18. Breakfast Shenanigans
Chapter eighteen
Breakfast Shenanigans
A week later King informs me that we're going on an outing to meet his parents. I'm elated to be released, and nervous at the same time because meeting a significant other's family is a big deal, but to meet your spouses' family?
I don't know how to feel about this.
Exiting the house I nervously tug on my dress, stalling on the concrete steps outside of the front door. King stands besides me patiently until I'm done fidgeting, and then takes my elbow. His fingers against my skin feels so good, like a breath of fresh air after being underwater for too long. But I stiffen and jerk away, looking at him with a scowl.
"You look gorgeous today," he says, looking at me warily, but I'm not having it.
I put my sunglasses on. Irritable. "Let's get this over with," I snap.
Approaching the black car I nod my thanks at Dennis and then slide inside smoothly, pressing myself all the way until my hip is against the door on the opposite side. King's rich, spicy cologne fills the space as he slides in beside me. It is truly a struggle to maintain my sanity because he smells so delicious it's making my mouth water. Snapping my seatbelt, I pull my hair over one shoulder and then turn my head to look out the window.
As Dennis gets into the driver's seat, I feel King's warm fingers smooth over my wrist and enclose my hand. Just as I'm about to jerk away he tightens his fingers on me.
"Please do me the honor of allowing me to hold my wife's hand while we ride to meet my family?" King asks softly in his silky smooth voice. He sounds wary, a bit tired.
"You mean the hands you don't want me to fuck with? It's okay for me to touch them now, when you want it?" I say sarcastically, clicking my tongue.
"Isobel, please. Can you just be nice for one morning for me?"
At his tone I snap my head over to look at him, and see his face is a bit drawn and tight, like maybe he didn't get any rest. "What's going on with you? Up all night tossing and turning because you feel guilty perhaps?" I arch an eyebrow and bite my lip, holding back a teasing smile. "Serves you right."
"If you must know, I went to bed with a very painful erection. If I hadn't fucked you 'till you safe worded, I would have had you on your back every night as punishment for that curtsy you treated me to two weeks ago."
My eyes widen and flick between the back of Dennis' head and back to King's eyes. I don't know if I could ever get used to staff having a front row seat to such intimate discussions between King and I. It's quite embarrassing, and a lot to get used to. There's no etiquette class that teaches you how to go from having no money to suddenly being rich. At least, not one I'm aware of anyways .
I keep my voice low. "That's why you haven't come to my bed? Because you feel bad because I safe worded?"
"Not just safe worded," King leans in and lowers his voice even more. "You screamed that shit out like I was killing you after I spanked you too hard. I needed time to get a grip over myself. I don't want to hurt you on purpose, and if I do, I'll tell you beforehand. I'm not proud of the way I handled you that day. I didn't give you my best self, and I'm sorry."
I relent a little, turning my head to look at him. We stare at each other silently. His eyes roam my face almost greedily, taking in my lips, my hair, and my neck like he always does. But he goes quickly back to my eyes, masked by my sunglasses. Wariness reflects in his gaze, but I hold my ground refusing to be moved despite him being such a suave fucker. Saying all the right things, doing all the right things…
Well, except keeping me against my will.
Why'd he have to abduct me? I would have went out with him in a heartbeat when things ended between Christopher and I had he waited and asked me regularly.
"How long?" I ask. "How long have you known you were going to do this to me? Was I sitting across from you in your office month after month and you already knew? Or did you just decide this a month or two ago? Because I feel like an idiot."
"You're not an idiot," King retorts, snapping his eyes at me and narrowing them.
"Well, I feel like one," I stress, narrowing my eyes back. "So, answer the question."
King exhales a deep breath and tightens his hand on me. "I knew the moment you walked in my office and saw your eyes for the first time. The very first day I met you. "
My brows raise in shock. His eyes are vulnerable as they implore me to understand. Suddenly I realize, he never looks soft like this with anyone else. The wheels in my mind turn. He's always stern with others, exceedingly polite almost to a fault. He's got a no-nonsense attitude, but I've never seen him look at anyone else quite the same way he looks at me.
"What was I wearing?" I test, just knowing he won't remember. I only remember because I was scared out of my mind to meet him for the first time.
King smiles, exhaling a slow breath. "You were wearing this beautiful white pantsuit with a silk shirt, and your cheeks were flushed from the cold, making your eyes look greener than normal. I remember you were so irritated because you slipped outside the building… and I made you a hot cocoa to try and make you feel better. You asked for marshmallows… and it wasn't until after I made it that you rejected it. Remember?" His eyes fall to my lips.
