CHAPTER 19
Samia
The following two weeks fly by like a hectic whirlwind.
Between working and dating Kian, I haven’t had a moment to let my feet touch the ground.
But here I am, smiling like a freak at my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I do my dental routine I’m fanatical about. Even now, I’m still haunted by the stinky breath of my high school crush. He was your typical math geek, rocking glasses and a quirky smile until he got too close to gas me with his breath.
Vain of me? Perhaps, but good hygiene is basic decency if you want to kiss someone.
“Why are you smiling?” I hear from the doorway, and my eyes focus on Kian in the mirror, looking like he’s just finished working out because he’s only wearing a pair of blue sweatpants shorts, and his chest glistens with sweat.
“I was thinking about this boy I used to like in high school.”
It’s score one for me to know there’s something that knocks his cocky smile from his face.
“New rule.” He says, pushing off from the doorjamb, “No talking about other guys. Especially when you’re standing in barely there panties.” His eyes drop hungrily to my backside, where I am, in fact, wearing my favorite pair of underwear, which shapes my cheeks. A hand covers the material, and I get a thrill when Kian edges a fingertip underneath the leg hole as he fixes himself along my back. Our reflection looks good, and I smile at him.
“New rule, hm? How many rules will there be?” wiping my mouth on the hand towel, and when I bend forward to reach a deodorant can, it pushes my butt into Kian’s crotch, and he groans.
Another score for me. I love riling him, I’ve discovered.
I never knew sex could be so addictive yet playful at the same time. My new hobby is seeing how fast I can push Kian to his limits before he ignites his sexual power all over me. Even though we had rousing sex in bed this morning, his lovely cock woke me as he moved inside me. You’d think my body would be sated for a while. But Kian’s proximity is like a tuning fork for my hormones when he glides a hand around my stomach as I give myself a few spritzes of underarm deodorant.
We look so freaking domesticated, it’s sickeningly cute.
Living with a boy has never been so easy.
Not that I have much of a blueprint.
Being with Kian in a close environment is pretty fantastic. I love that he cooks and doesn’t care what we watch on TV. We have a housekeeper who comes several times a week, but he’s not messy and picks up after himself. He also knows how to load a dishwasher and do laundry, which, for most men, is unicorn status.
“As many as I feel is necessary if you’re gonna think about other guys.”
“Got it,” I murmur. “Does that mean no fantasizing about Logan Saint, then? I mean, he is a rock god and all…”
“Samia.” He growls, pressing his mouth into my neck, making me swallow my chuckle. I have a feeling I will be banned from listening to my favorite band ever again. It’s a bummer because my best friend is married to their lead singer, and I’ve been to countless concerts of theirs already.
It’s my turn to make breakfast, but it’s nothing elaborate like Kian can make. I have many skills, but cooking isn’t one of them. I’ve never even bought a recipe book in my life. But the salted butter toast I put on the table for us some minutes later is top-notch, if I say so myself. It’s even supreme Irish butter! Only the best for my Irishman.
I lack domestic goddess status because I realize the fridge and pantry have always been full since I’ve been here, and I have no idea who makes that happen.
“Do you go grocery shopping?” I ask, nibbling at a corner of triangle-cut toast. Triangles are the elite of toast. Anyone knows this.
Kian pops a questioning eyebrow, having already eaten through five triangle pieces, as he reaches for a sixth. I beam inside because he loves my epic toast.
“No, I have a service that delivers twice a week.”
Oh, that’s okay then. He’s not a domestic goddess, either.
We’re well suited.
Being the biggest rogue, Kian would prevent us from being looted during the apocalypse. And I would make the toast. That’s couple goals.
“I’m sticking with you during the apocalypse,” I tell him, draining my coffee cup.
“Baby…” he amuses, “are you bringing me into the conversation halfway again?”
