“Anything you need, Ilse.” His voice was fierce. “Anything you goddamn need—-”
“Issac—-”
“Because I’m yours.”
Ilse choked back a sob. “Please...please don’t say that.”
“My promises were empty before, but not now, Ilse.I’m yours.” His hand shook as he carefully wiped the tears that continued to stain her cheeks. “So anything—-”
“I think,” she said brokenly, “you already know.”
Ah.
“D-don’t you?” Ilse swallowed hard. “You know w-what I wanted to talk to you about.” Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she did her best to stop crying. “No one w-wants to tell me a t-thing, butI know.I know something’s wrong even if I can’t see it.”
She tried to swallow back another sob, but the pain was too much to keep inside, and another cry went past her throat.
“Ilse...”
“Please, Issac,” she whispered. “Please. You’re the only one I trust to tell me the truth.”
Silence.
Such long, damning silence.
“I’m sorry, Ilse.” Issac’s voice was harsh. “He’s been seen leaving the hotel room of an ex-girlfriend.”
And Ilse shattered.
He caught her before she fell, and he held her tightly to him, even knowing that he was not the one she needed.
Goddamn you, Jaak de Konigh.
Angels weren’t made to cry.
Chapter Twenty-One
The flight back to Amsterdam was spent in somber silence, with most of the flight crew still struggling with shock at what had transpired earlier at the airport in Milan. When the controversial photos broke the Internet yesterday morning, paparazzi from all over Europe came running to Italy’s capital like bloodhounds going for the kill. Yasmin, the billionaire’s ex-lover, although readily obliging the reporters’ demands for a statement, had not much to say. “The matter is between Jaak and me.” Innocuous words certainly, but because they were not an outright denial of the billionaire cheating on his Dutch non-celebrity girlfriend, they only served to fuel the rumors.
With their usual enterprising ways, the media had learned of the billionaire’s scheduled flight out of Milan, and they had staked the airport, waiting for the tight-lipped billionaire.
When he finally did, the first reporter that reached Jaak de Konigh had asked, “Did you get tired of fucking the public pussy, is that it?”
And that was it.
By the time security had managed to pull the billionaire away, both his fists were bloodied and bruised, but even so he looked better off than the reporter, whose face had been nearly unrecognizable after being in the receiving end of the billionaire’s punches.
It had chaos and hell, and the billionaire had been taken into police custody while an ambulance took the unconsciousreporter to the E.R. Meanwhile, the remaining paparazzi had started hounding the flight crew of the billionaire’s private jet. Was he always that hotheaded? Had he verbally or physically abused any of them?
Only stoic silence met their questions and bribes. The violence that the billionaire displayed had shocked them, but even so the staff remained deeply loyal to Jaak de Konigh. He had always been a good employer to them, a fair and generous man. They would stand by him, even when the rest of the world didn’t.
When the jet finally landed in Amsterdam, the billionaire was not surprised to see the airport free of any signs of media presence. Here, the de Konighs held unparalleled power, and Jaak knew without being told Willem had taken immediate measures to ensure his privacy and security.
Upon making it to his limousine, he called his brother right away. “How is Ilse?”
“She left to meet with Issac Bakker,” Willem answered quietly, “but other than that she hadn’t left the house. Security’s made sure that none of the media bothers her.”
“But she knows?”