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," I say softly, feeling slightly ashamed. "I'd been shaken up that day, and I'd forgotten my rule about not accepting drinks from men." I'd felt bad about it at the time, but… I rejected it anyways. "I just desperately wanted the infamous Hendrix King to take me seriously."
"Infamous?" His smile turns almost predatorial. I pinch my lips shut, refusing to give him anything else. He keeps on though, unbothered. "You wanted to impress me with your tough work ethic? Well," he clears his throat softly. "It worked. I noticed. But you actually noticed something about me that day, too. I'd been working hard on a design, and my hands were hurting because I think I'd put something like an extra ten hours of drawing in that week than what was normal for me. I guess I kept rubbing my hands, and you took out this cream. You remember that? "
I swallow hard and nod, tightening my fingers around his as we suddenly lean into a steep curve. "Yeah… your hands were a bit dry because said you'd spent the weekend scrubbing ink off your fingers. And I asked you why you didn't use a software, and you told me it was because you like to -"
"Use my hands first." His voice merges with mine as we finish the sentence together and I feel myself flush as vulnerability wraps around me even tighter, tethering me to him.
"Because you felt more intimately connected with the design," I say quietly.
"Hm-hm. And then you pulled out this cream and didn't trust me to squeeze it out the tube."
I laugh. "I mean, a little bit does go a long way." I arch my eyebrow at him as he smirks at me.
"Well, sometimes one doesn't want just a little bit." The double entendre makes me shiver, ramping up my desire for him. My fingers tremble, becoming even worse at the feeling of his thumb stroking my hand. Embarrassed, I peek over at Dennis, who seems to be studiously ignoring us while we talk. The memory of him entering me the first time makes my blood pressure sky rocket, and I struggle to breathe for a second. But he's still talking, so I look back over at him, gifting my full attention like he does me. "But you put some cream in your hand and then reached out for mine, rubbing it in. I remember feeling taken aback because there wasn't anything remotely sexual in your touch, but… it stuck with me. The way your fingers caressed mine, squeezing a little like your were trying to soothe my aching muscles. As if you cared. I haven't had anyone care about me in so long…" He trails off, looking out the window with a melancholy expression.
As I study his profile, my heart softens as I realize he just shared something extremely vulnerable with me. But I quickly snap out of it and harden my stance, because at the end of the day I'm being held against my will. I snatch my hand away at the thought.
"Well," I scoff. "Remind me to not go around rubbing lotion on annnyyyyone else. Who would have known that would sentence me to being abducted," I grumble, my sour mood back.
"You better not be rubbing anything on anyone other than me," he says in a warning tone under his breath.
I reach for my purse and rummage around in it, looking for my cell by habit. Then I sit back with a frustrated sound, realizing I'm pissed because he won't let me have my phone and I'm going through tech withdrawals.
"Can I at least have my phone?" I snap, seeing him place an elbow against the door and rub his lips thoughtfully.
"No," he replies. I throw my purse down to the floor between us and tuck my elbows in, not even bothering to fight about it. "Please be on your best behavior. Please," he implores. "Teresa is pregnant and we don't want to stress her out. Mason is enough of an ass as it is and…well…brunch has been teeming with tension because of it. So let's not add to it. Mother's been upset lately, and she actually perked up at the thought of meeting her new daughter-in-law."
Annoyed, I face him and roll my eyes. "Sure Hendrix. I promise I'll do my very best," I say sweetly.
"Come on, Izzy. Don't be like that."
My eyes narrow. "Like what, Hendrix? Heaven forbid I don't act like a fucking prisoner, huh?" Looking out the window, my eyes widen at the expansive property we just entered. "Holy shit," I breathe. "Is this where you grew up?"
We enter in through a stunning set of gates. As far as the eye can see, there are manicured lawns, ponds with wooden structures to walk to, and a guest house. The trees open up to expose a spectacular mansion like something you'd see in England. It's got climbing ivy, beautiful wrought-iron balconies that almost disappear under climbing roses. It's similar to our house, yet bigger, with an extra floor.
Wait. King's house, not mine. I'm not claiming anything of his. We pull onto the pea gravel and Dennis opens the door to show me five sets of eyes staring curiously at me. I pick out his father easily first, because he's a tall, broad six-foot three muscular man, with silver hair, slight beard, and is dressed in a pair of black slacks and a sensible cream long sleeved shirt with a sweater tied around his shoulders.
I hate to judge, but fight like hell to roll my eyes at the richness of it all. But it's when my gaze goes lower, locking eyes with a gorgeous older woman who must be his mom that I'm instantly sobered.
Oh.
