Chapter 21
Mariyah
C oward? Coward? I wasn’t a bloody coward!
I’d left his room to save us both from the awkward “so… what now” and “ can you leave my room now that I’ve finished railing you senseless” conversation.
How the fuck was I supposed to know that he actually wanted to have that talk enough to chase me to my room, raging like a madman?
And him acting all “ let me check you’re okay ” had been stupid. I wasn’t fucking breakable.
I’d stewed all night thinking about what had happened and lost hours of sleep. The insanely good sex, how he’d made me beg and call him Daddy, him claiming I was running away, and the whole need to talk declaration as if there was anything to say or discuss.
I woke up tired, cranky, and hungry the next morning. The cranky part only got worse when I sat down at the dining table for breakfast and was reminded that Esmeralda wasn’t around.
Kareem had an early flight back to Jahandar, so Kai and Esmeralda had dropped him off at the airport. They were going to head on their full day out straight from there.
On top of that, rather than being stuck in the palace, I’d agreed previously to go shopping with Katiya, Prince Arsh, and Shehryar in the afternoon to buy a few bits for their upcoming wedding.
Shehryar sat opposite me at the table, quietly brooding between his food and me. I stared back with just as much dark irritation, because I was no fucking coward. Though underneath, my thighs clenched in memory of the stupid number of orgasms he’d given me. Every single hickey and aching muscle twinged with a greed for more.
Admittedly, his extra moodiness seemed to be caused by something else. Likely that he wasn’t escorting Esmeralda as her bodyguard, and my suspicion was quickly confirmed.
“Esmeralda was trying to explain the concept of a holiday to Sher as they were leaving,” Katiya joked with a grin. “But he still refuses to grasp the idea.”
Shehryar’s expression remained stoic, but his tone was low with displeasure. “Princess Esmeralda is the one on holiday. And yes, I wanted to see you, Mum, but I should still be doing my job of accompanying her wherever she goes.”
“Well, Kai’s team has gone, as well as the rest of Esmeralda’s team, so do not fret, Shehryar,” King Rami assured him. “Enjoy this time with your mother, or maybe this is a good chance for you and Mariyah to work on the wedding.”
I looked at Shehryar at the same time he looked at me. There was a dull glow of determination in his watercolour eyes. “Yes,” he said. “Mariyah and I have a few things to discuss.”
I narrowed my gaze.
He wasn’t talking about the wedding. But I was so fucking ready for him to come at me anyway.
Bring it, dickhead. I fucking dare you.
He didn’t bring it.
I left the dining hall, coiled tight like a cobra ready to strike, but this guy went with his mother in the opposite direction, leaving me stuck in fight mode with my emotions strung high.
Without an outlet to release the current running through my veins, I spent some time walking around the palace gardens before realising I did need to talk to someone before I exploded. My choice was limited with Esmeralda gone, until I remembered a cheeky pair of ruby-red eyes.
I headed back into the palace and made my way down to the kitchen where the smell of soap and fresh bread and something sweet filled the bright white and silver space.
Thankfully, Pierre, Roger, the head pastry chef, and Lola, the newly promoted co-sous chef, were finishing up an inventory of the kitchen larder and fridge in preparation for the wedding, so he had some time to speak to me.
“What’s up?” Pierre said quietly once we rounded a small square table by the wall.
“Nothing really,” I said, pulling a chair out. He sat in the one on my right.
His brows dipped in amused scepticism. “Am I supposed to believe that?”
“Believe what you want.”
He eyed me for a second, then leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What happened last night?”
His question punched the bullseye, sending heat swarming to my face. I tried to mask it with a perplexed raise of my brows, but my face felt so hot I was sure my eyebrow hairs had burnt off. “Why would you think anything happened last night?”
He gave me a slow, toothy grin. “You’re such a bad liar, do you know that?” I wanted to argue, but he kept going. “Not to mention, I saw Shehryar come back to the hall yesterday, looking all smug, after you two disappeared. But you looked livid. So, something obviously happened.” He leaned in, his eyes dancing. “And if you’re asking me, I don’t think it stopped at the party.”
I couldn’t unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth or unlock my clamped jaw to deny it, leaving me feeling scorched, in more ways than one, and fuming.
His expression softened as he placed his hand over my balled fist. “You can tell me anything in confidence, Mariyah.”
