Chapter 4 My Savior

♤YASMIN♤

Later that night, after everyone disperses, I find myself standing by the window in Jonathan’s bedroom, staring out at the city lights without really seeing them.

The door opens behind me, but I do not turn around. I already know it is him by the weight of his footsteps.

His presence fills the space behind me, and then his arms wrap around my waist from behind, pulling me back against his chest. His chin rests on my shoulder, his breath warm against my ear.

I stiffen.

“You are thinking too loudly,” Jonathan says. “Are you bothered by everything they said?”

I do not answer at first. I stay quiet, my eyes fixed on the lights outside, because after everything that happened earlier, after the snide comments, the cold stares, and the way Daniel pointed out my face next to that portrait on the wall, I have started to question every decision that led me here.

My aunt’s voice in my head, telling me to find stability, to find a secure man, to enjoy life, suddenly feels very far away. All I can hear now are the echoes of that room.

Jonathan’s hand roams over my side, slow and possessive, and my skin crawls beneath his touch.

He has been nothing but nice to me, always has been, but I am starting to understand that his niceness is just another form of control.

I pull away from him gently, turning to face him with my arms crossed over my chest. The distance between us feels wider than the few feet of floor.

“They are right, are they not?” I say, my voice quieter than I intend. “You are marrying me because I am your late wife’s doppelgänger.”

Jonathan’s expression does not change. That is the thing about him. He can hear the most devastating accusation and still look like he is deciding what to order for breakfast.

He tilts his head slightly, studying my face the way he has studied me since the first night we met in Ibiza, and for a moment I think he might deny it. He might laugh it off, call Daniel dramatic, tell me I am being foolish.

But he does not.

Instead, he walks past me toward the window and stands with his hands clasped behind his back, looking out at the same city I was staring at moments ago. The silence stretches between us, heavy and uncomfortable, until finally he speaks.

“You resemble her,” he finally admits. “There is no point in pretending otherwise. When I saw you at that party in Ibiza, do you want to know what stopped me?”

I shake my head, even though he is not looking at me.

“It was not your dress or your smile,” he continues. “It was your eyes. For one second, just one, I thought she had come back to me.”

My stomach turns. I want to be angry, and part of me is, but another part of me feels pity.

For him, for me, and for the dead woman whose face I apparently wear like a costume.

“So that is it, then,” I say, my voice steady even though my hands are trembling. “I am not Yasmin to you. I am her replacement.”

Jonathan turns to face me then, and his eyes are softer than I expect, which somehow makes it worse.

“You are not a replacement,” he says. “You are your own person. But yes, when I first saw you, it was her face that drew me in. What made me stay was you.”

I want to believe him. I really do. But the weight of it all presses down on my chest until I can barely breathe.

“I need some air,” I say, already moving toward the door.

“Yasmin.”

I stop but do not turn around.

“It does not matter why I asked you to marry me,” Jonathan says. “What matters is that I am asking. And I am not a man who asks twice.”

I close my eyes, take a breath, and walk out of the room without looking back.

I go to the terrace. The cool night air hits my face as I step outside, and I lean against the stone railing. The city sprawls beneath me endlessly, and I stand there thinking about whether I am about to make the greatest mistake of my life.

“Regretting already?” a voice calls from behind me. “That is fast.”

I do not have to turn around. I remember that voice, sharp and unmistakably Beauty.

I keep quiet, staring blankly into the night, hoping she will take the hint and leave. But people like Beauty Cross do not take hints.

“There is still time to back out,” she says.

“I never said I was backing out,” I blurt without thinking.

“Ohhh,” Beauty coos, tilting her head toward me with a smile that does not reach her eyes. “So you can talk? I was starting to think Daniel had scared you mute back there.”

I finally turn to look at her, taking in her French features and perfect bob. In her left hand is a half-full bottle of rosé, the same one I was drinking earlier.

“Your brother is rude,” I say simply. “But that is not enough to scare me.”

Beauty’s smile widens, and something flickers in her expression.

“Good,” she says. “Because you are going to need more of this attitude if you plan on lasting in this family.”

I want to fire something back at her, but she shuts me up by shoving the bottle of rosé into my chest. I quickly grab it.

“You will need more of that,” she says with a wink, already turning away like she has just done me the greatest favor in the world.

“It is yours, by the way,” she adds over her shoulder, not bothering to look back. “Finish what you started.”

I clutch the bottle to my chest and watch as she struts away.

“Weird,” I murmur, shaking my head as I lift the bottle to my lips and take a long drink.

At first, it is fine. But then my head starts to feel light and fuzzy. The terrace tilts under my feet and my limbs go heavy, like someone has filled them with sand. I blink hard, but it only makes things worse.

Poison. The wine has been poisoned.

The thought hits me like a slap. I should have known. Why would someone like her be nice to me? God, I am so stupid.

The bottle slips from my fingers and shatters into a million pieces on the stone floor. I am about to slump to the ground when a figure appears from the terrace door and catches me, pulling me into a hard chest.

I try to open my eyes, try to see who has saved me, but my vision is already gone, swallowed by darkness.

But then he speaks, whispering my name like he has been waiting years to say it.

“Yasmin.”

I freeze instantly, my fading mind latching onto that sound like a lifeline.

That voice…