Twisted (Never After Series)

Aidan: Can I see you tonight?

It’s the first I’ve heard from him since yesterday afternoon when he went to meet with Julian. I can’t be mad at him for it, since then I’d be a hypocrite, so this is just something like karmic retribution. But it does sting to know that he agreed to go somewhere and do something that affects us both without talking to me.

Did he tell his mother first?

Me: Yes!! I have dinner with my father, but I can sneak away when I get back.

Chewing on my lip, I debate telling him that it’s with a suitor or that Julian is now trying to get me involved in a fake engagement with him for whatever reason, but I hold back, figuring that I can just let him know once we’re together. Things like this usually go over better in person anyway.

Aidan: I’ll be waiting, princess. I love you. Have a good dinner with your dad.

Groaning, the guilt surges like it always does these days whenever I have something I’m not telling Aidan.

“What the hell kind of noise was that?” Riya asks, laughing from where she’s sprawled in the middle of my four-poster bed,  flipping through a magazine.

“I don’t know what to do.” I sigh, pressing my finger to the side of my eye and running kohl- black eyeliner against my lid.

Riya makes a humming noise, the judgment pouring through her vocal cords and tugging at me from across the room.

I pause, my hand halting as I glance at her from my vanity mirror. “What?”

She licks her finger before flipping a page in the magazine. “Nothing.”

My chest smarts. “That’s so fucking annoying, you know that, right?”

She cackles, dropping the magazine entirely and sitting up in the middle of the mattress. “Excuse me, bitch? Forgive me for trying to spare your hurt feelings. Trust and believe you won’t like what I’ve got to say.”

I smirk as I finish the winged eyeliner, moving on to grab mascara. “When has that ever stopped you before?”

“Fine.” She smacks her thighs, moving to the edge of the bed. “You’re being dramatic as fuck, Yasmin. You’re playing this ‘woe is me’ card when all you really need to do is tell your dad how you feel.”

A sick feeling sinks in my gut. She was right. I should have let her keep her mouth shut. “I’ve told you it’s not that simple.”

She lifts both of her hands in the air like she’s weighing something in her palms. “Tell your dad the truth, or shackle yourself to a stranger.” She shrugs. “Seems pretty simple to me.”

I shake my head. “And have him react by firing Aidan and his mom, throwing them out on the streets? Making it so that I’d never see him again? No thanks.”

She lets out a humorless chuckle before standing up and walking across the room until she’s hovering behind me in the vanity mirror. Her hands reach out, squeezing my shoulders, our eyes meeting in the reflection. “If anyone understands you, it’s me. You think I want to be in law school? That my lifelong dream is to become a lawyer? Forced academic marriage is its own type of hell that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. If I didn’t think my dad would cut me off, leaving me destitute on the streets somewhere, I would be doing literally anything else.”

Her brows are high on her forehead, and I shrink into myself, feeling bad that I even thought for a second she wouldn’t get it. We’re cut from the same cloth, just with different parents and different visions of what they wanted for their daughters. Where my father is in diamonds, Riya’s is in oil. My father wants me married and barefoot in the kitchen. Riya’s wants her to become a “force of power” in the world.

I reach back and grip her fingers. “Yeah, but…I think you’d probably tell your father about Aidan just to see the disappointment on his face. I’m not like that, Riya. I don’t want him to hate me.”

“Can’t argue with you there.” She winks, squeezing my shoulder. “But in this situation? I’d probably marry Julian Faraci just so I could get free rides on what I’m sure is his monster cock for the rest of my life.”

A laugh pours out of me, and I shrug out of her grasp, scrunching my nose. “Bleh. Pass.”

“Well…you do still have a choice. You either wait for Aidan to do whatever it is he’s doing to win your dad over, or you control what little you can.”

“Choosing between Julian and a random stranger is hardly a positive outlook,” I reply, dread pricking me like needles.

She leans forward, her arm brushing mine as she grabs a matte lipstick from my vanity. “At least with Julian, you know what you’re getting into. And if nothing else, pretending to be with him buys you some time, right?”

My stomach twists until it aches, and I bite the corner of my cheek.

“I don’t envy you, sister. Here.” She hands me the lipstick. “Wear the red. It’s a power color.”

I’ve been at the restaurant 1001 Arabian Nights for the past fifteen minutes, trying to work up the courage to go inside and meet my first official suitor.

Maybe I’m overthinking things. My anxiety has always bled into my decisions, making the worst possible outcome take center stage in my brain, but despite how much I try to work through the situation, it doesn’t make it any more palatable. It’s like the farther I dig the hole, the longer the climb out is, and somewhere along the way, I’ve lost my voice completely, becoming docile. a mute trophy for people to lug around.

