“I’m not a horny teen, Star.” I sit beside her, running my hands through my hair. “Sex can wait. There are plenty of appetizers before we move onto the mains, and we won’t until I know you’re ready. Until I know youwanttotake that step. Understood?” I kiss her head. “Don’t ever tell me you want to reciprocate. I’ll spoil you because you’re mine, not because I expect something in return.”
She bites her lip, playing with her fingers. “I probably believe you’re here for me and that I’m Switzerland.”
“Probably?” I smirk. “You have to know it. Believe me, baby, when you’re ready, I won’t let you out of bed for a very long time.” I fall back, my head hitting the pillow, and I tie my hands under my head.
Layla lays down beside me, her lips swollen from my kisses. “You’re not making this easy, are you?” She nuzzles into my side. “I shouldn’t want to love you.”
Love?
She wants toloveme?
One sentence and the arrogant fucker I am turns into a plush toy. “You’re delirious, Star. You must be exhausted.” I wrap my arms around her, kissing her head.
I hope she’ll love me.
I hope she won’t be able to live without me because I sure as hell can’t imagine my life without her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Layla
Two weeks flew by and judgment day crept up on me unnoticed. The house is filled with people from the early hours of the morning. An army of staff employed to cater for the party took over downstairs, preparing food or redecorating the living room. Two Chesterfield sofas, a coffee table, and Jess’s beloved Persian carpet were placed in storage. In their place, a pop-up bar appeared by the window.
A young man dressed in a white tuxedo polishes champagne flutes while the event coordinator, a strict-looking brunette in horn-rimmed glasses, yells at the staff to get moving. Food is piling up in the kitchen while an older gentleman wheels in a barrel of fine, British ale—Nikolaj’s favorite. Flowers were delivered an hour ago. Large bouquets of pink-and-white lilies. Their aroma makes me feel light-headed. Soirees at Frank’s are usually held in the back garden under a beautiful canopy of tiny, white lights, but at the end of November, the weather doesn’t favor outdoor parties. Jess locked herself in her bedroom with a make-up artist and a hairdresser five minutes after I woke up.
Frank supervises the staff to avoid slip-ups growling at people for no reason. Why he hired the coordinator is beyond me. He argues against most of what she says.
Nikolaj’s due at six p.m. with his wife, son, and pawns. It’s not even ten a.m., but I’m already tired of this day. I’m working on my dissertation, which is almost impossible with the shouting and general madness happening around here. I can’t hear my own thoughts.
Frank sits opposite me, two wrinkles across his forehead as he pretends to read the newspaper but keeps a watchful eye on everyone around.
“Where’s this going?” The man with the barrel asks one of the waitresses.
Frank exhales an exasperated puff of air, tossing the newspaper aside for the eighth time in twenty minutes. “Living room.” He points the clueless man in the right direction.
Ten seconds later, the coordinator walks in, her face red. “Beer was supposed to stay in the kitchen!”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Frank clips, visibly pleased to annoy the poor woman.
Sadistic bastard.
I take my phone, scrolling through the contacts to find Dante’s number. I need an out, or I’ll end up in the looney bin before the party starts.
“Good morning,” he grumbles.
I imagine him with his eyes closed, head on the pillow, and the phone resting on the side of his face. A small smile curves my lips. “Get me out of here.”
“Don’t tempt me. This bed is so fucking uncomfortable without you in it. Why do you want to get out of there? You’re supposed to be babysitting Julij, remember?”
“He won’t arrive until six. I want to work on my dissertation, but it’s like an Indian market here. I’ll stay out of your way. I promise.” I await his decision while he breathes down the line. “Pretty please?”
The bed creaks under his weight. “Fine. I’ll pick you up in half an hour under one condition.”
“Whatever you want.”
“Don’t say that, baby. Don’t put images in my head. It’s bad enough you torture me in my sleep. Now, I’m not taking you back to Frank’s until quarter to six. Pack your dress or whatever you’re wearing tonight. You’ll get ready here.”
“Deal.” I cut the call, peering up at Frank. “I’ll be back before Nikolaj arrives.”