Chapter 4 4. JIBRIL (4)

JIBRIL

The restaurant overlooked the River Thames. Floor-to-ceiling windows, crystal chandeliers, expensive wine on every table, soft piano music in the background. The kind of place the media loved to photograph me in.

I adjusted the cuff of my three-piece army-green suit while I waited by the private dining area.

Olivia stood beside me in a navy evening gown, arms folded. “Are you sure she’ll do?”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

She sighed. “Dennison made me come. He’s at home with the kids. I’m only here to make sure you don’t ruin this.”

“He volunteered.”

“He was ordered,” she corrected. “And you know why.”

I shrugged. “So what’s the problem?”

Olivia looked at me for a long second. “I know you don’t love her.”

I didn’t deny it. “I don’t have to. I just need a fiancée.”

She didn’t answer, but I could see she felt sorry for me. I hated that.

“The media won’t stop,” I said flatly. “Every month it’s another headline. It's either them making up some secret marriage or that I dumped another model or that I refuse to settle down or that I'm hiding a wife. They invent scandals out of nothing. If putting a respectable woman on my arm shuts them up, that’s what I’ll do.”

“So this is damage control.”

“Exactly.”

“You treat your whole life like a press conference.”

“Football comes first.”

“And Mary McFelly?”

“I barely know her.”

That was the truth. I’d met her once, months ago, after a night out with teammates. She’d been calm, polite, not the usual type who threw themselves at footballers. I asked for her number on a dare.

Then the media storm got worse and suddenly a quiet, respectable fiancée seemed like the easiest solution. I told the press I was engageda and I texted her.

For six months we’d mostly messaged and spoken on the phone. No video calls. I sent gifts and money when she refused to let me pay for things. I knew the basics about her though; she has a sibling and she lost her husband. But that was about it.

Tonight was only the second time we were meeting face-to-face, and she was bringing her family—the sibling.

The engagement ring sat heavy in my jacket pocket.

Olivia nudged me. “There.”

I looked toward the entrance.

A young man walked in first, casual clothes that didn’t quite fit the place. For a second I thought I was seeing things. The young British referee.

But no, that was the same green-eyed bastard who’d yellow-carded me, argued with me, and then kissed me back like he meant it yesterday.

I was very pleased to see him.

I was less pleased that he was walking in with a woman who I didn't recognise to be Mary, my soon-to-be fiancee, until she smiled at me and hurried over.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said in that soft, perfect fiancée voice.

“It’s fine.”

She looked between me and Olivia, then settled on my sister. “I hope I didn’t keep you both waiting.”

Olivia smiled. “Not at all.”

Mary turned and gestured to the young man. “I wanted you two to finally meet. This is my younger brother, Jordan.”

Brother. Owh. I kept my face polite. “So you’re Jordan McFelly.”

He stared at me, his expression hardening instantly. I knew exactly what he was thinking. Yesterday, the wall, my mouth on his, and his cock getting hard against me.

I gave him a small, civil nod like we were strangers.

We all sat and Mary smiled, completely unaware. “Jordan, this is Jibril Reynolds. Yes, THE Jibril Reynolds.”

She sounded more excited than she should have. Perfect, she is the perfect actress for the job. Even though she's unaware that she's an actress is the movie called Jibril's Circle of Life.

I stretched my hand for a handshake but Jordan didn’t take my hand when I offered it. He just kept staring at me, awkwardly.

Olivia cleared her throat. “A little awkward, isn’t it?”

I ignored the tension the way I was supposed to. I reached into my jacket, pulled out the velvet box, and opened it. The diamond ring caught the light.

“This is why I asked you here tonight,” I said quietly to Mary.

Olivia smiled at Jordan. “Mary and JR have been seeing each other for several months now.”

Jordan froze. “What?”

Mary looked between us, still smiling. “I wanted you to be the first to know, Jordan.”

Jordan wasn’t listening. His eyes stayed locked on me, confusion, disbelief, then something else swimming in his eyes.

He pointed at me. “You…”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

I watched those lips and, for a second, all I could think about was how they’d felt yesterday. How they’d fought me. How I wanted them again on mine, on my cock next and anywhere I put them.

I kept my face calm and polite. The perfect future brother-in-law.

Finally Jordan blurted, “He’s gay.”

Mary’s smile vanished. “What?”

“He’s gay,” Jordan repeated, louder. “He—”

Olivia cut in immediately, voice cool. “No, he isn’t. Our family doesn’t accept that. We’re of Muslim descent and it’s not something that would ever be allowed.”

She said it like it was fact. I mean, the Muslim part is and I'm not gay but I'm Bi. Only Dennison, my sister's husband and manager, knew the truth, and he’d take it to the grave.

Mary shook her head quickly. “Jordan, that’s enough. You’re being ridiculous.”

I stayed quiet, expression neutral, like the accusation was so far beneath me it wasn’t even worth reacting to. Inside, I was watching the way Jordan’s throat moved when he swallowed, the way his hands had curled into fists on the table.

I wanted to lean across, grab him by the collar, and kiss the accusation straight out of his mouth in front of both of them. I wanted to remind him exactly how hard he’d gotten for me yesterday.

But instead I spoke calmly. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Jordan’s jaw clenched. He looked at Mary, then at the ring, then back at me. Whatever was going through his head was moving too fast.

He stood up so suddenly the chair scraped.

“My sister is not getting engaged to you.”

I kept my voice even, almost gentle. “The world already knows I’m engaged. I was referring to your sister when I made it public. I’m not changing that because of a misunderstanding.”

He stared at me for one more second, eyes full of things he couldn’t say in front of them. Then he turned and walked straight out.

“Jordan? Jordan!” Mary called.

He didn’t stop.

The doors swung open and he was gone, leaving the three of us in silence.

I sat back, still holding the open ring box, the perfect picture of a calm, civilised man whose evening had just been slightly interrupted by an insignificant peasant.