Lotus: Two Hearts
Автор
Beverly Criss
Прочтений
171K
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25
Nicolas Marcello Fitzpatrick wasn’t ready for love—especially not with nineteen-year-old Féria Akhan, who appeared at his parents’ home after her wealthy parents were murdered. She’s inexperienced, yet her beauty captivates him. Féria has never known love, but she knows he’s the one. Can their passion survive deadly enemies and dangerous secrets?
1: Chapter 1
FÉRIA
I met Nicolas Marcello Fitzpatrick when I was nineteen, right after my whole world flipped upside down. My parents were gone, and suddenly I was moving in with the Fitzpatricks, one of the richest families in London.
Nicolas had been adopted by James Fitzpatrick when he was just a kid, after his parents died in a plane crash.
My dad always said James was the kindest rich man he’d ever known. He’d tell stories about James rescuing injured animals, feeding birds in the park, and giving away millions to children’s hospitals. So it made sense that my dad picked him to be my guardian if anything ever happened.
Still, none of that made it easier to stand on the front steps of Grace Mansion, suitcase in hand, feeling like I was about to walk into someone else’s life. My feet wouldn’t budge. I just stood there, frozen, as the door opened and Nicolas appeared.
He was tall, like, really tall, with broad shoulders and a smile that could melt steel. He wore a black cashmere sweater that fit him perfectly, and he looked so confident it was almost intimidating. There was something dangerous about him, but not in a bad way. More like he could walk into any room and everyone would notice.
My eyes did a quick scan: face, shoulders, then down to his jeans. His thighs looked like they belonged on a statue. He could have been a Greek god or something, I thought, and immediately felt ridiculous.
I was so caught up staring that I forgot how to speak. My tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth. Nicolas caught me staring and grinned, like he was used to it.
“Féria, welcome to Grace Mansion. I’m Nick,” he said, holding out his hand.
I just stood there, still in a daze, so he reached out and gently shook my hand for me. His skin was soft, like, weirdly soft. Like a baby’s ass, I thought, and almost laughed at myself.
He took my bags and handed them off to an older man waiting by the door. “Well, are you going to stand there all day, or are you coming in to meet everyone?” he teased.
I finally managed to step inside, just as the rest of the family started to gather around.
Elizabeth came right up and hugged me tight. “Welcome to your new home, Féria,” she said.
She’d always been warm the few times I’d met her before, and my mom had loved her. The rest of the family followed with handshakes and quick kisses on the cheek.
“Come on,” Elizabeth said, grabbing my hands and pulling me upstairs.
My new room looked like something out of a magazine. The thick Persian carpet was covered in pink roses, soft under my feet, and the bed was huge, way bigger than my old one. It was all beautiful, but my heart still ached for my parents and the home I’d lost.
I wandered over to the window and looked outside. Down in the driveway, Nicolas was waiting as a fancy car pulled up. A gorgeous woman stepped out, dressed like she belonged on a runway. Nicolas walked over, took her hands, and kissed her—like, really kissed her.
A sharp, ugly feeling twisted in my chest. Jealousy, anger, confusion, all at once. What a whore, I thought, and then immediately felt guilty.
I tried to step away from the window, but Nicolas glanced up and caught me watching. My face burned. Great, now he thinks I’m a total creep.
I threw myself onto the bed, wishing I could disappear. I didn’t even realize how tired I was until my eyes started to close. The next day was the reading of my father’s will, and I was dreading it.
Somewhere between awake and asleep, I heard a soft knock at my door. A tall, dark figure stood in the doorway, whispering my name. The figure lingered by my bed for a moment, and then everything faded away.
NICOLAS
Nicolas stood by her bed, just watching her sleep. There was something about the way she breathed—so peaceful—that it tugged at his heart. He knew that ache all too well, the one that never really leaves.
He’d been young when his parents died, but the emptiness stuck around, always lurking in the background. James and Elizabeth were wonderful, but they could never fill that space. No one could.
Nicolas made a silent promise right then. He’d do whatever it took to make Féria’s new life there as easy as possible. He closed the door softly, pausing for one last look before heading down the hall.
If he didn’t hurry, he’d be late for his date with Caroline. He hated those fancy events—the stiff jackets, the bow ties, the endless small talk with people who only cared about money and connections.
Nicolas rolled his eyes just thinking about it. At least there’d be good scotch, and Caroline, who made those things bearable.
