Chapter 52

Chapter 52
The next day, Aria stood in the foyer, the sun from the golden curtains shimmering off her skin, putting her in an even better mood, something she didn’t think was even remotely possible.

She played with her signature ring while holding on tightly to her phone, willing her feet to just fucking move.

She’d stared at Liam’s post for a week too long, the comments so vivid she could practically hear the voices calling her a whore, an attacker, a scandal.

She needed a counter strike.

And the one she knew was petty enough to work required her entering the ground.

She had slept like a baby the previous night, waking up perfectly rested for the first time in a decade. Why? Because she had gotten severely kissed by the man she was supposed to hate, Aston Beaumont.

And that kind of luck out, she got to see him and her baby together, Asher fitting into the crook of Aston’s arm like he was meant to be there. 

Aria pinched her eyes again.

She looked calm on the outside but her heart was doing backflips. 

‘I didn’t want to be saved.’

“Argh”, she rubbed her face to calm her giddy smile at the sudden memory replay. There was no telling what the effect of the poison was. He could still have been under the influence, especially seeing as his pupils had still been dilated after the soup.

She steeled herself and went up to his room, hesitating before knocking the door. She had never visited him here before. He was always awake early and working. But today he was nowhere else.

She knocked softly.

Nothing.

Maybe he was still asleep. Or maybe he wasn’t even in.

She knocked one more time, only slightly louder than the first time. She was a coward. So what? She didn’t actually want to wake him if he was asleep.

There was still nothing.

“Mm, I’ll just come back later,” she whispered to herself. By later, she meant never. It was a stupid plan anyway. She couldn’t believe she even thought of it.

The door suddenly violently opened as she was about to turn to leave and she came face to chest with Aston. 

He slept half naked! Damnit. Like Aria needed any other excuses to make him replay in her fantasies.

“Good morning, my lady.”

Aria felt a tingle that went up her spine and climbed up to her brain. His voice was deep and husky, obviously attributed to his just waking up.

She bit the inside of her cheeks, feeling her face prickle with that telltale sign that she was blushing again. 

Aston’s eyes darkened.

"I need your hand," Aria blurted out.

Aston cocked his head to the side. A fully visible “huh?” painted on his face. "My hand?”

“Yes, your hand…,” she trailed off, suspecting more and more that this was gonna be a bad idea. What was she even thinking?

“To do what, my lady?”, oh but his voice, it was far too early for Aria to die of pleasure from hearing a man’s voice. 

"It’s for a photo… to shut down Liam’s shitpost. I need you to... I need you to put your hand on my neck. Like you're..." She felt her face heating up. "Just put it there. And wear this."

She held out the silver ring. It was a wide silver band, engraved with ARIA in delicate, sharp black script. She had made it herself, for herself. It was supposed to be her signet ring, one of the first things she ever designed, but she had accidentally greatly overestimated her own finger size.

Aston looked at the ring, then at her, his face looking like he was still buffering the information.

Fuck.

Aria had committed an absolute blunder! All the kisses had gone to her head. His gentleness supporting Asher’s body last night had gone to her head. What was she thinking?

He walked over, the space between them shrinking until she had to tilt her head back, her face getting redder every second. His bare, sculpted chest was right in her face.

She had an intrusive thought. How quick would her death be if she suddenly buried her face in his gloriously muscular pecs? It would be a great way to die, she thought.

Aston raised his hand. He took the ring and slid it onto his ring finger, flexing his hands. Ughhh. Aria suddenly wanted to design only rings. She wanted him as her model and no one else. 

It fit perfectly. He didn't say a word, but the look in his eyes was indecipherable.

"Like this?"

He didn't wait for an answer. His hand, vast and warm, came up and splayed across her throat, only one hand enough to almost completely wrap around her neck. His thumb rested just under her ear.

Aria's breath hitched. Heat. It wasn't the drug-fueled fire from the basement, it was worse. It was the deliberate, sober weight of him.

"D— don’t— don’t take your chances t-trying to kill me now,” she tried to joke, her heart hammering against her ribs. 

Aston was staring her down with his hand still wrapped around her neck, and she felt herself being pulled closer, without her permission.

Her autonomy was basically stripped away and all her brain could generate was a large red DANGER triangle on how hot this was.

“I’m just trying to practice, my lady,” he murmured. 

Aria nearly fainted, the baritone making her knees turn to jelly. “W-we should probably do it at the library. The palladian window would give the best lighting.” He released her gently and smiled. 

“I should wear some clothes before attending my wife’s photoshoot. I’m beyond honored to be your model, lady Beaumont.”

He leaned down and held her hand, slowly pressing a kiss against it before going back into his room to get dressed. The door closed behind him.

She touched her neck, the skin there still humming where his palm had been. She was a medical disaster. Heart rate? Tachycardic. Lungs? Non-functional. Dignity? Currently being trampled by a half-naked man.

"Practice? Practice what, exactly? Choking me? Or making sure I never breathe again for entirely different reasons?" she murmured to the empty hallway.

She turned on her heel and marched toward the library, her heels clicking a sharp, frantic rhythm against the marble.

She needed to lock in. This wasn't about the way his thumb had traced her jawline, this was about war. Liam had thrown the first stone, but Aria was about to drop a goddamn cathedral on his head.

If Aston’s hands had even 10% of the effect they had on her on the general population then she was completely certain her scandal would be the least important thing on people’s minds.

Ten minutes later, the library doors groaned open. Aston stepped in, and Aria's lungs decided to go on strike again.

He'd dressed — unfortunately — but the black, sleeveless turtleneck he'd chosen was somehow more offensive than his bare chest. It clung to his shoulders like a second skin.

"Is the lighting adequate?" he asked, his voice echoing off the mahogany bookshelves. He was leaning against the Palladian window, the morning sun carving out the sharp angles of his face, a small teasing smile playing along.

“You know it is,” she scowled playfully. He knew he was attractive. Fine. She could deal with a smug little shit. She raised Asher. “Just... stop looking at me like that," Aria muttered, fumbling with her phone camera.

"Like what?"

"Like you're calculating the exact depth of my stupidity." 

Aston chuckled, a low, vibration-heavy sound that made Aria's fingers twitch. "On the contrary, Aria. I'm marveling at your ruthlessness. It's delightfully transactional. I almost feel used."

"You ARE being used," she shrugged cheekily.

“Woe is me.”