King of Pride (Kings of Sin #2) by Ana Huang

Please just leave.

Even now, weeks later, the memory of her words punched me through the chest with unrestrained brutality.

“I don’t know why I asked you here.” Isabella’s eyes dipped. “But I…when I saw you, I…”

The ache expanded into my throat. “I know,” I said quietly. “I miss you too, love.”

A tiny sob rent the air, and when she lifted her head, my heart cracked ever so slightly at tears staining her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Isabella whispered. “That night, I didn’t mean to…I—” Her sentence cut off with another hiccupping sob.

The sound ripped through me like a bullet, and I would’ve given up anything—my title, my company, my entire legacy—if it meant I could soothe her hurt for just one minute.

“Shh. It’s okay.” I gathered her in my arms while she buried her face in my chest, her shoulders shaking. She’d always seemed larger than life, with her uninhibited laugh and vibrant personality, but she felt so small and vulnerable in that moment that a sharp pain twisted my gut.

I hoped to God no one ever found out about the power this woman had over me, or I would be done for.

The night I walked out of her apartment, I’d drowned my sorrows in scotch and cursed every single person who had a hand in us meeting. Parker at Valhalla for hiring her, Dante and Vivian for always forcing me into the same room as her, her damn parents for giving birth to her. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have met Isabella, and I wouldn’t have a hole the size of Jupiter in my chest.

I’d played, replayed, and dissected every second of our relationship until the memories bled out of me and I was empty. And when it was all gone—the anger, the hurt, the pain—the only thing left was a dark, gaping numbness.

I didn’t blame Isabella for what she did. Not anymore. The past month had taken a toll on both of us, and she’d been reeling from her visit home. The only thing I hated more than being apart from her was the knowledge of how poorly she viewed herself. She had no idea how incredible she was, and it killed me.

I tucked my head against the top of her head and tightened my hold around her when another icy gust slammed into us. The bridge had emptied; we were the only people brave or stupid enough to stay here while the temperatures dipped.

Surrounded by water, with the far-off lights of Manhattan on one side and Brooklyn on the other, the air silent save for Isabella’s soft sobs and the wind’s whistling howls, I had the eerie sense that we were the only people left in the world.

“You never asked me your question,” I said when her cries died down to sniffles.

She lifted her head, her eyes swollen and her brow etched with confusion. “What?”

“From our balloon night in Bushwick.” I rubbed a stray tear off her cheek with my thumb. “You never asked me your question.”

Isabella let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I remember everything when it comes to you.”

Her smile faded, disappearing into the billows of tension around us. Bone-deep cold stole through me, both from the weather and the agonizing anticipation of what she would say next.

“Be honest,” she said softly. “Do you really see a future for us?”

I opened my mouth, but she shook her head.

“Don’t give me a packaged answer. I want you to think about it. Our families, our goals, our personalities. They’re completely different. It’s easy to say we can overcome the differences now, when everything is new and exciting, but what happens five, ten years down the road? I don’t…” Her breath trembled on an inhale. “I never want us to resent each other.”

Her words pricked at my chest.

She wasn’t wrong. We were opposites in almost every way, from our habits and hobbies to our temperaments and taste in books. There was a time not too long ago when her eccentricities had repelled me as much as they’d attracted me. She was everything I shouldn’t want, but it didn’t matter.

I wanted her anyway. So much so, I couldn’t breathe.

But Isabella didn’t want emotion right now. She wanted logic, a concrete reason for why we would work, so I took a page out of my old Oxford debate playbook and refuted her arguments one by one.

“I understand what you’re saying, but your premise is flawed,” I said. “Our families aren’t that different. We have similar cultures, upbringings, and wealth.” The Valencias weren’t billionaires, but their hotels pulled in several hundred million dollars last year alone. They were more than comfortable. “Perhaps yours is less formal than mine, but that isn’t a dealbreaker by any means.”

“Your mom also hates me,” Isabella pointed out. “It’s bound to cause more friction sooner or later.”

“She doesn’t hate you. Her concerns have nothing to do with you as a person. She was simply worried about the effect our relationship would have on the CEO vote and my future.” A wry smile twisted my mouth. “The vote isn’t an issue anymore, and she’ll come around. Even if she doesn’t, I’m an adult. I don’t need my mother’s approval to be with who I want.” My voice softened. “And I want you.”

Isabella’s eyes glistened with emotion. Moonlight kissed her cheekbones, tracing the delicate lines of her face and lips the way I so desperately craved to do with my mouth.