11. Zayn
CHAPTER 11
ZAYN
“She’s been quiet,” Rye told me as he closed the door behind me.
I looked at him and then the closed door. “You’re my butler now?” I teased, trying to lighten the tension I could see around the tightness of his mouth.
“Butler, babysitter”—he shrugged—“everything rolled into one.”
I followed him to the kitchen, desperate to ask where she was, knowing better than to ask him when he was like this. “She’s been quiet?”
The look he gave me told me what a predictable asshole I was. “Yeah. She got up, made coffee, and sat by the window for an hour this morning, watching the trees like they were going to tell her something.”
I set the takeout boxes on the counter, not looking at him. “She talk?”
“Enough.” He paused, eyeing me. “Tried to play it cool. Didn’t ask where you were. Didn’t ask when you would be back. ”
“Seems like she said a lot,” I muttered as I unpacked the bag.
Rye let out a slow breath. “What’s the plan here?” I turned to face him, and he was watching me, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. “Tell me there’s a plan.”
“I haven’t figured it out yet,” I admitted to him. “I’m not used to people needing to protect themselves because of knowing me.”
“Yes, you are,” Rye said with a grunt. “You’re just not used to people having a say in it.” He looked at me for a long moment. “Do you think you’re doing her a favor by keeping her here? By keeping her close?” He didn’t let me respond. “We can’t just bring someone into our world, Zayn. They get pulled in.”
I met his gaze, seeing his frustration. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I believe you’re pretending it doesn’t matter.” Rye’s tone remained steady. “But it does. For her. For you. For every deal on the table that could now have Isla Wells written in invisible ink somewhere in the margin.”
I didn’t respond because he wasn’t wrong. She was becoming the fine print of my life—the unexpected clause I hadn’t accounted for but couldn’t seem to cross out.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Talk and listen ,” he said, giving a pointed look. He walked over to the boxes of containers, picking up the kung pao chicken along with a container of rice. “I’m heading to the club. Will you be there tonight?”
“Yes.” I didn’t even convince myself.
Rye sighed. “At least promise me that you’ll keep your dick in your pants until you’ve had the conversation.” He left me there with the kind of warning only someone who’d seen every version of me could give .
Shortly after, I heard the front door close, and then the house fell silent. It was too quiet. I headed to the stairs to get Isla for dinner, but she was already coming down.
She was wearing the clothes I had delivered; her posture was straight but tense as we looked at each other. Her teeth caught the corner of her bottom lip, and I watched her hands run over the material of her pants legs. It was the look of a woman trying too hard not to admit how vulnerable she felt.
I scanned her clothes, and my first thought was that she looked good in them. A simple shirt and pants, yet she appeared classy as if the fabric had always been meant for her.
Like she belonged in this house, in my space, in my world.
My second thought was that she would leave because I hadn’t convinced her to stay. Not really.
I came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, watching her hesitate four steps from the bottom. “You got the delivery.”
Isla searched my face as she studied me. “I did.”
I nodded. “And you’re wearing them. You like them?”
“I didn’t have many options.”
I smiled just a little. “Convenient.”
Her eyes narrowed as if she wanted to pick a fight. Good. I could handle angry Isla. Silence? I felt less certain.
“You could have asked,” she said, breaking eye contact. “I never took you for someone who wanted to play wardrobe fairy.”
Play what? “Am I supposed to know what that means?” I asked her.
“Right…” She sighed. “When have you ever not known everything already?” She frowned at me. “You could have asked me.”
Definitely pissed off. “You’re right, Is. I don’t ask. And I don’t play. ”
It was the wrong thing to say. I realized it immediately. Her chin lifted, and a wall slammed into place behind her eyes. She descended the last few steps, eye to eye with me, and the look in her eyes—measured, proud, and defiant—made something in my chest tighten.
“How long do you want me here?”
“How long do you want to be here?” I countered.
“Is this about keeping me safe,” she asked, “or keeping me ?”
“It can’t be both?”
Isla looked down at my mouth and then up again, a flash of uncertainty crossing her face. “No.” She stared at me, the silence crackling between us. “What am I to you, Zayn?”
I should’ve had an answer.
I had a thousand answers.
But I didn’t know if I had the right answer.
So I leaned closer and let my hand trail down the sleeve of the top I’d chosen for her. The fabric was warm from her skin. From her. Our lips were millimeters apart. “You’re the thing I don’t want to lose.”
Her breath hitched, just enough for me to hear. Just enough to matter.
But before I could lean in, taste her, she stepped back. Isla looked away, and I eased back, giving her space.
