CHAPTER 13
“Talk about what?” Isla asked, her tone casual, but Graham could see the tension simmering beneath her calm exterior. She leaned back slightly in the chair, the fluffy pink hotel bathrobe tied loosely around her slim waist. It was oversized, a shade of pink that was almost comical against the seriousness of the moment, yet somehow she managed to make it look effortlessly charming. Beneath it, she wore a nightgown—one Graham had purposefully avoided thinking too much about. After all, he had been the one to order the bathrobe for her the night before, a small act of care that felt like it had carried more weight than it should.
But now, sitting across from her, he found himself noticing things he hadn’t before. Isla had always been there, a familiar presence in his life. Yet in this moment, it was as if he was truly seeing her for the first time. And it hit him—a realization so sudden and profound that it left him momentarily breathless. She was beautiful. Not in the way he had allowed himself to acknowledge in the past, but in a way that felt undeniable and consuming.
Her face was delicate, like it had been carved with intention. Wide blue eyes framed by dark lashes that seemed to hold the weight of the world in their depths. A small, perfectly buttoned nose that added to her air of innocence. And her lips—those lips. He’d caught himself staring at them far too often last night, particularly during the quiet moments in the car when the glow of passing headlights illuminated her profile. They were full and inviting, and more than once, the thought of leaning in and tasting them had crossed his mind.
The temptation now was almost unbearable. He wanted—no, he needed—to feel the softness of her lips against his, to reach across the table, cradle the back of her neck, and kiss her with the intensity of everything he’d been holding back. He imagined the way she might respond, how her lips might part under his, allowing him to claim her completely.
And yet, beneath the pull of attraction, there was a stark reminder that struck him like a sharp jab to the stomach. She was so young. Too young, perhaps, for him and the life he was proposing. Every time this thought resurfaced, it brought with it a wave of guilt that threatened to drown him. What if he was wrong about this? What if this decision he was on the verge of making ruined the life she hadn’t even begun to truly live? What if she hated him for it?
He didn’t have the answers. He didn’t have any guarantees. The only thing he knew for certain was that Isla needed protection, and the world outside was a cruel, unforgiving place. She was vulnerable in ways she didn’t fully understand, a fragile figure who deserved a chance to flourish without the constant weight of survival on her shoulders.
And Graham couldn’t, wouldn’t, let her face it alone. If marrying her was the only way to ensure her safety, her security, then he would do it. Not out of desire, though that was undeniably present, but out of an unshakable sense of duty. She deserved a life where she was cherished and cared for, where she didn’t have to fight for every ounce of respect and protection.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze steady on hers. “We need to talk, Isla,” he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of the decision he was about to make.
“About your future,” Graham said at last, his tone firm but measured. He watched closely as Isla’s hand paused mid-air, the bowl of fruit she’d been eating from set quietly back onto the table. Her appetite, it seemed, had disappeared the moment those words left his mouth.
A small, almost imperceptible “Oh,” escaped her lips. Beyond that, she said nothing, her gaze drifting down to her feet. Graham’s heart tightened at the sight. He would have traded every ounce of his wealth in that moment to peer into her mind and decipher the thoughts swirling behind her unreadable expression. She was always so composed, even when she was clearly bracing for something difficult. It frustrated him, how little she let him in sometimes.
He cleared his throat, determined to press on. “I understand that you no longer wish to live at Thornfield Manor. You feel as though you’ve lost your place there, as if you no longer belong.” His voice carried a gravity that matched the seriousness of his words. He was not prepared, however, for the unexpected turn she was about to take.
“I think we’ve already talked about this,” she interjected, a hint of exasperation in her voice. She made a face—not quite a pout but close enough that it startled him, almost as if she was mocking him. The playful expression was so at odds with the subject at hand that he was taken aback, and once again, the stark difference in their ages hit him. She was so much younger, almost a decade, and moments like this made it all the more apparent.
“Yes,” he replied, trying to steady his tone, “but I’ve been thinking about it, and I believe I’ve come up with a reasonable solution—”
“So have I, actually,” Isla interrupted, her voice tinged with nervous energy. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, rubbing against the faded fabric of her jeans as though trying to calm herself. “And I wanted to talk to you about it. I… I have a trust fund, but I can’t access it until I turn 21 or get married. So, I was wondering if you could loan me some money? Just enough to help me get back on my feet. I’ll pay you back once I can access the trust, I promise.”
Her words tumbled out in a rush, and she finished with a nervous glance in his direction, clearly uncertain about how he would respond. Graham’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t just annoyed—he was intrigued, though not in the way she might have hoped. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as he regarded her with a mix of curiosity and frustration.
“And how exactly do you plan to get back on your feet?” he asked, his voice sharp enough to make her shift uncomfortably in her chair. “Scrubbing more toilets? Washing dishes?” The words came out harsher than he’d intended, but the memory of finding her in that squalid basement—her hands bruised and raw from overwork, her body too thin from skipping meals—flashed through his mind. His throat tightened at the thought, the panic and pain he’d felt then still fresh and raw.
“No.” Isla’s tone was firm, and the sharpness in her eyes made it clear that she was growing tired of his insistence. She gave him a look—a deliberate, defiant glare that would have been enough to silence most men. But for Graham, that look didn’t extinguish the fire simmering within him. If anything, it only fueled it.
