Page 68 of The Billionaire's Timed Wife

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing.” I don’t want to sound insecure or repetitive, though every time pictures of him with his exes pop up in the media, my newly acquired confidence hides itself in the closet.

He’s been with women so beautiful they barely look real, and it doesn’t help my self-esteem that one magazine backed Ingrid’s claim that our upcoming marriage is one of convenience.

Yes, maybe we’re not in love yet—though what I feel for him has evolved at a frightening pace—but that doesn’t mean we’re not both committed to making this union work.

To my surprise, there’s more between us than the overwhelming physical attraction I initially thought would hold us together; there’s also companionship.

Not that I have any control over my body when he’s close. I won’t deny that he drives me crazy with just a look. When he touches me, his hand brushing mine, his knuckles grazing my cheek, his whisper against my ear, I burn. So yes, the physical chemistry is undeniable.

But beyond that, we actually talk. Kaled listens to me, really listens, asks questions, wanting my opinion on meaningful issues in our country, like the creation of full-time childcare programs for working mothers.

For the first time, I feel valued as a human being, not just admired for being pretty. Despite everything, my father never hid that he considered me his most beautiful daughter, but he made it sound like a curse, a flaw. Like a useless ornament, no matter how polished.

“Adeela, I know you well enough to tell when something’s bothering you.”

“It’s fine. I was just thinking about that woman and what she said to the press. I think I actually hate her, but I also hate those journalists who make a living speculating about us. Besides it being in terrible taste, they should be ashamed of the way they judge you.”

I didn’t mean to let my temper show, but maybe the tension of my upcoming reunion with my mother got the best of me, and now I can’t stop.

“They call you a playboy, and that’s so unfair. When I think of that word, I picture someone who does nothing but party, and that’s not you. I see how hard you work and—”

The next thing I know, he unbuckles my seat belt and pulls me onto his lap.

The kiss he gives me makes my anger at the media dissolve instantly.

I can’t even remember what the media is or why I was mad in the first place.

All I know is that when he touches me like that, I feel untouchable, safe from everything: my father, the people who gossip about us without knowing anything, the fear of not being enough for him or that one day he’ll break the clause I demanded and betray me.

Nothing scares me anymore.

When our mouths meet, there’s only us.

“Do you have any idea how crazy you make me when you start talking like that?” he asks when we finally come up for air.

My face burns, and I lower my eyes. “I just get upset when people talk about us, but especially when they’re cruel to you. You’re wealthy, yes, but you work for every cent you earn. You’re not like . . .”

“My brother?”

“Yes,” I admit quietly.

“It’s about Naim that I wanted to talk.”

He summarizes his conversation with the lead investigator on the case, not going into detail but warning me that a scandal involving his family will likely break soon.

“And your father . . . how will he take it?”

“I’ve already talked to him. But I think we’ll need to stay low-profile for the next few months in everything related to our family, because anything we do will make the tabloids.”

“Distorted headlines, you mean, since they haven’t published a single true thing about my life.”

“I’m sorry about that,ayuni.”

Now, when he calls memy eyes, I no longer feel shy. I’m starting to realize that Kaled is always tender with me, even if he doesn’t notice it himself. “It’s not your fault. Have you told Jazmina?”

“Yes, and she’ll return to Rheadur tomorrow. In the meantime, I left Rodrick, as he’s staying in Paris a few more days, to keep an eye on her.”