Eventually I work up the courage to head inside, wondering idly if my father is already there. I thought we were driving together, but when I slipped into the car waiting at the front of the estate, it took off without him.

The turquoise silk dress is soft against my thighs as I exit the car, my heels aching as soon as I take my first step onto the sidewalk. The stilettos are an unfortunate discomfort that I couldn’t pass up because they match the outfit so well. There’s a small chill in the air, making goose bumps sprout along my skin.

This restaurant is known for its high- end clientele and pricey menu, so I’m not surprised to see a doorman holding open the door as I make my way inside. When I step into the building, the rich smells hit my nostrils. Distant sounds of clinking from plates and the low murmur of voices from the other patrons assault my senses and make my palms sweat.

I swallow back the unease of being in a crowded public place and walk toward the hostess stand, noticing the pretty blond girl with a bored look on her face and a white button-up with a small  black bow tie around the collar.

Her eyes lock on mine, but before I can say a word, someone touches my lower back, sending a shock through my body. I jolt immediately, twisting around and coming face- to- face with Julian.

I roll my eyes, sidestepping his touch. “Of course you’re here. Being my father’s lap dog again?”

The corners of his lips twitch as he moves to stand beside me, his hand coming back but this time wrapping around my hip possessively and pulling me into him.

My stomach flips.

Jerk.

The hostess beams up at him, her eyes glazing over when he flashes her a dazzling smile. “Mr. Faraci.”

I roll my eyes again, because of course he comes here enough to be recognized.

“Andrea, you’re looking beautiful. I believe we have a gentleman waiting for us already by the name of Alexander Sokolov.”

I watch him from my peripheral vision, annoyed that he’s putting on such a show, acting all suave and charming when he’s anything but.

The hostess— Andrea— glances down at her computer system and then back up. “He’s already here. I’ll take you both back.”

We start to follow her, but it’s difficult to walk with the way Julian’s arm is still around my waist, making me stick to him like glue.

“Quit touching me,” I murmur out of the side of my mouth. “You look like a skeevy predator.”

It’s not true. He looks incredible, and any other woman would most likely be thrilled to be seen on his arm regardless of the age difference, but I’ll die before I admit it out loud.

He glances down at me as we walk. “And you look fucking sinful in that outfit. I’m not allowing anyone to think you’re here by yourself.”

My brows shoot to my hairline, the shock of his words making me lose any retort I had. Did he just compliment me? Backhanded, of course, because I can take care of myself, but still, I don’t think he’s ever so much as said thank you, so this is a shift in demeanor I wasn’t expecting.

It puts me on edge, this stark one- eighty in his personality, and despite what he seems to think, I’m not clueless. I know he’s buttering me up, trying to play the angle of a doting fiancé.

“You make me sick,” I hiss.

His fingers tighten around me, squeezing so lightly I’m not sure if I imagined it, and then we’re at the table and a tall blond man with broad shoulders and a dark suit is rising from his seat, his gaze flickering to Julian and then to his arm around my waist before they stop on me.

I shift in my spot, uncomfortable with the attention. It feels slimy, like I’m a prize he’s set his eyes on and is determined to win. I stand there in limbo, wondering if I should introduce myself or sit down first, and then the choice is taken from me as Julian pulls out the chair next to me, prodding me lightly so I move to sit. He waits until I’m settled, his hand never leaving the back of the chair, and then he pushes me in.

My mind spins at the chivalry, and my eyes narrow up at him.

I know your tricks, asshole.

He moves to sit next to me and props his ankle on his opposite knee, adopting a casual air as he waves over a waiter and orders a Glenlivet neat and a glass of cabernet for me.

Maybe I should be annoyed that he ordered for me, but the truth is that public places and people I’ve never met make me uneasy, and by the end of the night, I always have a headache from masking my anxiety and holding my jaw too tightly. The direction from him is soothing, and I hate to admit it makes me relax, even just the tiniest bit.

“Where’s my father?” I ask, suddenly realizing he still isn’t here.

“That’s a good question,” the man across the table cuts in. “I was under the impression I’d be meeting not only Ali’s beautiful daughter”— his eyes run up my torso, resting on my breasts before meeting my gaze— “but also Ali himself.”

Julian hums deep in his throat just as his drink is placed in front of him. He reaches out and grips the glass tumbler, the black ink on the back of his hand flexing with his fingers. “Things change. Now you get to meet me.”