Her intent stare sent a strange, conflicting surge through him. His blood boiled with a mixture of irritation and something far more primal. At the same time, his body betrayed him, heat pooling low and insistent. Adjusting his position on the chair to conceal his reaction, Graham tried to temper the intensity he was feeling. But even as he shifted, a small, forbidden thrill coursed through him, awakening a realization that shocked him to his core.
What he felt for her wasn’t wrong. Not anymore. Soon, she would be his in every way that mattered—his to protect, his to cherish, his to possess. The thought was both exhilarating and grounding, an anchor against the chaos that had consumed his life until now.
“You won’t have to worry about money ever again, Isla,” he murmured, leaning forward slightly, his voice low and steady. His hand moved toward hers, resting lightly over her small palm where it lay on the table. He told himself it was a gesture of reassurance, but in truth, it was a test—an attempt to gauge her reaction, to see if the invisible connection he felt every time they were close was something she felt too.
The moment his skin touched hers, Graham’s entire body seemed to ignite. A spark, sharp and electric, shot through him like a live wire, making him acutely aware of every inch of himself. It wasn’t just a touch; it was an awakening, a jolt that brought him fully into the moment, as though his senses had been dulled until now. He caught his breath, the intensity of the sensation catching him off guard, and let his eyes flicker to her face.
Her reaction mirrored his own. For just a second, Isla stilled, her body tense, her fingers trembling ever so slightly beneath his. Her eyes widened, the clear blue depths reflecting confusion and something else—something unspoken but undeniable. She felt it too.
Graham’s mind reeled, his thoughts a chaotic mix of disbelief and satisfaction. He had dated countless women—models, socialites, even a princess—and yet none of them had ever elicited this raw, magnetic pull that Isla did. It was as though his entire being had been waiting, dormant, for her.
His gaze lingered on her delicate features, the soft curves of her lips, the flutter of her lashes as she glanced down, perhaps trying to process what had just happened. The thought of her innocence, her purity, only heightened the intensity of his feelings. She was untouched, untainted, and the idea of being the first man to truly claim her sent a surge of possessiveness through him that was almost overwhelming.
His thumb brushed against the back of her hand, the gesture deliberate, calculated. He wanted to memorize every detail of this moment—the warmth of her skin, the way her breath hitched ever so slightly, the unspoken tension that hung between them like a charged wire.
When she formally agreed to be his wife, everything would change. He could kiss her, hold her, begin to show her the depth of his devotion. Maybe tonight, in the privacy of this suite, he could start to bridge the distance between them. Not fully—not yet. Isla was a virgin, and Graham was resolute in his decision to wait until their wedding night to truly claim her. But there was so much they could explore in the meantime, ways to draw her closer to him, to deepen the bond that was already taking root between them.
The image of Isla on their wedding night flashed in his mind, vivid and tantalizing. He could see her standing in the bedroom at Thornfield Manor, bathed in soft candlelight, nervous yet beautiful in a delicate lace nightgown. The innocence in her eyes, the way she would look at him with a mix of trust and anticipation, sent a wave of desire crashing over him so strong it took all his willpower to remain seated.
Graham couldn’t stop the amused chuckle that bubbled out of him at her question. “You’ll give me the loan, then?” she asked, her tone tentative, her voice laced with uncertainty. She had no idea, absolutely no idea, the magnitude of what he was willing to give her. Here she sat, nervously fidgeting with her fingers, asking for a small loan, while he was ready to lay his entire empire at her feet. Thirty billion dollars, the Thornfield estate, his name, his life—everything he had. She wanted a loan, but he wanted to make her his queen.
The sheer innocence of it only made her more endearing, and Graham shook his head with a low laugh. “No, Isla,” he said softly, leaning forward just enough to capture her attention fully. His gaze locked on hers, intense and unwavering. “I’m not giving you a loan.”
Her expression faltered, a flicker of disappointment crossing her delicate features. It made his heart clench, but only for a moment, because he was about to change her entire world.
“What I mean,” he continued, his voice dropping into a deep, steady timbre, “is that you’ll never have to feel that way again. Like you don’t belong. Like you’re a stranger in your own home.” He leaned closer, his hand finding hers on the table again, his touch deliberate and firm, claiming her in the smallest of ways. “Thornfield Manor can be yours, Isla. Just as much as it is mine. It can be ours.”
He let the words hang in the air for a moment, his gaze never leaving hers, watching every subtle change in her expression. She looked confused, her brows knitting together as if she didn’t quite understand where he was going. But he did, and he would make sure she did too.
“If we get married,” Graham said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper, “if you become my wife, Thornfield Manor will be your home again. You’ll never have to feel like an outsider, Isla. Never again.”
Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, she seemed to stop breathing. He could see the disbelief in her eyes, the way her mind raced to process his words. But he wasn’t done.
“You said something last night,” he pressed, his tone more commanding now, his grip on her hand tightening just slightly. “You said you felt like you didn’t have a family anymore. That you didn’t belong anywhere.” His other hand reached out, brushing a stray curl away from her face, the intimacy of the gesture deliberate and charged. “You don’t have to feel that way anymore. I can be your family, Isla. As my wife, you’ll always belong to me.”
The last words were spoken with a possessive finality that sent a shiver down her spine. He didn’t just mean them as a promise—he meant them as a declaration, an unshakable truth. She would belong to him, in every sense of the word.