THE BILLIONAIRE'S GIRLFRIEND

TWENTY NINE

"What do you think about a trip to Venice?"

She was in the middle of spooning cereal into her mouth when the question came out of nowhere.

Malora met the eyes of the person opposite her in surprise. The surprise as a result of the fact that he'd barely let her walk around on her own ever since she woke up from whatever caused her unconsciousness. Among that was the attentiveness that never escaped him. He was always there, no matter what. Checking on her wakefulness as well as her nightmares.

It was disconcerting to be honest, because the extra attention only served to amp up her suspicions that something was up somewhere and he wasn't willing to let her know what it was.

Through eavesdropping on one of his numerous calls was she able to discover that she was in Mayfair, which was fair, because One Hyde Park didn't have all the extra stuff this place had. It was every realtor dream all rolled into one.

"Well?" He prompted after he'd disgested his bite of his crisp, buttered toast.

Malora allowed herself to take in that spoonful of cereal while holding his eyes. He seemed relaxed with his rules and a bit lighter around her, and she wanted to see how far she could go before he took back the reins.

They both chewed in relative silence for sometime; she in contemplative silence, he in patience. He knew she would eventually give in, which she did, albeit reluctantly.

"Why?" She asked, pushing away her bowl that was still mostly filled with milk and cereal. The expensive kind that made your tooth ache with its richness and sweetness.

"Eat," he commanded in between bites. "Why what?"

She crossed her arms instead, wincing a bit at her simpering ribs. While they didn't hurt as much as before, they still smarted when strained. "Why am I not in One Hyde Park? Why am I this badly bruised? Why are you suggesting a trip to Venice all of a sudden?"

It was his turn to push his plate away, and while she would like to say it gave her lots of pleasure to see him bothered, the truth was that it didn't. " Two of those questions—I'm afraid—I can't provide answers to just yet. And as for the third one...well...i have a business deal over there, and since you're still technically mine to do I as I please with, I am suggesting you come with."

"Of what use will I be there?"

He shrugged. "You tell me."

The cryptic bastard.

It was always this or that with him. There was no winning with the fucker.

It was just as well that few hours later, long past lunch time, Malora found herself on a private jet—because the bastard wasn't a normal person—heading to Venice. The pilot had helpfully informed them of the two hour and five minutes journey from London to Venice. And the helpful hostess, Simone as she introduced herself, had plied her with finger food of various types and sparkling water.

Having eaten to her fill, Malora kept herself busy with her laptop hoping for an inspiration to strike, meanwhile stealing glances at the man across from her. Since they got on the plane, he'd been busy with his own laptop, probably answering emails. It was like she was back to being nonexistent, and she was ashamed to admit that she missed his attention on her.

She bit her lower lip, staring at the blank page on her screen, willing anything to happen. When it didn't, she allowed herself another glance and met his gray eyes head on. Heat suffused her face instantly, but she did not look away.

"Is everything okay?" The words came out so soft that she almost missed them.

Malora licked her lips, a movement which he followed, and contemplated on her answer. Truth or Lie?