“Yes,” I admit. It’s not the first time it’s happened, and he finds it funny. I can’t help it. My brain moves too quickly sometimes, and I assume the other person is following along.
“Our marriage will never have a dull moment, will it?” He proclaims, and I nearly choke to death on toast. One coughing fit later, I focus on him.
“Stop saying things like that. I told you I was joking. You know the ha-ha things people say to make each other laugh.”
“I didn’t see it as a joke,” he says seriously, standing to clear the table. “And neither did your father when I spoke to him.”
If necks could spin off the spine, mine definitely would have, as I hurriedly whirled around to glare at him.
“Explain that, Kian. What do you mean about my dad?”
“When I asked for his blessing.”
Is that a mini tornado sweeping inside my skull? I hear a whooshing sound right through my ears.
“You did not.”
He wouldn’t take a stupid joke that…
He smirked as he bent at the waist to fill the dishwasher. Any other morning, I’ve stared at his perfect ass, but today my mind is occupied with more pressing, panicked matters.
Of course, Kian would take a joke too far.
It’s Kian.
He has an insatiable thirst for power, is obsessed with control, and is a complete megalomaniac.
I reach for my phone before knowing what I’ll say, and seconds later, my mom answers at their house.
“Morning, darling, this is a lovely surprise to hear from you so early. I’m just making jam crumpets for breakfast. Do you have anything in particular to tell us? Maybe some good news?”
Jesus. My mom is a horrible secret keeper. If she’s hinting at good news, Kian will be in so much trouble if he’s fake-engaged us to win a point.
“Princess,” a deeper voice calls out in the background. “Let Samia tell us any news in her own time.”
Though she tries to silence the phone, I hear her say, “It’s been two days, Hunter! I’m bursting at the seams.”
The next voice I hear is his. “Hey, cupcake. How are you feeling? Any headaches?”
“Morning, Dad, and no headaches, I’m fine. Listen, did Kian talk to you by any chance?”
The man I’m talking about is leaning against the island with his bare feet crossed, smiling confidently.
My father confirms Kian spoke to him but didn’t explain why. Most likely, they are waiting for me to mention the reason. I excuse myself to get off the phone and then round on him.
“You’re crazy.”
“Crazy in love. Do you want to see your engagement ring, fiancée?”
“You…you have a ring?”
“Of course.” Just like that.
His answer speeds up my heart into a rollicking thumping sequence. The prospect of wearing Kian’s ring makes me feel…makes me feel. I can’t put the emotion into words because I’m unsure if those words exist.
It’s nerves and surprise elation whipping a frenzy around my stomach. It’s a toss-up whether I throw a pan at his head or throw up.
When I think I’m getting to know the man Kian is, he tosses puzzles at my feet, leaving me more confused than ever.
Shaking my head, I half-smile, deciding that throwing a fit will only buy stock in his delusional joke, so I grab another coffee and pat his chest.
“Keep that rock away from me, madman. Now I’m going to work in the office.” My home office was already set up in a room down the hallway. I’d discovered it the first night here. “Are you working today?”
That answer is yes. He’s a total workaholic. He thrives on the success of his business endeavors.
Kian grabs me around the waist before I make my escape. “Kiss me before I don’t see you for a few hours. Need something to keep me going.”
He’s so needy.
And I secretly love his demanding side.
My head is spinning with lust after our kiss. Kian knows how to knock my socks off. As many liberties as he takes, he delivers even more care, and that’s what I like best about him. Before he left the apartment, he came to let me know, and we kissed again. His goodbyes make me all gooey.
But that gooey feeling lasts only a few hours, until things turn weird.
Just before lunchtime, the doorman let me know delivery people were coming up. No big deal, I thought. Mmhm, it was such a big deal.
After being interrupted for the fifth time, I slapped my electronic pencil on the desk and stomped across the apartment to the door. It’s a glamorous thirty-something brunette dressed in an A-lined skirt and color-matching tucked-in blouse. Her makeup is flawless, and so are her painted nails and DIOR slingback heels. She smiles but looks by me at the towering delivery pile that’s standing in the hallway.