His brother Thomas always teased him about his taste in women, but Nicolas just saw it as nothing more than blowing off steam after long assignments. He hoped that night would be quick, so he and Caroline could sneak away to her place.
She loved showing off her rich, powerful men, but Nicolas had made it clear: he wasn’t anyone’s boy toy. He refused to be used.
When he wanted pleasure, he knew where to find it—and that was why things with Caroline worked. No strings, no drama. If she ever wanted more, he’d be gone.
Nicolas Marcello Fitzpatrick didn’t do relationships. He preferred clean exits and never let himself get too comfortable or too available for her red-carpet nights.
FÉRIA
Who turned off the lights? I wondered, blinking into the darkness. My body felt heavy as I rolled onto my side, reaching for the lamp. My hand nearly knocked over a glass jar, and I realized how thirsty I was, like I’d swallowed a bucket of sand.
I poured myself some water, glancing around the room. This time, I noticed the little things: the soft drapes, the cheerful paintings, the way someone had tried to make it feel like home.
I smiled when I spotted my favorite book, Tom Sawyer, sitting on the vanity. How did they know? It had always been my favorite, ever since I was a kid.
A loud rumble interrupted my thoughts—my stomach, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since I got there. I started to get out of bed when a car pulled up outside.
I peeked through the window and saw headlights sweeping across the driveway. The clock said it was almost 3 a.m. How did I sleep that long?
My stomach growled again, so I tiptoed downstairs, searching for the kitchen. That’s when I really saw the house: the fancy paintings, the shiny floors, the way everything seemed to sparkle.
It took me a while to find the kitchen, and when I finally did, I pushed through the swinging doors—right into a wall of muscle.
I bounced off and landed hard on my butt, the cold marble floor making me wince. Before I could get up, a pair of hands reached out to help me. I grabbed them without thinking.
“Thank you. I didn’t realize anyone else was awake,” I mumbled, still rubbing my sore backside. I didn’t even look up at first, too embarrassed. The hands were gentle, though, softer than I expected.
“Are you okay? I didn’t think anyone else was up either,” he said, his voice warm as he brushed my forehead.
“Oh shit!” he blurted out. “Come with me!” He took my hand and led me to the kitchen counter, sitting me on a stool. He grabbed some ice from the freezer, wrapped it in a towel, and pressed it gently to my forehead.
“Hold this there for a few minutes, okay? It’ll help with the swelling,” he said, sounding like he wasn’t taking no for an answer. I did what he said and kept my eyes on his face.
Honestly, close-ups were always my favorite, like watching a movie in 3D—but this was real life.
He looked like he’d stepped out of some ancient Greek battle, strong jaw and impossible confidence. All Greek, all gladiator, all man. He caught me staring, of course. He had this way of looking at me, like he was trying to figure out if I was a puzzle or just plain weird.
“You know, for someone as young as you are, you really do stare a lot,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”
I didn’t even think before I shot back, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you to look before you leap?” The words tumbled out, and I instantly regretted it. Why am I like this?
I rushed to apologize. “Sorry. I’m not usually this mouthy. But for some reason, you bring out the spitfire in me. Not many people can do that,” I mumbled, mostly to myself.
He grinned, and it was almost like he was proud of me. “So, the real Féria finally shows up. Nice to meet you. Jeff is going to love you,” he said, like it was some kind of an inside joke.
“Who’s Jeff?” I asked, still a little thrown off.
“My younger brother. He’s coming home from university tomorrow—summer break and all that,” he said. He gave me a look, then added, “Keep ice on it.” He grabbed his dinner jacket and glass and walked away like he owned the place.
As he passed, I caught a whiff of perfume. It was probably hers, the woman he’d kissed earlier. The scent clung to him, and there was even a tiny lipstick stain on his collar.
Of course, I thought. Men never even try to hide it. Meanwhile, women act like it’s some big secret.
My stomach growled, reminding me why I’d come down there in the first place. I turned my attention to the fridge, hoping for something—anything—to eat. That’s when I saw a note with my name stuck to the other fridge door. I opened it and almost cried with relief.
There was a plate with my name on it, and every kind of dessert I could ever want. All my favorites. I didn’t even try to resist. My stomach was happy for the first time all day.
My mom always used to say she was amazed I could eat at any hour and never gain a pound. “The gift of being young,” she’d say, shaking her head and laughing.
My mom. I missed her so much right then.
