hypocritical. It’s working between Roman and me. There’s no reason that it can’t work for them. If that’s even what’s going on.

Carol stands, a little flustered. “I better finish making dinner. Your dad felt like spaghetti Bolognese today. Does that sound good to you?”

I give her a small smile. “That sounds amazing. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“How was work, love?” Dad asks as Carol bustles around in our small kitchen.

I sit in the chair she just vacated and exhale. “It was good. Busy.”

I spent the afternoon watching Roman handle his Forbes interview with complete composure. His responses to the interviewer’s questions were measured and articulate. He discussed his strategic vision for the King Group, including the proposed integration of EcoTech, highlighting the company’s commitment to sustainability and ethical leadership.

When probed about his father, he briefly acknowledged the challenges of overcoming that legacy without going into too much detail. Then made it clear just how determined he is to direct the company away from past controversies and toward the future.

As he spoke about his plans to drive the industry toward greener practices, I was filled with a swift rush of pride. Roman isn’t just a CEO, he’s a visionary. He’s carving a new path in a field full of pitfalls. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Yet, as he talked, I could feel the weight he carries, could sense his father’s looming shadow. My understanding of what’s at stake for him grew clearer, and so did my concern.

He’s brilliant and driven, but his responsibilities and goals are always on his mind. Watching him, I realized for the first time just how complicated his world—and exactly how much of himself he’s pouring into steering the King Group in a new direction.

“That tyrant of a boss planning to whisk you away to a foreign country again any time soon?” Dad interrupts my thoughts.

I smile and shake my head, even as my chest starts to burn with the truth I’m holding back. “I’ve already told you; my first impression was wrong.”

Chuckling, he lifts his teacup to his mouth with only a little wobble. “I suppose any man who takes time out of his schedule to accompany his assistant’s dad to the doctor and whisks her away to the Louvre can’t be that bad.”

His eyes twinkle, and suddenly, I can’t help but wonder if he knows.

Before I can formulate a response, though, he continues. “Hopefully this mysterious new boyfriend of yours doesn’t feel outdone.”

I swallow past the ever-present lump in my throat. “He doesn’t. And he’s not mysterious, it’s just that I…”

“Don’t want to jinx it. I know, love.” He pats my hand. “All I need to know right now is that he’s treating you well. You’ll tell me more when you’re ready.”

My mouth goes dry. I hate keeping so much from him. “I will, I promise. And yes, he treats me very well.”

Dad smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Good. Let someone spoil you for once.”

The happiness that’s been growing inside me for the last few weeks rushes back and bubbles up even more. “Do you mind if I steal one of the canvases you bought? And some of your paints?”

His eyes light up, and his posture straightens. “You’re going to do some painting?”

Going for casual, I shrug. “I thought I might.”

“Of course,” he says. “They’re just sitting there, waiting until motivation strikes me. Feel free.”

From the kitchen, Carol regards us, a soft smile on her face. “Such a talented family.”

I laugh. “You haven’t seen my painting yet. Don’t let Dad’s skill fool you into thinking I’m anywhere near as good.”

Dad snorts. “You have a lot of talent, love. I can’t wait to see what you paint. What finally inspired you?”

I worry my bottom lip, my mood once again tanking. I can’t tell him it’s Roman. And I can’t let him see the portrait that’s taken shape in my mind. I’ll have to paint another one. One I can actually show him.

“I thought I’d paint a portrait of Christopher for Lola.”

And really, I should. Lola would love it. I should have done it months ago. Instantly, the idea of it takes flight in my head. I’ll need her to send a photo of her little guy, since squirming babies are harder to sketch than a man lying still in bed.

Carol offers to make me a cup of tea, but I’m too excited and nervous about painting again and want to just jump into it. So I take two canvases, paint, and the easel Dad and Carol picked up into my bedroom.

Before I get started, I message Lola to ask for a photo, then pick up a pencil. I unfold the sketch I did of Roman and lay it out next to me, then get to work replicating it on the canvas, adding more detail from memory.

As I outline his lips, my hand slows. I study the upward curve, the smile he reserves just for me, and my heart squeezes so tight I can barely breathe.

How did this happen? How did I fall in love with my boss without even realizing it?

