Rise of a Queen (Kingdom Duet #2) - Rina Kent Page 0,72
continue to do so, I will show no mercy. I’ll burn them until no one is left.”
“Jonathan…”
“That’s final, Aurora. You might’ve tolerated that and gotten fucking stabbed for it, but I’ll never let it happen. I will protect you.”
My heart warms at his words, at the force behind them, because I have no doubt he’ll do as he says. But I need to get a point straight, “You don’t have to protect me. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I can’t protect myself.”
“I’m not protecting you because you’re a woman. I’m protecting you because you’re my woman.”
Holy. Shit.
My mouth hangs open for the second time today, but this time, my heart is about to go into overdrive. Jonathan just called me his woman.
His. Woman.
That should offend me in a way, but that’s the last emotion gripping my heart.
The car comes to a stop in front of the mansion before I can say anything. Jonathan releases my throat, only so he can carry me in his arms out of the vehicle.
I grip his shoulder. “I can walk.”
“And I can carry you.”
This man is a serious tyrant.
We pass by Margot and she watches us for a second, probably because of the tomato stains on my jacket. “May I get you anything, sir?”
“Food, Margot,” Jonathan says while breezing past her. “Leave it in front of my room.”
He doesn’t wait for her reply as he ascends the stairs, not caring about the weight he’s carrying. He really doesn’t have the stamina of an old man. I can only imagine what he was like young.
Or not.
That means imagining him with Alicia, and I feel so guilty towards her right now. I feel so guilty for wanting her husband for myself. For feeling safe with him like I never have with another human being.
He’s like the fortress inside of which I know nothing will come near me, let alone hurt me.
In the room, Jonathan lowers me to my feet and peels the jacket off me, then throws it behind him. “Those fuckers.”
“Jonathan…”
“Not a word, Aurora. I won’t stand by as they do this to you.”
“No, I meant…what you said earlier. Why did you?”
“What part?”
“The part about how I’m your fiancée?”
He raises a brow. “Aren’t you?”
“W-what?”
His expression remains blank, and I hate that I can’t see past it. “You are, in a way.”
“No. We had a deal, remember? I only have a few weeks left here, then each of us will go our own way. There certainly was no fiancée clause in there.” Even as I say the words, my throat closes around the part where we’ll separate.
Jonathan watches me for a beat too long, which makes me fidget. When he finally speaks, his voice is lethal, “Is that what you think?”
“That’s what it is. It’s what we agreed on.” I don’t know why I keep emphasising the point I hate. All I want is an explanation for the whole fiancée thing and why the hell he brought it up in front of the press.
It could be a camouflage tactic recommended by his solicitor, or even Harris. No clue why I’m mentioning the forgotten agreement. Maybe I want confirmation of it, because I sure as shit am starting to forget it exists. And when I do remember it, my stomach sinks at how little time there is left.
Jonathan continues his unreadable study of my face. I hate his closed features so much right now. Of all times, he can’t seal himself from me now.
“Huh.”
That’s it? Huh. What is that supposed to mean?
I see?
I agree?
It’s nothing?
We should talk about this?
Before I can ask him just that, he points at the bathroom. “Take a bath, then eat. You have to begin preparing for your trial with Alan starting tomorrow.”
Then he turns around and strides to the exit with his usual confident steps. The door closes behind him with painful finality.
My heart falls to my feet as I watch where he stood only seconds ago. He’ll return, right? He’ll just make calls, as usual, listen to Harris’s snobbish voice, and come back.
Right?
Refusing to think of the alternative, I drag my heavy feet to the bathroom and take a shower instead of a bath. It feels wrong to take a bath without him doing it for me.
Margot brings me supper and I barely manage to take a few spoonfuls of soup. Again, it’s weird to eat without Jonathan either sitting me on his lap or staring at me across the table with that raised brow so I’ll eat.