“Oh, thank heavens, it all arrived on time. Hi, you must be Samia. I’m Gloria. This is all so exciting. Your fiancé warned me you’re working, so we won’t disturb you.” She doesn’t give me room to speak as she invites herself in.
I’m still processing the fiancé remark when a team of six people walks in behind her. They look like servers at cocktail parties dressed in white and black with bow ties and smart shoes. Only these people begin unpacking the boxes. I peek around a shoulder to see its gleaming silver wear and crystal glasses.
What the hell is going on? Kian didn’t say we were hosting a dinner party.
To avoid looking like an idiot, I retreat to my office instead of asking some strange lady why she’s setting up a fancy party in my home. It’s Kian’s problem, he can deal with it.
But not before I hear the door announcement again, and Gloria exclaims. “Yay, that’ll be the flowers. Atticus, make sure not a petal is dropped.”
Fucking flowers now?
As much as I try to get back into work mode, my mind is being pulled in a thousand directions, and when I tiptoe into the hall to peek into the living area, it has been transformed. It’s like Cinderella’s fairy godmother waved her magic wand and turned the apartment into a venue fit for…for a.
Shit.
He’s made a wedding venue for us, hasn’t he?
That’s what it looks like, with tall and small candlesticks bundled together on every surface and great, towering vases of flowers wherever the eye can see. Flower garlands draped high across the bank of windows leading out onto the balcony where the decorations were strategically placed.
It’s for a wedding.
I’ve been to enough of them to recognize the décor and ambient setting.
My heart triples as I slam my office door closed.
That man of mine is about to get a whole boatload of whoop-ass.
The phone rings, and Kian answers instead of sending me to his voicemail inbox like I expected. But I can’t say anything mean because he speaks before I can.
“I’m busy. I’ll call you back.” And then the arrogant asshole hangs up on me.
He takes forever to call me back, and by then, I’m ready to choke him for bringing random people into our house without telling me. And worse of all, to assume we’re getting hitched.
“Sorry, I cut you off, baby. I was dealing with a break-in at the warehouse. It was a fucking nightmare. Are you good?”
“Am I good?” I repeat, much colder.
I give good girlfriend, I think. No, I know I do. I’ve been curious about what Kian wants to share with me about his business. Although he doesn’t reveal all his schemes, he said I could have anything I wanted when I joked about what he could get for me. If it were any other situation, I would switch to girlfriend mode and ask about what was happening. But I can’t even try because I’m so mad at him.
“I’m far from good, Kian MacNamara.”
He dares to chuckle, which only stokes my boiling fires even more.
“I take it you’ve met Gloria?”
“She’s been in the apartment all day, Kian. You didn’t think to warn me that energetic people would barge in and disrupt my whole day?”
“I told her not to bother you. Has she?”
“Well. No, she hasn’t. I’ve been in the office, but that’s not the point. What the hell are you up to? And if you dare say the words wedding party, I will scream, Kian. This has gone far enough now. There are literal strangers putting flowers in vases and hanging white lights everywhere.”
He remains quiet, and I huff.
“You are taking this too far.”
“You proposed, and I agreed to get married, Samia. I’ve been reminding you for two weeks that it was happening, and I dealt with the details. Didn’t I?”
I blink, yanking a little at my hair. This man of mine is more frustrating than any other former boyfriend.
“Kian, I did not propose.”
“Baby,” he rasps, “we have a verbal contract. You can’t back out now.”
He’s joking, he has to be joking.
No other man has gotten to me the way he does. Distracting me from everything in my life made me clingy and needy in ways I never thought possible.
“You can’t just say it and have it true. That’s not how a marriage works.”
“It will for us, baby.”
Ugh. He’s not even listening.
