Renata
The door closes. Aisling is gone. I have only a few moments of peace before the guilt sets in.
What was I thinking?Even if she and Kian were involved, what do I care? I have no claim on Kian. Why should it matter what the two of them do together?
And yet it does. It does matter to me. I have no right to be upset or angry or jealous. But there’s no denying I amall of those things.
“Fuck!” I moan to the empty room.
I collapse onto the freshly made bed, knowing that Aisling probably made it herself and feeling even guiltier about that. I turn around to face the ceiling and try to get a grip on my manic emotions. When that doesn’t work, I decide to do something about what I can control.
I get off the bed and head out of my room to find Aisling. I owe her an apology.
I’m heading down the stairs when I realize that I have no idea where to find her. She could be anywhere in the mansion at this point. I decide to poke around and hope I run into her.
Fifteen minutes later, I find myself in a large, bright room that faces part of the garden and part of the ocean. There’s minimal furniture, but a ton of paintings and portraits hanging off the off-white walls. More family portraits, mostly. I can’t resist lingering to take a better look at them.
I recognize most of his family from the photograph over the fireplace in his penthouse in Manhattan. The one face I can’t place here is a portrait of a young woman who looks a little younger than I am. She’s got deep set eyes and a pale complexion. Her gaze is direct, but secretive. She reminds me of a fair-haired Mona Lisa.
Considering every framed picture in here is of a family member, this girl must be one, too. But how is she related to Kian? A sister seems the most obvious choice, but Kian’s never mentioned a sister.
I bristle a little with the realization that he doesn’t owe me any explanations. It’s the fact that I expect one that feels a little jarring.
My relationship with Kian—if you could even call it that—feels like an enigma. One I can barely process, let alone understand. Every time I think I’m getting close to finding a peaceful medium with him, I feel as though he pulls the rug out from underneath me.
I’m sick of playing guessing games. I’m tired of feeling like I’m a pawn in his world. I want answers. And the only way to get them is to ask.
* * *
When I reach his office door, I’m surprised to find that it’s slightly ajar. Voices emanate from inside and I pause, angling my body away from the open slit so that I won’t be noticed.
“…And?” Kian’s deep voice cuts through the relative silence.
“She was upset when I left her.”
A bolt of awareness flickers through my body. Aisling. She’d left my room and come straight here to speak to Kian.
I was right about her.
“She… It felt like she was angry with me about something.”
Why is she even telling him all this?
“Trust me, Aisling: you’re not the one she’s angry with,” Kian says gently.
“She wasn’t in the mood for conversation. She just wanted to fight. Then she ordered me out of the room.”
“It’s okay,” Kian says with a sigh. “Give her space if that’s what she needs. But I need you to make yourself available to her as well.”
The rest of his words are blocked out by the betrayed ringing in my ears. She’s spying on me… for Kian.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I shouldn’t feel so letdown. But honestly, what the fuck did I expect?
I know what I should do—sneak back to my room and stay there. Plot a way to escape this place without Aisling or Kian noticing. But my impulse control is a little rusty.
The anger builds and builds and before I know it, I’m slamming my palm into the door. It bursts inward to slam against the wall.
“Pardon me,” I growl. “Am I interruptingsomething?”