As much as Pierre liked to play the goofy, flirtatious charmer, he was actually an annoyingly good person. He was perspective, responsible, and attentive, he cared immensely for the people around him, and he tried to hide it, but enough glimpses had told me he was more than capable of being serious too. There was so much more depth to him than he led people to believe.
Most of my anger melted as I held his stare—it wasn’t as if it was directed at him anyway. “What do you think happened?” I grumbled.
In slow motion, his brows rose, his eyes widened, and his grin expanded. “Seriously?”
“No,” I deadpanned. “I just like joking about the man I don’t like railing me into his bed.”
Pierre threw his head back and cackled so bloody loudly. I sat there with burning cheeks, glaring, and waiting for him to get it out of his system. It took a while for him to stop.
“Are you done?” I said as he wiped the corners of his eyes.
A light chuckle bubbled from him. “I take it you enjoyed yourself then?”
“Do you really want to know?”
He shook his head. “No. I mean…” He tilted his head in thought, but then grimaced. “Actually, no.”
I rolled my eyes. He grinned proudly. I glared, but he eased closer without any fear for his life. “You know when I said, ‘ fuck him’… I didn’t actually mean literally .”
My face dropped, and blood surged to my skin. He fell back into his chair, laughing all over again.
“I hate you right now,” I said.
“No, you don’t,” he said confidently through his settling mirth.
“I don’t know why I thought I could tell you.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
I threw one hand up. “Because Esmeralda isn’t here, and I wanted someone to talk to.”
“That’s not what I’m asking, Mariyah.” He looked intently at me. “I mean, why are you telling me? What’s the problem if you and Shehryar did the deed?”
My mouth opened and closed wordlessly, struggling to form an answer. I didn’t have one.
“You’re panicking,” Pierre said almost matter-of-factly.
“No, I’m not,” I snapped, but the defensive sharpness in my tone suggested otherwise. I let out a breath and tried again. “I’m not panicking. It doesn’t matter to me that we slept together.” I pointed past Pierre. “But he wants to make things weird by talking about it as if there’s anything to discuss.”
“Maybe he wants to know when it’ll happen again.”
My core clenched at the thought, but I rolled my eyes. “That wasn’t the kind of talking he meant.”
He shook his head slowly, appearing confused. “Maybe I’m missing the point, but I don’t understand what the problem is. Do you not want to hear what he has to say, or do you think he’s going to do something stupid like tell you to pretend it never happened? Because, in my opinion, Shehryar seems too noble to be the kind of asshole who does a hit-and-run.”
I wanted to scoff at the idea of Shehryar being noble, but there was annoyingly some truth to it.
“Yeah, well, maybe his nobility is the problem,” I said. “I don’t really want to do the whole ‘ so, do we tell Esmeralda, ’ ‘ what are we now,’ ‘ why did you leave the room when I went to get a towel —”
“Wait! Wait, wait, wait.” Pierre put his hand up for me to stop, eyes wide. “You left the room when he went to get you a towel? Why?”
“To save us both from the talk , but he wants to do the talk anyway.”
He half grinned, half grimaced. “Yeah, it sounds like you kind of shot yourself in the foot.”
“Well, he had the chance to talk to me after breakfast, and he didn’t fucking take it. And I’m going to go shopping with him, Prince Arsh, and Katiya after lunch, but I swear if he tries to corner me there, I will rip him a new one.”
Pierre gave a single firm nod, amusement quirking his mouth. “Go for it.” He pointed a finger at me. “But the longer you put off the talk , the more annoyed he’s going to get, and if yesterday was anything to go on…” He smirked. “Then I think you know what the consequences are gonna be.”
Annoy Shehryar just to get railed again?
It sounded like something I should do rather than shouldn’t.
But this time, he’d be the one begging.
Or so I thought.
Shehryar
After my mother spoke to me about getting a thank-you gift for Mariyah during our shopping trip later in the day, I had every intention of hunting down the slippery menace and talking to her about her escape last night and everything that happened before.
Thankfully, I had her mobile number from university in case of emergencies, so I whipped out my phone to call her—whether she would answer or not, or still had my number saved was another question entirely. But when I was scrolling through my contacts to find her name, a notification popped up at the top of the screen, and I came to an abrupt stop in everything I was doing.
It was an email.