“I’ll give you time.” It was all I could offer without grabbing her and locking out the world. “But not too much. Because the longer you stay here…”
She swallowed hard. “What?”
“The harder it’s going to be for both of us to pretend this isn’t real.” I turned and walked toward the kitchen, giving us both some breathing space. “Come on, I got takeout. Rye already took the kung pao chicken.”
I didn’t hear her follow me, but I felt her presence. I always felt her nearby, always knew where she was in the room. In the kitchen, I said nothing about her bare feet even though I knew I had ordered her socks, slippers, and boots.
But was she wearing them? No, she had bare feet on polished concrete. Isla propped her hip against the counter as she watched me.
“I’ll need to reheat this,” I told her. “How much of a food snob are you?”
That made her smile. “The microwave is fine,” she assured me.
“Thank fuck.” I winked. “No idea how the oven works.” Opening a cupboard, I pulled out a box of tea bags. “Tea?”
“Yeah, please.” Isla walked up beside me. “You make tea. I’ll man the microwave.”
We worked in silence. I kept my hands busy—pouring boiling water into mugs, yearning to touch her, to ensure she was safe.
“I thought you had a chef?” Isla asked as she swapped cartons over to reheat.
“I do. But we never told him I was coming, so anything prepared is frozen, and something told me you’d be in the mood for the extra salt and bad cholesterol, which you can only get from takeout.”
She laughed softly, and I paused to admire her smile. “Sometimes I forget how much you seem to know about me.” Isla glanced up and saw me watching her. “You notice too much,” she added, her smile fading.
I slid the mug of tea towards her without saying a word.
Isla took it and leaned back against the counter, facing me. She didn’t sip immediately. “They didn’t touch me,” she said softly.
I looked up from arranging the food on two trays. “I know. ”
She was staring into her mug. “Do you think he would have?”
That was the moment I lost the fragile thread of calm I had been holding on to. My fingers curled around the edge of the counter, and I had to breathe through it.
“I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry,” Isla rushed out.
“Shh, I need to say this.” I spoke over her. “He never touched you, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t. He’s unpredictable.”
Isla took a sip of tea, wincing as she realized it was too hot. “He never laid a hand on me, but he wanted to scare me.” She leaned over and picked up one of the trays of food, carrying it to the table. “I think…” She placed the tray on the table, and I noticed a slight tremor in her hands. “I was a warning shot, but I don’t know if it was for Julian’s benefit…or yours.”
I neither confirmed nor denied. The truth was that I wasn’t sure either. The urge to punch the wall was strong. Instead, I carried the other tray over, and we sat down to reheated food and mugs of tea, neither of us feeling hungry anymore.
“I think I’m angrier that I walked right into this because of someone I trusted.”
“Julian?” I asked. “Or me?”
“Julian,” she confirmed. She gave a delicate sniff. “Was sure it would be you who were my downfall…”
The gentle nudge to my ribs dulled the impact of her words, yet the danger to her was still present. “Patrick won’t come near you again,” I assured her, a bitter taste lingering in my throat. “Julian…say the word, and I can keep him away too.”
Isla paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Don’t do that,” she said quietly, avoiding eye contact. “Don’t make that choice for me.”
I took a mouthful of beef and rice, chewing slowly as I contemplated her words. “Don’t expect me to stand by. He put you at risk.” Turning my head, I met her gaze. “It’s nonnegotiable.”
We stared at each other, tension stretching between us.
Finally, she exhaled. “I don’t need a bodyguard, Zayn. I just need the truth, and no one has provided it.”
I placed my fork on my plate. “And if I give it to you now?”
Her gaze didn’t waver as she mimicked me, placing her fork on her plate. “Try me.”
“He owed money. He lost. He took out a loan. From the person he lost to…a loan shark. He kept betting. The interest climbs. Patrick’s interest rate is exorbitant at the best of times. Patrick took you because he knew Julian would come to me to pay his debt. I’ve done it before.” I didn’t break eye contact. “Too many times. I told him last time I wouldn’t do it again.” I saw the pain in her eyes, but I kept going. “Patrick underestimated one thing.”
“What’s that?” she whispered, gazing down at her plate to conceal the tears filling her eyes for her friend.
My voice was low and certain. “How far I’d go to get you back.”
Isla swallowed hard. Her fingers tightened around her fork. “And how far would you go?”
I leaned in until my mouth was near her ear. “As far as I need to.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable; it was heavy and filled with truth. I resumed eating, and after a while, Isla did too.
