Mr Reluctant Billionaire || BWWM

Sixty-two

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Brandon murmurs.

Palming my belly, I nod. “Yep.”

Since I am too tired to walk to the movie room, I wait until Brandon’s return. He shows up soon, a bowl of popcorn in one hand and his laptop in the other. Beaming at me, he sets the popcorn down, drags me to sit in front of him while nestling his chin on my shoulder.

“What took you so long?” I ask, accepting the bowl of popcorn. I moan as a batch of the popped kernels disappears into my mouth, it has just the right amount of sugar and milk. Perfect.

His tongue makes a trail on my neck, my eyes droop. “I had to download the movie.”

Laughter bubbles in my throat, I twist my neck to get a view of his face but he ducks his head. Brandon is the only person I know who owns a laptop that has no movie, song, picture or streaming sites. If devices can be boring, then, his laptop wears the crown.

Darkness descends over our room, the first scene comes up. We stay this way, my back to his chest, our eyes glued to the screen while I feed him at long intervals. I shake my head when the woman is called to the stand, a disgruntled sound escaping me when she lies. She lied under an oath. For her murderer of a husband. Another sound escapes me when the jury rules in her husband’s favour, he walks out of the courtroom all smirks.

Someone molested his daughter. Someone whose trial was rescheduled. Dissatisfied by the judgment, the father of the child killed the molester in a moment of rage, covered his tracks poorly and lied under oath like his wife who provided him with an alibi. Liars.

To be honest, the molester deserved his death, the jury must have felt the same way too. Even the police who barely inspected the crime scene. They were relieved to see him gone, so was I but I can’t shake off the feeling that the father was wrong. He should have been more patient with the law. What if things had gone awry? His wife could have been jailed for perjury. His kids left to live with the stigma of having a murderer for a father.

I drum my fingers on Brandon’s thigh as the credit rolls in, a sinking feeling in the pit of my belly. Light floods our room, I hear a thud as Brandon drops the remote controlling the light system inside the drawer. I get off the bed to stretch, he appears in front of me.

“You don’t seem so happy,” Brandon says. I shrug, keeping my lips sealed. He brushes his lips against mine, I weave my fingers into his hair and smile. “Did you like the movie?”

The movie was cool until the end. “I don’t like that she lied.” Brandon edges backwards to glower at me, I raise a hand for him to let me explain my stance. “She lied under oath.”

He stretches one hand in my direction, lips puckered into an irritating frown. My bump does a good job of keeping us at a certain distance, I place a hand on my hips as a mighty wave of tiredness rolls over me. His frown deepens into a scowl, I have a dark feeling he will support the man and his wife. That thought scares and irks me. Murder is murder.

“If she hadn’t lied, her husband would have gone to prison,” he says through gritted teeth like he’s holding back the rest of his words and I nod. His eyes blaze with irritation and I shift my weight to one foot. “He would have been sentenced to life or death, Elna.”

“Rightfully so,” I chip in. Meeting his gaze, I clear my throat, wiping traces of annoyance from my voice. “You are not allowed to kill everyone who hurts you because you can.”

If he was irritated before, now he is furious. He runs his hand over his mouth as if trying to filter his reply, his condescending gaze sweeps over me and I find myself staggering backwards to increase the gap between us. I don’t like the direction of this conversation.