I run my finger over the line on the canvas as I ponder the question. It was one half-smile, one thoughtful act at a time—until suddenly, he was looking at me like this. And I was looking right back. I want it all with him. The excitement of his touch and the pleasure of the orgasms he gives me. But I also want all the things we haven’t experienced yet. I want to wake up beside him every morning. I want to hold his hand in public and dance together where everyone can see. I want him to wrap me in his arms and kiss me without concern that we’ll be the subject of speculation.

Everything has been better since him, and it’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

I breathe through the emotions swirling through me and bring my pencil to the canvas again. Each stroke steadies me until I’m humming to myself and the image comes together.

It takes me longer than I expected, and I’ve just decided that I won’t bother getting the paints out tonight when my phone rings and Lola’s name flashes across the screen.

I sink down on my bed as I answer.

“You’re painting again? You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

I laugh. “Not quite yet. I haven’t actually picked up a paintbrush, but if you send a photo of Christopher, I can get started.”

“I’m honored that my baby is going to be your first piece of artwork in years.”

I grimace. “Well… Not quite my first.”

She gasps in fake outrage. “What? Who was first?”

I scrunch my face up. “I may have sketched a portrait of Roman.”

“Are you saying your hunky boss was more inspiring than my chubby bubby?”

A smile stretches across my face too quickly to stop. “Let’s just say he gave me lots of inspiration the other night.”

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Not like that. He looked so relaxed and happy, and I felt this overwhelming urge to sketch him.”

“If he’s got you wanting to paint again,” she says, her voice turning serious, “then I’m all for it. But why do you need a picture of Christopher?”

“I had to tell Dad something,” I confess, wincing. “And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I wanted to paint him.”

“So you’re using my child to hide your affair with your boss?”

A scoff escapes me. “In the beginning, I guess I was, technically. Now, though, I’m itching to paint him.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then my phone beeps in my ear.

“Okay, I sent one of my favorite photos through,” Lola says. “Speaking of your dad, how’s he doing?”

I lean back against the headboard and sigh. “He’s improving every day. And he’s happy. Actually,” I run my fingers over my bed cover. “I think there might be something going on between him and Carol.”

“Really?” She sounds delighted. “How do you feel about that?”

I frown. “If there really is something there, I’m happy for him. But… I guess I’m used to it being the two of us. What happens if they do start dating? Or if she moves in? Does she still get paid?”

“You might be putting the cart before the horse there, Chlo.”

Shoulders slumping, I sigh. “I know. I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m just not very good with change.”

“Things always change.” Her voice is gentle. “That’s a good thing.”

“I guess…” I pick at a piece of lint stuck to my comforter. “Things are going so well. It’s hard not to worry that it could all turn bad.”

I’ve already fallen hard for Roman, so what happens to my heart if it all comes crashing down?

“There will always be surprises,” she says. “But whatever happens, you’ll have the strength to deal with it. Believe that. And enjoy the good times. Try not to worry about the possibility of bad times.”

She’s right. So much of my nervousness stems from my uncertainty about my relationship with Roman. It’s time to learn to let go and live for today rather than try to anticipate all the what ifs.

Once I end the call with Lola, I help Carol finish up dinner. After an enjoyable meal, she heads off for the evening and Dad and I settle in on the couch.

As I flick through the channels, he clears his throat. “I’ve been thinking, love. I’m not ready to paint again yet. But I reached out to one of the small galleries where I used to show my work occasionally and asked if they’d be interested in the few that I haven’t sold off. I thought it might generate a bit of interest and maybe a little bit of money while I’m waiting to get my hand strength back.”

Grinning, I bolt up straight. “That’s a great idea.”

“I know that one”—he nods toward the hallway—“is your favorite, but I think it would be the perfect centerpiece. If you’re not comfortable with seeing it possibly sell, though, then I can leave it out. What do you think?”

My chest constricts. “Honestly, I’d be sad if I couldn’t see it every day, but I think you should do it. Some lucky person out there deserves to have your painting on their wall.”

He holds out an arm. “I’m the lucky one.”

I slide across the couch and let him engulf me, reveling in the extra strength in his embrace. When he lets me go, I lay my head on his shoulder.

Finally, we decide on re-runs of Firefly . We watched the series together when I was a kid, so rewatching now fills me with nostalgia and hope. For Dad. For me.

Things are changing, and it’s scary. But it’s like staring at a blank canvas and being too nervous to make that first stroke of color, worried the painting will be imperfect. If I let fear of that hold me back, I’ll never have the chance to create something truly beautiful.

And maybe an imperfect painting is better than no painting at all.