18. Chloe
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHLOE
NOW
Contrary to what I expected, Kingston’s been giving me space to process, but I feel his eyes on me everywhere I go in the house.
I haven’t found them yet, but I suspect there are cameras in every room, something I’ve been very conscious of while changing in the room I woke up in.
In addition to the rooms that were clearly decorated with me in mind, I’ve also discovered a closet full of clothes in my size and a library full of my favorite books.
If it weren’t for the fact that King kidnapped me and was refusing to let me speak to anyone other than him, I’d find it sweet how thoughtful he’d been while creating what he expected to be our home.
But alas, he’s taken all my choices away, and once again I’m being held against my will.
If the regular meals that appear in the kitchen and the fact that the house is always spotless are anything to go by, there’s staff around here somewhere, but I’m yet to see them.
Whether that’s a coincidence or not remains to be seen, but I doubt it is.
Everything Kingston does has a purpose.
I just wish I understood what he gets out of forcing me to marry him.
There has to be something in it for him, because otherwise this pretty life he’s offering makes no sense, and that’s what has kept me up for the last few nights.
Along with the loneliness.
I thought I knew what it meant to be lonely. I’ve spent the last decade effectively on my own, but this is different.
There was always human interaction. There was Camilla, and then there was the other staff. Even when I was in the cellar at the Lombardi compound, Ronan was coming to see me regularly.
If there’s anything the last few days have taught me, it’s that I don’t enjoy my own company.
I can’t bring myself to go to bed.
At least in the library I can distract myself with other worlds, but the second I slip between the sheets, I’m uniquely aware of just how alone I am.
Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life?
The thought sends a shiver down my spine as I fight off another yawn.
Curling up on the comfortable reading chair beneath the window, I rest my head on the pillow and try to focus on the words, but when they start to blur together, I allow my eyes to close.
I’ll just rest for a minute, I tell myself as another yawn slips free.
Sometime later, strong hands slip beneath me, lifting me from my nest of a chair before carrying me up the stairs.
I allow myself to lean into his embrace, because all the reasons I shouldn’t don’t seem as important while I’m half asleep.
His lips press to my temple, and my chest tightens at the gentle gesture.
The way he handles me is so at odds with who he is outside these walls, and that’s just one of the many reasons Kingston Beaumont is an enigma.
He pauses at the top of the stairs before turning in the opposite direction of my bedroom, but rather than cracking an eye open to see where we’re going, I nuzzle into the place beneath his chin and enjoy not being alone, no matter how short-lived it may be.
He carefully rearranges me in his arms to open a door, and when we step into the room, I know without having to open my eyes that we’re in his bedroom.
In the weeks we spent together a decade ago, I found comfort in his scent. The bourbon and vanilla shampoo I loved back then still clings to him and this room.
Without pausing, he steps forward, never bothering to flick on the lights, and pushes the sheets back without jostling me.
When he bends to put me down, I’m tempted to cling to him. After days of being by myself, I’m desperate to hold on to this moment for as long as I can, but I let him slip me between the sheets and tug the thick blanket over me.
But instead of leaving like I expect him to, there’s a series of rustling before the bed dips beside me and a warm body wraps around me protectively.
“Why’d you bring me in here?” I whisper.
“Because this is where you belong, Mama.” He presses a soft kiss to the top of my head.
“In your bed?”
“By my side.”
There’s a part of me that’s desperate to argue, to tell him I can’t be his. But the idea of being someone’s entire world again is a craving I can’t say no to.
Would it be so bad to say yes to what he’s offering?
But even as I think it, my heart cracks at the idea of never seeing them again.
The lethal bodyguard who treated me with such gentleness.
The boy I loved my whole life.
And the man that claims to hate me but kissed me like I was the air he needed to breathe.
There’s a part of me that knows it’s wrong, selfish even, to want four men, but then I think about Camilla and her guys. The way she shines when she’s surrounded by them.
And I long for that, even though I’ll never have it.
The difference between my situation and Camilla’s is that her guys were a family before she came into the picture, and mine hate each other with everything they are.
It could never work, and that’s the thought that has tears rolling down my cheeks as Kingston’s breathing evens out behind me.
How can I possibly marry Kingston when my heart will always be divided?