I stared at him skeptically. “Cinderella? How old are you?” I slipped into the shoes myself, knowing deep down I wouldn’t want to walk around barefoot. Why should I push aside the chance I’m given to not do so? “That’s a childish mentally.” I mumbled. “And this is not a Cinderella story.”
“Maybe.” He got on his feet, his gaze levelling with mine again. “Though in this case, you aren’t as helpless as she is.” He turned around and made his way back to the couch he was occupying earlier no doubt, picking up the mug on the coffee table, and bringing it to his lips. “But you do have something in common.”
“Which is?”
“A handsome man you can call a Prince.” He stated, his smug expression there. “It’s not every day you come across a man like me, at least, none this good looking.” He’s a narcissist it seems. Why am I not surprised?
I hummed, quirking a brow, silently asking if he just said that. All I got was a smug grin in response, which I yearn to wipe from what I regretfully have to admit is a handsome face. That face belongs in the time of Greeks. It’s annoying because he knows he’s good looking, and he prides himself in just that.
Realizing arguing on this known fact with him wouldn’t take me anywhere, I shook my head, waving his words away. I looked around the living room of the penthouse, or so it seemed like with furrowed brows. “Which hotel is this exactly?”
I need to know whose territory I am in, so as to know how to handle whatever news would sprout up about me. After exposing my identity last night, I know to keep a clean slate if I want to last in this world.
The last thing I need is rumors spreading about me the very next day, even though I’ve already fucked it up by kissing this man in public. I’ve asked my assistant, and best friend of course, Amy to handle it and stop the media from publishing any articles on it.
She’s reliable, I know she can handle the press on that matter so I’m not bothered by it. But, aside from that, I need to know where I am so I can ask Amy to pick me up from. I can’t trust anyone else to pick me and not as any questions.
His lips slanted into a small smile, a mischievous one that had his eyes holding a certain glint and I have no doubt whatever will come out past that lips of his wouldn’t be something I’d like. “It’s not a hotel. Rather, a safer place for, you know…” He trailed off, his smile widening from the side before he brought his mug to his lips, taking a sip from it.
If possible, my eyes widened even more. “Then where are we?” I better not be in some strange place else I swear; I’ll never take alcohol again. I seem to be making a lot of stupid decisions under its influence. Speaking of which, I should make a pack never to take any alcohol, for my safety.
He took his sweet time to sip his tea, letting the suspense to drag-and with every second that passes, I’m a string of patience away from hitting his stupid head with my heel.
He brought the mug down after a few long sips, his amusement filled eyes meeting mine again. “My house.” He declared, dropping the bomb. “We’re in my house.”
My lips fell apart as I stared at him stunned, waiting for him to tell me he’s joking, a sick joke or something but he didn’t. I scoffed, looking away as I tried to make sense of this man and the way his head works.
I suddenly found myself chuckling. Not in an amused manner, but in an I’m so screwed manner because I know I am.
Did he just say his house?
You’ve got to be kidding me. Nice one, Isabella. Nice one.
***
Isabella Montague.
I blinked, darting out my tongue to wet my chapped lips as I met his gaze again, losing that feigned chuckle. “What? What type of sick joke is this? Why the hell would you bring me to your house?” As much as I’d prefer a house to a hotel, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s a complete stranger.
Being in a stranger’s house isn’t exactly on the list of things I’d like to do-especially not after I may or may not have slept with him. Fuck, how can I not remember whether I did or not?
He shrugged, pressing his lips together as he pulled an innocent look. “Because I want you to know where it is in case you want to return.” He didn’t pull a mischievous look or anything, but I have a feeling there has to be some mischievousness behind it. I just know it. He seems to be the type anyway.
And somehow, his words angered me. “What is that supposed to mean?” I gritted out. He couldn’t possibly mean it in a creepy way, right? I mean, the look he gave me was enough to make one rethink twice, even though somehow, I didn’t feel insulted for it wasn’t that way as well. He just sounded…flirty. Besides, he’s been nothing but kind to me so far. I guess I owe him the benefit of doubt.
“In case you miss me of course.” He replied, his expression serious. Remember that thing I said about benefit of doubt? I take it back. I would’ve been fooled into thinking he is actually serious if I didn’t know better. He then added another shrug, then added in a dismissive manner. “Or when you need a safe place from everything. That works too.”
Did he just say a safe place or something? What game is he playing at? Why should I need a safe place and why of all people would I come to him for that? I rid my head of those thoughts.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.