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Ily stiffened, giving the answer away without replying.
Victor grinned. “And now, you definitely have me intrigued.” Sipping his drink, he added, “In my Jewelry Box, I have all manner of skilled jewels. I believe we welcomed a Michelin star chef two months ago, and last year, we were joined by an Olympic equestrian. I pride myself on offering all kinds of priceless experiences to my guests, and you, my sweetling, have just ensured I will be your personal teacher.” His gaze hardened as it flashed to Roland. “Your request to be her second is denied.”
Leaning across the aisle, Victor stroked a finger up Ily’s bare leg then circled her kneecap. “Henri can still have first taste as I don’t go back on my promises, but once he’s had his fill?
…
You’re mine.”
Chapter Eight
………………………….
Ily
YOU’RE MINE.
You’re mine.
Victor’s words echoed over and over again. I couldn’t look at the older man. Couldn’t allow his greying blond hair, lean frame, and merciless blue gaze to haunt me any more than he already did.
Unlike Henri, who’d entranced me from the first moment I saw him, Victor petrified me. Henri might wear his tall height and broad shoulders with animalistic power, but the Master Jeweler? He wore charming to hide the viciousness within.
An hour passed, then two.
By hour three, I couldn’t do it anymore.
Claustrophobia slashed at my veins, and hysteria bubbled in my belly.
All I wanted to do was let go of the tightly tangled emotions and scream, scream, scream!
I needed to shout, fight, punch, kick, and kill.
But the memory of the guard’s gun against my temple made me swallow all those fizzing urges.
I sat in aching silence.
Henri sighed heavily beside me, and any spark I’d felt toward him—any idiotic awareness or stupid, stupid connection—was nothing more than cinders on the airplane floor.
I’d never been so affected by someone’s appearance before, and what had it gotten me?
Pain.
Despair.
Imprisonment.
Fuck him.
Fuck all of them.
Leave, Ily. Just for a little while.
I closed my eyes and did my best to sink into a meditation.
I’d been raised in a household that was as diligent about meditation as some were about prayers before dinner. Each morning before school, Krish and I would sit on matching yoga mats and Dad would guide us through a visualization. I’d stopped when I moved in with Sam because he snickered at me each time I tried to sit in silence.
I’d grown self-conscious.
