Twisted (Never After Series)

I’ve spent the last four days picking random areas of the house to explore. It’s not as big as my father’s estate— not much is— but it’s still large enough that I get lost.

Besides, it’s rude that Julian hasn’t given me a tour when he expects me to just sit here like a prisoner in solitude all day long.

There’s the formal dining room off the foyer that leads into the kitchen. It’s an open floor plan, which I like, opening to the family room that I’ve been actively avoiding ever since I drank too much a week ago and let the enemy get too close.

There’s a large office on the other side, and I spent all Tuesday afternoon snooping around it, but most of the desk drawers were locked, so it got boring quickly.

Wednesday, I explored the rest of the rooms on my side of the house. There are three more guest bedrooms, a large library with floor- to- ceiling bookshelves, and the small sitting area in the back next to a baby grand piano. It’s beautiful but looks almost completely untouched.

I’ve never really been a reader, but after spending the rest of the evening there getting lost in the classics, I think I might start.

Yesterday, I went on a walk around the grounds, needing to do something other than breathe in the stuffy inside air. I didn’t venture too far, since we’re way up in the hills and surrounded by trees. Plus, I don’t do too well in nature for extended periods of time. I’ve never really been a “let’s go camping” kind of girl.

Today, I’m finally going to venture into the other side of the house, try to find my husband’s bedroom and see into the vulnerable side of Julian Faraci. It’s the one place I’ve been wary of going, but if I’m going to find something that I can use against him, that’s my bet of where it’s going to be.

Besides, he did say that’s what his is mine, and I’m going to take his words literally.

Being here, acting like I’m okay with everything that’s happening until I can get away to meet with Riya, is a much longer game than I originally thought I was going to be playing. It’s difficult, and my mind muddles up fact from fiction.

My entire life, I’ve been used to instant gratification. Used to asking for something and it being handed to me on a silver platter. I can admit that my privilege has gotten me far in life. But as I sit here, stuck in an empty house with no one here and no way to leave even if I wanted, I realize just how much the protective shield my father surrounded me with is more of a crutch than a blessing.

I’ve never learned simple life skills. I’ve never had to practice waiting for something and not having the ability to control when and how it lands.

This entire situation is the biggest lesson in patience.

I hate it.

I head across the hall, my hand sliding along the shiny wood banister of the open catwalk that connects the two wings, and straight back to the door that I think is Julian’s room. Nerves jump and sizzle in my body, and I shake them off, annoyed that I feel like I’m doing something wrong. And maybe a little afraid that there will be repercussions I don’t want to face if he comes home and catches me snooping.

My hand wraps around the doorknob and I push it open, half expecting it to be locked. It isn’t, and I step inside, heat and humid air hitting me in the face.

Immediately I can tell this isn’t his bedroom.

The lighting is low, but my eyes aren’t paying attention to that. Instead, they go to the large enclosure on the far side of the room. It takes up the entire wall, and it has a glass front.

I walk closer, taking in the half logs scattered along the enclosure’s floor and the large tree branches that look strategically placed throughout it.

A muted noise makes my heart skip and I walk closer, leaning in and squinting to try to see what the hell is in there. It’s obviously an animal of some sort.

A hiss catches me off guard, my heart shooting to my throat.

Does he own a fucking snake?

“She won’t bite.”

I scream and spin around, my hand flying to my chest. Julian is standing almost directly behind me. How the hell did he come home without me hearing?

“Don’t do that,” I complain, smacking him in the chest.

He smirks at me and walks over to the enclosure, peering into it like he’s considering opening the thing. His hand reaches out and I jump forward, gripping his forearm.

“What are you doing?” I panic, my eyes growing wide. “Don’t get it out!”

He chuckles but listens, drawing his arm back and twisting to face me instead. “She won’t hurt you unless I tell her to.”

“Oh, well, that’s comforting.” I side-eye the enclosure. I can’t  even see her; maybe she’s a small garden snake or something.

“What is it?” I ask.

“A twenty- three- foot python.”

I sigh. “Of course.”

He smiles. “Her name’s Isabella. She was a gift from my father.”

“Wow, a mom and a dad? Who knew you came from such a stable upbringing?”

His gaze dims, and when it does, something strikes against my chest, making me regret what I said, even though I shouldn’t feel bad. He’s the absolute worst and I need to keep remembering that.

Still, I make a mental note to never make fun of his family or childhood again. Right now he seems to be in a good mood, but I don’t want to deal with him when he’s not. I’ve had plenty of experience with him cold and aloof, and I can only imagine what he gets like when he’s truly angry.

“Speaking of my mother,” he says, “we’ll go see her Sunday afternoon.”

“Oh.” My brows spike up. “Okay, um…does she know? About us, I mean.”

He looks at me, amused. “She doesn’t.”

I let out a huff.

“You seem surprised,” he says dryly.

“The opposite, actually,” I reply. “Nothing about this moment is surprising. I absolutely believe you didn’t tell your mom you got married, the same way I believe you own a giant predator snake as a pet.”

His jaw ticks. “Lots of people have snakes as pets.”

“What’s it eat?” I peer over at the cage again.

His grin grows. “Rats. Mice. Lizards. Flesh of my enemies.”

I scrunch up my nose. “You’ve got a sick sense of humor.”

He laughs.

“So this is your hobby?” I wave my arm toward the enclosure. “Keeping pet snakes?”

He slips his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels, his head tilting to the side as he stares at me.

God, he’s attractive.

A flash of heat scorches through me when I remember sitting on his lap and rubbing against him.

“I don’t know if I have any,” he says, interrupting my thoughts.

I shake my head, taking a step toward him. “Everybody has a passion, Julian.”

“Martial arts, I guess.”

My brows shoot to my hairline as I take him in. “You do martial arts?”

He nods, his chin tucking into his chest before he looks back up at me. “Since I was a little kid.”

It’s not surprising, really. His movements are fluid, and his aura is always calm, in control. A smile slowly appears on my face.

“Will you show me something?”

He chuckles and straightens, walking toward me. He doesn’t stop until he’s directly in front of me, his hand reaching out to draw a fingertip down the side of my face.

His touch sends goose bumps down the length of my body. “Maybe later, if you’re a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and raspy.

My stomach flips.

“What are you doing here anyway?” I ask, trying to redirect the conversation and ignore the way he’s able to make my body go haywire. “I was starting to forget you even lived here, you’re gone so much.”

“I came home for you,” he says simply.

My stomach jumps, and I fucking hate myself for it. “Why?”

He steps forward, clean linen and spice hitting my nostrils when he gets close. “Because, gattina, I’m going to teach you how to drive.”