Page 5 of Gilded

I let go of his hand as soon as he allows, but his face is etched into my brain.

He’s quite possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever met, and the galas are chock-full of handsome men.

He’s got intelligent gray eyes, thick black lashes, and a strong, perfectly symmetrical face marred only by a few scars.

“I hear you’re the beauty and brains behind Tarik’s Children.”

I force a smile while focusing on laying my napkin in my lap. I know those are Luka’s choice of words. Neither my father nor Soren would ever consider me smart or beautiful. But I’m not foolish enough to believe he’s sincere.

I go for the bland, minimal “I enjoy it.”

“Tell him about the charities,” Soren orders.

I glance at Luka and find his gaze locked on me. It feels intense and uncomfortable and pins me to my chair.

“All the donations go into the foundation for Tarik’s Children, and that foundation funds our global charities: Thrive, Hope’s Garden, and Free World. We also contribute to organizations here at home: St. Jude’s, Shriners Hospital, and the Cancer Society, among others.”

“Commendable. Can I ask what your donations amount to in a year?”

I glance at Soren, and he nods.

“Last year, it was one-point-two billion.”

I can’t even imagine how many men, women, and children that buys. How much darkness that employs. And I hope to keep it that way. At least until I can do something about it.

A new sensation ebbs from Luka. Darker. Colder. With anger roiling underneath it all.

I’m afraid I said something wrong, but then Soren says, “Great, right?”

Luka sits back as Charles, the newest butler, serves our salads, but Luka’s gaze holds mine, and a new sensation joins the tangle of emotions ebbing from him—disgust. “Staggering.”

“Tell me more about your people,” Soren tells Luka. “How do you find them and keep them loyal?”

I’m trying to wrangle that question into some kind of clue to Luka’s purpose here, but I don’t know enough to understand the way this business works. That’s probably best. I’m already having a hard time sleeping.

He lifts his fork, his cold gaze still on my face when he answers Soren. “Let’s leave talk of the details for another time.”

I tense, preparing for Soren’s temper to explode. But tonight, he manages to find a brittle smile. “Of course.”

I’m stunned. The only person who can keep Soren in check—and not consistently—is my father. Which puts Luka on a similar playing field.

I can’t fathom how many vile people inhabit the earth or how many facades they hide behind.

I force enough food into my mouth to keep Soren from finding another reason to degrade me, but I taste nothing, and I don’t get far before the next course is brought in.

Soren and Luka are discussing travel—the restaurants, bars, and night life in different locations and what seems like acquaintances they share.

I focus on his voice, his inflection, his word choice, the way he steers the conversation.

What I deduce is that he’s intelligent and self-possessed.

And judging by the way he sets his knife down in the exact same spot when he’s not using it and eats his food in a very complete and pointed order—steak, prawns, grilled vegetables, while sipping his wine every third bite—he’s also got at least a mild case of OCD.

Luka is deliberate, controlled, smooth, and pinpoint sharp, whereas Soren is impulsive, sloppy, brash, and chaotic. It’s one of the longest, most uncomfortable dinners I’ve had to suffer through in a while. I don’t usually eat at the table. That seems to suit everyone best.

By the time the plates are cleared for the last course, Luka’s hidden his most intense emotions behind three-inch-thick steel.

Charles takes our plates away as dinner winds down, until Soren says, “Did you hear about the phantom’s latest?”

The atmosphere shifts, and I refocus on the details of the conversation. I’ve never heard anyone mention this phantom, whatever it is. And I don’t have any frame of reference to draw from.

Luka glances at me, then back to Soren. “In Kuta?” Luka nods. “Lost some acquaintances.”

“Someone’s got to end him.”

“Eventually, someone will. Stupid name. Who made that up?”

Soren chuckles, and when he stands from the table, announcing after-dinner drinks in the living room, I’m so relieved I can return to my room that my knees are weak.

Then he says, “Join us, Malia.”

“I would, but I have an awful headache?—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

I let the air leak from my lungs. “Of course.”

I follow the men into the living room and notice the way Luka moves. As smooth as his voice. As strong as his gaze. As confident as his words.

I’m about to take a side chair when Soren pats the sofa next to him. “Here, Malia.”

I perch on the edge of the cushion and try not to cringe when Soren grips my thigh. Charles serves us drinks, but I decline.

“We have something to discuss with you,” Soren says.

We? Alarmed, I look between the men. My heart is on the verge of lodging in my throat.

“As my wife,” Soren starts, and I already know I’m going to hate the rest, “you are expected to provide certain things—most importantly, sex.”

My stomach roils, and I clasp my hands so hard, they sting. My fantasy of being his wife in name only is crushed. And now I’m faced with this we thing.

“I don’t care for timid women in the bedroom,” Soren says, “and I expect you to do what I want, when I want, how I want, and with whom I want.”

Oh. My. God. I can’t believe those words just came out of his mouth . In front of a stranger. Those drugs I saved may end up earmarked for me.

“But I’m not a patient man,” Soren continues. “And I prefer women who know how to please me.”

I don’t respond. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know where this is going, and I’m starting to feel truly sick.

“So, Luka has agreed to teach you.”

Soren’s words jumble in my brain. Fear tries to burn a hole through my chest. A check of Luka’s expression tells me nothing.

“ Excuse m e ? ” The attitude in my voice touches my ears, and I instantly backpedal. “I just…I don’t understand.”

Soren gives Luka an I-told-you-so look before gesturing for him to speak. This is the first time I’ve held Luka’s gaze for any length of time, and I notice the little things, like a soft widow’s peak and beautiful lips.

“I will teach you how to please Soren sexually,” he tells me.

Heat gathers at my core and rises through my neck and face. A smile lifts the corner of Luka’s mouth, and it feels shrewd. I’m completely confused, and my lack of knowledge feels glaring.

I look at Soren, growing angry. In a flash of belligerence, I say, “No. Absolutely not.”

The room goes silent. The kind of silence that crawls up my spine. Then Soren pulls his knife from the sheath and hammers the tip into the arm of the chair, making me jump.

“Should we revisit the idea of losing an ear?”

I force air into my lungs to feed my brain. “I’m sorry.” How I loathe apologizing to this animal. “I just don’t?—”

“You don’t have to understand,” Soren yells. “You just have to do what I tell you. And I’m telling you, if you want your life with me to be tolerable, you’ll take what Luka teaches you seriously.”

I feel like I’m running a fever, and my heart is hammering. I keep my gaze on Soren because I’m too mortified to face Luka, and I lower my voice. “I thought it was important for me to stay a virgin until I married.”

“Didn’t you listen to anything I just said? I don’t want an idiot in my bed.”

Anxiety climbs into my brain and crawls around. “I’m not a thing. You can’t just assign me to a man like I’m a robot.”

But as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize that’s exactly what my father did.

Soren hammers his drink on the table and raises his other hand. I startle at the sound and cringe, covering my injured cheek. But his hand never connects, and when I open my eyes, I find Luka on his feet, hand gripping Soren’s arm and a fierce look on his face.

“If you keep doing this,” Luka says, voice deep and tight, “she can’t perform her magic at the charity functions. Let me handle it.”

I bite my lip against a sudden rush of tears.

Soren jerks his arm from Luka. “Fine.” He grabs his drink, yanks his dagger from the furniture, and shoves it back into its sheath. “Just make sure she doesn’t bug the shit out of me, or she won’t live to see the wedding.”

Evidently, the billion dollars I bring in every year isn’t even enough to deal with the annoyance of my existence.

“And take her out of here,” Soren yells. “Use the carriage house or the pool house or one of the guest cottages. Keep her out of my sight until she knows how to behave.”