I almost break my neck looking at King accusatorily. "You didn't tell me you were half Latino," I mutter at him under my breath, jerking my arm away as he tries to grab my elbow. Further annoyed, I slap his arm, however, he snags it anyway and pulls me against his side firmly.
"You never asked. Next time you should think about that before you go running off at the mouth calling people racist," King grits in my ear, causing a white-hot shiver to race up my spine.
"I never called you racist," I hiss back as we ascend the stairs.
"Yes you did, you little brat!" he responds back.
"Did not!" I retort, wiggling against him, knowing full well I did.
As we fuss at each other, making our way up the steps, my eyes roam fast to see what I'm working with.
My gaze locks in on a pretty, dark brown-haired woman who looks to be about early thirties, and is obviously his sister Teresa. She's standing there with a smile on her face, and a hand over another's on her round tummy. My eyes lower; she's dressed in a sensible capped sleeved polka dotted dress and mary janes. My eyes rise to the tall, statuesque man standing protectively behind her. I have to catch myself before my jaw drops, because fuck he's gorgeous. The man gives me a wink and then rubs Teresa's belly.
It's sweet.
Standing to their left is a younger man around my age, slightly shorter than Teresa's husband. He's about six-foot two, and looks to be about mid-twenties. My mind goes back to King telling me about his family and I realize though he doesn't resemble King in the slightest, this is his brother Mason. He's got thick, wavy hair, a darker complexion, a face so perfect that his features are almost feminine, and a strong as hell brow and jaw line. He looks bored and has an obvious chip on his shoulder. So, he'll be the one I use to fuck with King.
Jerking away from King I walk right up to him, planting a fat smacking kiss on his lips.
Everyone gasps as Mason stiffens and jerks away, putting a hand to his mouth and giving me wide shocked eyes that quickly morph into a sly expression. I wink at him and he grins wickedly. "Sister," he says slowly, his eyes sliding to King. "How are you?" His voice matches his appearance; haughty and elegant like the smoothest, most expensive cognac.
"Hello, brother." I grin as I'm suddenly snagged down a couple steps and hauled against King's side. I wince at the tightness of the grip on my arm.
"Have you completely lost your fucking mind?" he growls into my ear. His tone is angry, but I put my nose in the air and sniff delicately. "Can we get in the fucking house before you start up with the shit please?"
"What? You don't kiss people in your family hello? That's rude." I turn my face and give King a nasty once over that I can tell affects him very much. His body tightens and a muscle ticks in my jaw. Pleased, I turn my face back to his family.
Everyone shifts a little nervously except Mason and King's father Richard, who has an amused grin on his face. He's got a hand on his wife Maribel's shoulder, regarding me quietly. I jerk from beside King and walk back up the two steps and hold my hand out.
"So pleased to meet you," I say.
His mother's grip is gentle, and her eyes are so kind it makes me almost want to not act like an asshole. "Isobel, what a beautiful name. We are so incredibly honored to meet you," she says in a soft, accented voice.
"Likewise," I nod, holding my hand out to the intimidating man who I affectionately dub King Sr.
"Welcome to the family, daughter," he says, and just like with Mason, his voice startles me. It's a deep, booming timber and scares me so bad that I take a hesitant step back, but I keep my composure. I've never had a father so maybe that was normal.
I clear my throat, but that's all I manage. Leaning over, I accept a kiss on the cheek from Teresa, but I see her spouse doesn't move to touch me.
"No kissing my man, please," Teresa teases, squeezing my hand and giving me a cheeky smile that I return, taking an instant liking to her. She's got balls, I can tell. Her voice is a soft lilt like her mother's, a departure from the three men's unique cadence.
I look over and see King giving Mason a nasty look who continues to stare at me with a curious expression on his face and I smile brightly, feeling a connection with him. He's obviously got a chip on his shoulder, and now, so do I. I hope we can raise hell together.
"Well let's not dally around outside all day, let's go in. The food will be getting cold." King's mother shoos us in the house and we move quickly. I get this feeling that though King Sr. is the head, she's the neck and runs the show.
My heart glows at that knowledge, because I just know it's true. It makes me feel just a smidgen better about this weird ass situation.
My eyes roam everywhere as I take in the elegant foyer, beautiful tables and fireplaces, double staircase with crystal chandelier. There's so much light, and it's bright and airy. The rooms are teeming with plants and real curved olive trees in terracotta planters. We make our way into an expansive dining room that's so large that there are two long sideboards that boast what's probably priceless china, and it's decked out in a buffet style.
