Chapter 7
Chapter
London
I chose a table in the private wing of the restaurant.
It was a dilemma. I did some research and learned that, in her culture, she shouldn’t be alone with me, but at the same time, I don’t want to draw attention to the two of us. I’m well-known, and I don’t doubt we’ll be seeing our photos splashed across newspapers tomorrow, insinuating some romance.
The last time—the only time, really—we saw each other in person was at that disastrous party on the yacht, where, unaware of who she was, I wanted her in my bed.
Since then, I’ve shoved the image of Jazmina as far into the back of my mind as possible, and I was doing well until, about a month ago, Kaled called asking me to be some sort of guardian to his sister.
Imagining that girl alone in Europe made me question my friend’s sanity.
I’m not a misogynistic asshole, but Jazmina, besides being beautiful, is rich, and I’d bet she’s innocent too, given where she was raised. Which makes her a double threat: temptation and danger all at once.
I have no doubt there’ll be hundreds of single men—you included, my guilty conscience whispers, but I justify myself by remembering that when I wanted her, I didn’t know who she was—dying to taste her exotic beauty.
There’ll be an equal number of gold diggers eager to seduce a virgin just to sink their claws into her family’s fortune.
Kaled told me his sister wants to experience life outside the palace walls. I don’t know if she understands how dangerous that could be for a girl like her. Maybe I still see her as a child, which I suspect is a mistake.
As much as I wanted to say no, because Jazmina has “trouble” written across her forehead, I never turn away from duty.
Kaled is like a brother to me, and I would never deny him help.
I know exactly what he wants: for me to watch her the way he would.
The big problem is . . . I don’t feel like a brother to her.
In the end, I accepted, but I made one condition: if she’s under my care, I will choose the bodyguards who will escort her. They report only to me.
I check my watch. Two minutes until the time we agreed on. I texted her saying we’d have lunch, and she replied with a simple “okay.”
I was certain she’d be late, so I’m surprised when the private room door opens and she walks in.
I blink a few times to make sure I’m seeing correctly.
She’s wearing a knee-length red skirt, a long-sleeved white silk blouse, and her hair, which I know is long, is tied up high.
Elegant and composed. The image of a businesswoman, not a twenty-one-year-old girl, which is what she is.
The only thing that doesn’t quite fit the picture is the pair of sky-high stilettos that make her legs stand out. And without meaning to, I do a slow tour from the tips of her toes up to her hips.
That curve is so pronounced it leaves my mouth dry.
Fuck. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
When I meet her eyes, I know I’ve been caught staring, but her innocent expression tells me she has no idea what I was thinking.
Thank God. If Jazmina could read my mind, the last thing she’d want is to sit down for lunch with me.
I stand to greet her and, out of habit, extend my hand.
She hesitates, and then I remember the things I read after finding out she’d be my responsibility: it’s not customary in her culture to touch a woman in public, not even with a handshake, unless she initiates it.
After a moment, she seems to decide and accepts the gesture, but the second our skin meets, it’s like an electric shock.
I hold her hand only as long as necessary because the feel of her skin on mine is far too intense.
“Jazmina,” I say.
“Hi, kidnapper . . . oops, I mean, Rodrick.”
I roll my eyes. “You almost fooled me with this discreet-young-lady costume.”
A lie. She fooled me completely.
I was just having a private conversation with God, praying that her behavior on Vicenzzo’s boat had been an exception, but after that little joke, I know the months—God forbid years—that I spend watching her will be the longest of my life.
“Really?” she says, smiling now, no longer wearing the focused expression she did when she came in.
She was acting. Brat.
“Let’s not drag this out,” I say, forcing myself to look away from her unbelievably green eyes and her silk-soft skin. “I know you enrolled in a university program. I don’t need to tell you that living on campus is out of the question.”
“I didn’t want to live there anyway. I’ve always had my own suite and would find it strange to share a room. But just so I understand, why is it ‘out of the question?’”
Shit. How do I explain this? Ah, screw it. If Kaled wanted a diplomat to watch his sister, he should’ve chosen Vicenzzo.
“Sharing dorms might not be ideal for someone like you, princess. Naked men roaming the halls, drugs, alcohol, and a pretty good chance of walking in on a sorority girl having sex.”
A deep blush spreads over her cheeks and neck, and I know I hit hard, but if we’re going to see each other often, she’d better learn quickly that despite the title of duke, I’m nowhere near noble in my manners.
I lean back and cross my arms, studying her. Even though she’s clearly embarrassed, she looks right back at me without backing down.
“As I said, I have my own apartment. I intend to integrate at the university because I’m a normal girl”—she emphasizes the last words—“but I won’t be sleeping there.”
“What do you mean by integrate?”
“Make friends, go to parties.”
“You’re not allowed to go to parties,” I say, because what comes to mind are my fraternity memories. Lots of bare breasts, asses, and dicks.
“I don’t remember asking for your permission.” She unlocks her phone and scrolls. “Before I came, I looked up the definition of ‘guardian’ in the dictionary. ‘Caretaker.’ Nothing about slave master.”
I ignore the sass because, if I’m honest, I find her boldness amusing. I didn’t know what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t this. For someone raised in a patriarchal society, she has a lot of personality.
A little wild, maybe, but still, personality.
I think about the list of possible candidates for my future wife that I screened yesterday.
Maybe after I choose one, I should introduce them.
All those women have impeccable manners, and maybe they can show her a bit of Western life without her returning home completely different from the girl she was.
Yes, that’s exactly what I’m thinking. Virginity.
I know in Rheadur it’s essential for a woman to marry untouched.
“Have you ever been to a party outside your country?”
“One. On my brother’s friend’s yacht. But I was kidnapped during it, so I can’t give a full review.”
“I think ‘rescued’ fits better.”
“Rescued from what? Having fun? Maybe I should try it again.”
“My kind of fun is off-limits to children.”
As expected, she scowls.
“Second item. Curfew, and always—hold on to this word—always escorted.”
“I want to learn how to drive.”
“I can arrange that.” I take a card from inside my suit jacket. “Kaled probably gave you one, but besides my cell, which you already have, here are all my other numbers. Call me anytime you need.”
“And you’ll come all the way from Scotland to save me?”
“Funny. I’m only there on weekends. I spend the rest of the week in London. My offices are here. Any special requests besides learning to drive?” I pick up my glass of water and take a sip.
“I want you to teach me how to approach a guy and get to know him better without him thinking I’m inviting him into my bed.”
I choke so violently that the waiter comes over to check if I need help.