From an A. Platmon.
My father.
I stared unblinking at my phone, my hands tightening around it with every thud of my heart.
I felt numb. No, not numb exactly, rather hot and cold at the same time. Whether I should have been annoyed that he took more than a whole day to reply to my initial email after he was the one who wanted me to get in contact with him or surprised that he replied so quickly remembering the man I’d once known, I wasn’t sure. Neither could I pinpoint the curdling sensation in my chest.
My screen dimmed before turning black. Staring at my own pinched expression, I slowly regained function of my mind and body. My jaw set firm.
I didn’t want to delay reading his reply, nor did I want to open the email out in the corridor. I needed privacy, quiet, and seclusion.
I swung around, my phone clasped in one fist, and headed towards the stairs. My strides remained swift but steady all the way to my room.
Once inside, I locked the door behind me and sat on the velvet chaise at the end of the bed. I swallowed slowly before tapping my five-digit password on the screen and clicking on the email notification. I sat so stiffly, there was a tight bite between my shoulder blades.
Re: Shehryar
A. Platmon [email protected]
To: me
Hello Shehryar,
When I asked your mother if you might be willing to contact me, I was almost certain you wouldn’t be. So, when I saw your email, I couldn’t believe it. Thank you for emailing me when I know I haven’t given you any reason to want to be in contact with me.
I understand you’re angry about me speaking to your mother, but I did not know what else to do. She was my only way of finding out how you were. Now that I have a way to communicate with you, I will refrain from emailing her.
You’re in Touma I heard. As am I. Would you be willing to meet me in person? Whenever you are available. I would arrange everything if that’s easier.
There’s a lot I owe you an explanation and apology for, but I would rather we speak about it in person than over email. Too much needs to be said and the least I can do is tell you while looking you in the eyes.
If there is still any hope of you recognising me as your father, please allow me this request. And if there is no hope, then take this as your opportunity to question me.
Sincerely,
Andrew Platmon
By the time I read to the end of the email, my heart was battering against my rib cage, pumping hot blood through throbbing veins filled with rusted nails.
Outraged. Baffled. Confused. Irked. Curious. Vengeful. I felt so much, all crossing over each other so quickly, the friction charred the ends of my nerves.
He hadn’t technically said anything wrong. But everything inside me rejected and scorned the calm, almost earnest tone of the email, when what I remembered of Andrew Platmon was dark, cold eyes, a dismissive demeanour, and a tonne of broken promises and assurances.
He turned his back on Mother. He turned his back on me . His son. His fucking flesh and blood. All because money mattered more. So, it didn’t make sense to me that he suddenly wanted to be a part of my life, that he wanted to see me when he kicked me out of his house for wanting to see him.
A sharp noise scraped across my eardrums as I rubbed my teeth together. The sound jarred my brain and set me back in the room. Trying to relax my jaw before I destroyed my teeth, I looked away from my phone screen, but my gaze ultimately ended up scanning the email again.
Why? Why now? What the fuck does he want from me?
I didn’t understand his motive, and that made me suspicious. The fact that he wasn’t using an official email address but one that looked like it belonged to a scam artist made me angrier. He was covering up his tracks, hiding the fact that he was communicating with Mum, and now me. It made me want to refuse his request and tell him to never contact me or Mum again. It was the least he deserved.
But…
My mind played a vague, blurry memory, probably so warped from the truth, of a tall figure crouching down, a rectangular box in his hand that he transferred to my outstretched fingers. I didn’t remember anything of what had been said, but I remembered his toothy grin and the weight of his kiss on my head.
That was the last good memory I had of my father.
That child grew into a resentful teenager and then into an unforgiving adult, but he was still there along with the memory. I’d cursed and hated it for years, wishing I could rip the memory right out of me, but I had never been able to let it go. Not then, not now.
It wasn’t that some small part of me was hoping for a relationship with him—that ship had sailed too long ago. It was a reminder of everything I hadn’t understood and still didn’t understand.
I had no plans of ever forgiving him, but maybe Mother had been right. Maybe talking to him once would give me the closure I needed, and I could finally put a lighter under that memory and burn it.
Minutes of grinding teeth and ricocheting thoughts passed before I finally clicked on the reply arrow in the corner of the screen.
Re: Shehryar
From: Me
Tomorrow. But I decide when and where we meet.