Wiping my mouth, I leaned back in my seat. She had stopped eating before me, having pushed her food around her plate for a few minutes. I stood, took her plate, and heard no objection. I carried the plates to the sink and stacked the empty boxes and two trays.
I heard her get up from her seat, and when she came over to help, I went to the fridge and poured two glasses of wine.
“Not working tonight?” she asked as she accepted the glass.
“Just having the one.” I walked into the living room, aware she was following. I took a seat, and Isla occupied the edge of the couch she had claimed as her spot the night before. We sat in silence. I held my glass without drinking, watching her sip hers.
Finally, Isla glanced at me and nodded. “All right.”
“All right?”
“I’m not saying that I accept any of it. Your life, your…business.” She paused, gazing at me with those sharp, weary eyes. “But I’m here. And I need to be able to talk to you. Really talk.”
“Okay.”
She offered a shaky smile, its edges tight with doubt. “No warnings? No dire messages? No controlling me?”
I raised an eyebrow, just slightly. “When have I ever managed to control Isla Wells?”
Her lips curved, but the laughter didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You try. You’re just subtle about it…pretty distractions, favorite takeout, custom wardrobes.”
“That wasn’t about control,” I said quietly. “It was about comfort. It was about giving you something that was yours in a space that doesn’t feel like home yet.” I hesitated, allowing her time to absorb what I was saying. “I wanted you to have something that hadn’t been tainted by any of the shit outside these walls. ”
Isla stood and walked to the window, looking out as she wrapped her arms around herself, her gaze fixed on something outside. “You say that as if what’s outside won’t find its way in.”
“I can’t keep it out,” I told her honestly. “But in here, I can hold it back a little longer.”
She maintained her focus on the outside; her posture was casual, but her eyes were sharp again. When she turned back to me, I wasn’t surprised to see the challenge. “I need to know you won’t lie to me.”
“I don’t lie.”
She tilted her head. “You omit the truth. You manipulate. You redirect.”
I rose from the seat and moved closer until there was barely a breath between us. “I don’t lie...to you.”
Isla looked up at me, her breathing shallower. “That’s not the same as telling me everything.”
“No,” I agreed. “It’s not. But if you ask me something, I’ll answer. Every time. Whether or not you want to hear it.”
She blinked up at me. “And if it changes the way I look at you?”
“Especially then.” I held her gaze. “I’m not a hero. I’m not a particularly good man. I’m a wealthy one,” I told her softly. “You won’t approve of how I make my money, but that won’t change who I am.”
Her breath caught, and I could see it—the struggle. The war behind her eyes. The part of her that wanted to push me away and the part of her that was already weary from fighting this.
Us.
“I’m scared what happened will happen again,” she whispered as if sharing a secret. “This time because of who you are. ”
“I am, too.”
We stood there, pressed close together, neither of us willing to move away.
“I’m scared of what I feel when I’m with you,” Isla said, her voice low. “It’s not normal, Zayn. It’s not…calm. We…” She took a deep breath. “You and I together don’t make sense.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t try to touch her. I allowed her to say it, letting her own the doubt that mirrored mine.
Isla reached up, her hand cradling my cheek. “I feel as if I’m on fire, and I don’t even know if it’s going to consume me or set everything ablaze.”
I leaned into her palm. “What would you say if I told you that I feel the same way?”
Her gaze flicked up to mine, and something shifted between us—like we had reached the edge of the precipice from which we couldn’t step back.
Not now. Not ever.
“Then I’d say we’re doomed,” Isla whispered.
My hand rested on her hip, my fingers pressing slightly into her soft pants. “I’m not good at this,” I confessed quietly. “I’ll probably fuck it up, but I want to try to make this work.”
Her hand dropped gently from my cheek to my chest, over my heart. I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“You always feel like this,” she murmured. “Steady. Calm.” She looked up at me. “I feel as if I’m seconds away from coming apart.”
I gently caught her wrist, not to move her but to keep her in place. “Then I’ll keep you steady.”
“I think you already have.”
We remained that way for a long moment—two people facing each other in silence.
“I’m tired,” she said softly .
“Come to bed.”
Isla looked down and then back up at me, uncertainty lingering in her eyes. “Will you stay?” she asked. “This time, without sneaking away?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”
“And Elixir?”
My lips brushed against hers. “Elixir will manage without me for one night.”
She leaned into me, her arms sliding around me, her head resting on my chest. “Thank you.”
I kissed the top of her head, my arms wrapping around her, drawing her close. I was surprised by the intensity of my pull toward her, and I knew then that I had already given her more power over me than I ever intended…and it felt right.