“Kian, this isn’t right. Whoever that woman is—,”
“She’s our wedding coordinator.” He relays that info like I’ve been in on the decisions all along, as though we’ve gone hand-in-hand and chosen this so-called wedding coordinator.
“Call and tell her you’re sorry, but it’s not happening. Pay her off if you have to.”
“Sweetheart, it’s happening. You suggested we get married, so I’ve covered the details.”
My head is roaring wind at this point. I blow out an exhausted breath and finger over my temple, where a headache is flickering to life.
“Good luck with your wedding for one. You’ve given me a headache, thanks a lot, and seeing as you’re not listening to me, you won’t find me at the apartment later. Bye.” And I drop the call. Kian isn’t the only one who can hang up.
After a few minutes, and Kian hasn’t called back, I exhale and place the phone on my desk. I still hear the commotion, and I’m afraid of seeing what they’re doing now. It looked beautiful, something I would have chosen for myself, you know, for my actual wedding someday.
Would I marry Kian under normal circumstances?
The question lingers, wavering between answers until I hear a distinct voice.
It’s Kian’s voice.
He’s back already, and it only took him less than thirty minutes.
“You’ve done a great job, Gloria.” I catch, and then she exclaims at his praise.
Ugh, I know how Kian’s praise feels, all butterflies in the tummy and blushing happiness.
He sounds relaxed, giving his compliments. I pop up from the desk chair and slip into the bathroom next to my office. I told him I wouldn’t be home, but I had no actual intention of running away. Where would I go other than to my parents’ place? And they’re thrilled about my nuptials to a madman.
I’m wrong if I thought he’d see the empty office and leave because the door opens, and there he is.
We stare at each other like we’re in a standoff.
My chin is prominent, and his eyebrows hang lower over his eyelids, the way he gets when he’s concerned.
If I’m expecting a fight, I’m off base because Kian comes over and kisses my forehead.
“How bad is your headache? Did you take medicine?”
See? This is the man I’d marry in a hot second. A sweet, thoughtful man with only kindness in his heart. The one who checks on my well-being before anything else.
Not the overbearing jerkhole who assumes I’m going to marry him just because he says so.
His fingers caress my hair, momentarily distracting me from my anger.
“Why are you here? I told you I was leaving.”
The devil smiles and kisses my nose. Then he lifts my wrist, and I’m confused at why until he says, “There’s a tracker in your bracelet. I knew you had gone nowhere.”
I stare down at the delicate diamond-roped bracelet he gifted me ages ago, and then I spin it around my wrist, trying to see some abnormality with it to let me know he bugged my jewelry.
The answer is simple. It’s Kian, of fucking course he did.
While I’m mentally killing him, he opens the medicine cabinet and puts two of my pain pills in his palm. He squirrels bottles of them in every room of the apartment for when I get a migraine because, god forbid, I have to walk a few feet across the house to retrieve the bottle.
As mad as I feel, his sweetness touches me when he lifts the pills to my lips, and I automatically open for him to drop them on my tongue. He teams it with a glass of water, and I swallow.
“You can take this bracelet back. Give it to your wedding coordinator as a thanks, but no thanks gift.” When I attempt to unlock it, Kian snaps his bigger hand around my wrist, and his eyes are a warning.
“You will never take it off, understand?” he growls low, and I shiver at the stark look that’s overtaken his features. It’s like thunder but something else; it takes a second to realize its concern. I frown, but Kian hasn’t finished. “The last time I didn’t know where you were, some motherfucker spiked your drink and you fell into the street and got hit by a fucking bus.”
It’s like he’s telling me a story about aliens for all the sense he’s making because I don’t remember the accident that way. But Kian’s eyes aren’t twinkling with humor. He means it.
That happened to me.
“Wait. What? My drink was spiked and…”
“Yes. And I wasn’t there in time to stop it from happening.” He rasps, gripping the side of my face to bring his forehead to mine, sounding pained.