Tempest - Book 1

- 32 -

"I've been asked to cover the September issue of GQ." 

He sighed. 

I arched a brow, absently turning a page in Lolita. 

"How trite." 

I said, nonchalant. 

"They've asked you to accompany me." 

I folded the book around my finger. 

"What possibly for?"

He smiled, tan face leaned against his hands. 

"They want to show a powerful woman along side it's cover-boy." 

Publicity. Tragically, why did I expect anything less than? 

I pulled my lower lip between my teeth, quietly chewing. 

"Well?" 

He pressed, inquisitive gaze tunneling in on me. 

"Um, perhaps another time." 

I said meekly. 

His expression soured. 

"This would be big for us." 

He chided. 

"Us." 

I mouthed back. 

My stomach turned with a quiet abhoration. I had been an ocean of thought, turmoil tumbling through me like incessant waves chopping a wind battered shore. My lips still tingled from the jubilation of Jakob, quickly bitterer from the swill of Luca. 

I laid restless for the past three nights, staring dejectedly at that black ceiling, listening to the gentle breaths of the man beside me. 

It felt dirty, to be thinking of another while the one slept so tediously within grasp. But then again, he felt so far away, just past the reach of my finger tips. There was a new warmth from him, one that I recoiled from. 

Why that reluctance? It puzzled me. I begged for it for so many months, trialed by flames and anguish only to be rewarded with the very thing I pined for. So why was it lacking direly? 

Luca was pomp, smoke and bright mirrors. Jakob was a refuge, a safe space to shelter me from the rain. 

"Please, Yelena let me show the world that you are mine." 

I had drawn it suspicious that we had recycled the same guests over and over, beguiling them with the regurgitation of the same party. same Champagne. There was no influx of fresh faces, no air being breathed into this acrid lung. 

The glitter of the house had rubbed me callously raw, the glamour of the riches paltry. 

I was tired of the gifts. I was tired of the life. 

I was tired of him. 

"You only wish to show the world what is now off limits." 

I cut, turning back to my book. 

I heard the gentle scrape of his chair push away from the table. 

"That's not true." 

He came beside me, thigh sliding gently against my own. I did not much care for this softer man. His rigidness is the very thing that pulled me so dangerously close. That coldness. 

The irony did not fall hard on me. 

"I want to show them," 

He said softly.