Reign of a King (Kingdom Duet 1)
“The deal said no other people. It mentioned nothing about going to my best friend’s family restaurant and hanging out with her brothers. The others are coming back soon, you know. I’ve been waiting for so long to reunite with them again.”
“Aurora,” he warns. “You should know by now that I’m not the type to be provoked. If you do it, you better be
ready to bear the consequences.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t test me or I’ll destroy all their careers. Is that the kind of guilt you want to live with for the rest of your life?”
The arsehole. I should’ve known he’d threaten them.
“Hurt them in any way and all of this is over, Jonathan. I’ve lost too many people I’ve called family, and I won’t allow you to take this one away from me, too.”
“Then do as I said.”
“You do as I say.”
“What?”
“The deal we talked about the other day works both ways, too. If you want me to do something I wouldn’t usually agree on, you’ll do something for me.”
He releases the menu, letting it fall to the table with disapproval written all over his features. “Let me guess, another night in my bed without the punishment part.”
“No. Something before we go back.”
He places both hands at his chin, forming a steeple. “Pray tell.”
“Not here. I’ll tell you when we leave.”
“And you’ll do as you’re told?”
“Let’s order.”
“Is that a yes, Aurora?”
“It’s a yes until further notice.”
Jonathan’s lips twitch in a smile at the way I repeat his words. Then he mutters, “The fucking attitude.”
We order couscous and kebabs after I tell Jonathan it’s my favourite. Kenza adds her special type of Tunisian salad on the side. It’s too spicy, and my cheeks heat to the point of nearly exploding, but I can’t stop eating. Not even when sweat breaks on my temples.
Jonathan shakes his head at me and slides his cola towards me when I finish mine.
When Kenza and her husband, Hamza, come to thank Jonathan for the charity donation, I expect him to be his usual snobbish prick self. To my surprise, he actually compliments their food, saying it’s different than any of the high-end restaurants he’s visited in North Africa and the Middle East.
Layla and I exchange a stunned look behind their back. She mouths, “Daddy” and I’m tempted to hit her with a spoon.
She runs away first.
The rest of dinner is actually really pleasant. Jonathan and I talk about the food, the culture, and he tells me about his trips to the countries in North Africa and the Middle East.
“You’re so lucky.” I sip from my water. “I haven’t left the UK.”
“Not even once?”
“Nope. I went to Scotland, then I came to London. The years in Scotland were a blur, I didn’t even get to enjoy it.”
“Because you were running away?” He puts his spoon on the table and places his elbows on the surface, his entire attention on me.