Freya Arsov sits on top of a world of diamonds and sports cars. Her father is a billionaire, head of a world-renown company, her mother, an esteemed lawyer. She attends the most prestigious boarding school in England. She has four amazing best frien...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✦✦✦
FREYA WOKE UP, SOMEWHAT TILTED TO THE SIDE. She blinked awake, lifting off the warm chest that she was laying upon.
To her surprise, she looked down only to find a pair of golden eyes staring back up at her. Matthew smiled a sleepy smile. "Good morning."
Warmth flooded her. She found herself grinning down at him like a fool. "Hi."
In the events of yesterday, they'd somehow ended up in her childhood room, located on the Eastern wing of the manor.
He'd paused mid-kiss, as they'd broken past the white double doors, to study the large space of her room with sparkling eyes.
"What?" Freya had asked.
Eyes straying from a little matryoshka doll she had settled above the fireplace opposite her bed, Matthew looked back to her, tapped her squarely on the nose and remarked, "Cute."
Freya had glared at him but he'd only laughed and kissed her again.
He'd kissed her a lot in the space between their conversation in the library and now, almost as though he were making up for the weeks they'd spent apart. Freya wasn't complaining.
Apparently, he still wasn't pleased with the number of kisses, for it was now morning and Matthew's dark lashes fluttered at her before he leaned up and captured her lips. As always, she melted into him.
When he pulled away, her eyes were closed. Slowly, she reopened them to find him studying her with that artist's eye of his, radiant in the shy morning light streaming through the large windows adjacent to her bed.
His eyes were the most beautiful thing in the world, she decided then and there. Every inch of him was perfect.
"Yes?" Freya lifted a brow at him, but found that her cheeks were hot.
He smirked at that, tapping her on the cheek. "Are you blushing, Freya Arsov?"
Yes, she was blushing. Because his stupid eyes were on her in that way of his, that told her his brain was racing with ideas of paint combinations and brushes on a canvas. And it sent her heart racing just to look at him. He was an artist, yes. But he was also art. Her own masterpiece.
She lowered her gaze challengingly, swallowing all the schoolgirl giddiness. "So what if I am, al Nassar?"
A grin carved his lips— or were they hers? In an easy movement, as smooth as air, he had them flipped over so that her back hit the mattress in a soft thud and his molten gaze drew into hers from above. A small smile framed his mouth. "I'd say it's cute," Matthew stated, tilting his head down at her.
But before either of them could make another move, the bed gave an abrupt cracking sound and then they were both jolted quite suddenly to the side.