The table is about twenty feet long and oval. I'm shocked at how shiny it is; it's buffed to the point when I look down I can see my reflection. King pulls my chair out, seating me at the end on the same side as Mason and their mom. He sits across the table from me at the other end, next to Teresa's husband.
Good. I'd hate to accidentally get Maribel caught in the crosshairs because I'm about to make breakfast supremely difficult.
We all spend a minute getting settled as the servants come and begin pouring our drinks. "A mimosa for you, ma'am?" A young maid holds a pitcher over my glass and as she begins to fill it, Mason leans over.
"Here," he whispers, shoving a little shot into my hand. "Madre never lets them make it strong enough."
I smile and twist the top off carefully, staring King straight in the eyes while I empty it into my glass as soon as his mother's not looking. King rolls his eyes and snatches my glass, pouring some into his. I scowl at him and he just shakes his head silently.
"So, Isobel, what do you do for work?" Teresa catches my eye, smiling kindly. I can tell her and her husband are holding hands under the table. It's sweet and makes me briefly wonder for a second if the snatching up spouses thing is only limited to men. I narrow my eyes, thinking that's not fair if it is the case.
"Well, I was an interior designer-"
"Oh how fun!"
"But, now, I'm just nothing." I sit back and take a deep drink of my mimosa, wiping my lips delicately with a napkin and ignoring King's gaze burning a hole into my face.
"What do you mean, mija? Why do you say you're nothing?" King's mother's curious tone catches my attention now, and I lean forward to look past Mason, seeing genuine concern on her face and attempt to find a way to do this without hurting her feelings too much.
"Excuse me, I'm so sorry but I still don't know your name," I lie sweetly, giving her my most forgive-me smile.
King's wrath turns up a notch from across the table but I ignore it, turning my eyes to his father now, who's blue stare is just as intense as his son's, if not more. "And I only know you as Mr. King senior."
"Isobel," King grits. I can tell that he's really holding back, but I keep my expression carefully neutral.
"Hendrix, you didn't inform your new bride of our names?" His mother sounds outraged, and I see color rise in her cheeks as she chastises him. I fight back a grin.
Oh it's so perfect.
I feel Hendrix's eyes boring a hole in the side of my face, but I stay strong. "Yeah it's probably just a little oversight on his part, but I'd like to know. I mean, unless you're okay with me calling you Mama and Pa that is…" My eyes go wide as I turn to face King and blink innocently. A muscle ticks in his jaw as his eyes narrow at me before cutting over to his parents .
I feel Mason's hand nudging my elbow slightly. I look over and see him giving me a knowing grin. "You're good. I like you already," he whispers under his breath.
I giggle, winking at him.
King sounds pissed as he speaks. "Madre, she knows your-"
"No I don't!" I cut him off. I need an award for how well I'm able to play the damsel in distress. I think I'm doing a good job so far.
"Yes you do-" His eyes flash angrily at me, and I feel more than see Mason next to me silently laughing.
King's mother speaks up, hastily interrupting us. "Isobel, my name is Maribel, and my husband's name is Richard. You may call us Mary and Richard. In time, when you feel comfortable, you are more than free to call us whatever you wish."
"Oh thank you. By the way, your home is absolutely gorgeous," I gush. "How many abducted women has your son brought home? Or, am I the only one who's been blessed with that particular privilege?"
Richard gives me a little smile before wiping his hands on his napkin. "Nope, Hendrix has never brought a woman home before. Ever." He holds my stare as he sips his orange juice, looking over the rim of his glass.
"Oh that's nice." I lean forward, addressing Teresa's husband now. "So what about you? Did you get to just come on in of your own accord, or were you abducted as well? How long before the Stockholm syndrome sets in? You got any pointers for me? Or, is this only reserved for the men in your family?" I give a scoffing half laugh. "I hope not, because that's really sexist on top of being illegal. Could you imagine?" I look over at Mason who's got a hand to his lips rubbing thoughtfully, but I can see he's hiding a smile. "Where's your slave, Mason? You look old enough to participate."
Mason snorts .
"Isobel! You said you'd behave!" King's voice is strained, losing so much of that elegance that he's known for that I fill with such feminine glee I can taste it.
My eyes flash as I look at him. "Oh this is me behaving, sweetheart. This is my nice side." I bare my teeth at him in a feral smile.
King takes a deep steadying breath before he looks over at his father and mother, who are staring with arched eyebrows. "I apologize for my wife, she-"
"Oh, hell no!" I snarl, pushing back so hard in my chair that it slides off the rug and hits the hardwood with a thunk.
Mason lunges to the side as I stand up, take my steak knife, and haul my arm back. Flinging it as hard as I can at King with everything in me.