Chapter 26

Kenya.

I knew exactly what he intended with the gifts he’d bought—those expensive, delicate silk nightgowns that seemed designed to strip away my defenses. But I chose to ignore them. Instead, I wore my pale blue cotton pajamas, my hair twisted into a pair of simple braids. With my eyes still red from earlier and my spirit weary, I felt anything but the poised woman he wanted me to be.

"Why aren't you wearing one of the dresses I got for you? And why aren't you in our bedroom?" Levi’s voice broke the silence. I turned away, staring blankly out the window at the city lights of Manhattan.

"You have already forced this marriage upon me," I mumbled, my voice barely a whisper. "You can't force anything more."

Before this entanglement, there had been an undeniable spark between us—a fire of genuine interest. Now, I tried to convince myself I felt only resentment. Yet, as he stood there, I couldn't deny the subtle, persistent pull I felt toward him. It was a quiet magnetic force, wrecking my resolve from within.

I heard his footsteps approaching. Before I could react, he was standing directly in front of me.

"You're right," he said, his tone surprisingly indifferent. "I can't force your heart. But I can do this." Without another word, Levi scooped me off the bed, cradling me securely in his arms. I let out a small yelp of protest, my hands instinctively clutching his shoulders to steady myself.

"Put me down, Levi! I am not a prize to be moved around!"

"You have two choices, Kenya," he said, his stern gaze meeting mine. "One, you come with me quietly and maintain your dignity before the staff. Or, you can protest all the way down the hall, and I will still be carrying you regardless."

I panted with indignation, my jaw tightening. Something in the sheer determination of his gaze told me he wasn't backing down. I fell silent.

He walked us out of the room and across the hall, eventually entering the sprawling, modern kitchen. It was a masterpiece of black marble, stainless steel, and warm wood tones—a reflection of his sophisticated, albeit cold, taste.

Levi gently deposited me onto the smooth surface of the kitchen island.

"Tamar informed me that you refused dinner," he said simply, turning to the refrigerator. He began pulling out ingredients: tomatoes, fresh lettuce, and some roasted chicken. I watched him, my anger slowly being replaced by a flicker of curiosity.

As he began to move around the kitchen with practiced ease, chopping vegetables and boiling water, the silence between us grew less heavy.

"I didn't know you could cook," I finally admitted.

Truthfully, I had intended to hop off the island and walk away the moment he set me down. But I found myself captivated by his focus. He moved with a grace that was unexpected for a man of his stature. The aroma of the sauce—a rich blend of tomatoes and red wine—began to fill the room, and despite my resolve, my stomach betrayed me with a quiet rumble.

"We didn't always have a house full of staff," he replied, a faint, almost boyish smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Our gazes held for a moment, and I felt a strange flutter in my chest. I quickly looked down, my eyes catching on his forearms. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong, tan skin and the steady focus of a man who knew what he was doing. My gaze lingered on a tattoo on his inner forearm—an intricate image of the Blessed Virgin standing over a pair of strikingly green, feminine eyes.

"Your tattoo... it's extraordinary," I said sincerely, leaning in slightly.

"Thank you," he said softly. He drained the pasta and added the chicken and spices to the simmering vegetable sauce. After a long pause, as if weighing whether to share more, he continued, "They are my mother’s eyes."

He turned off the stove and reached for the plates. A shadow of bitterness crossed his face as he added, "We were all expected to carry something... extraordinary. This was my choice."

I wondered who the 'we' referred to, but his expression remained guarded. He placed a steaming plate of pasta before me. The flavors were a revelation—savory, rich, and comforting. For a few minutes, my anxiety and indignation vanished, replaced by the simple, grounding pleasure of a good meal.

When I finished, I realized Levi was watching me with a look of quiet amusement. Feeling a flush of embarrassment at how eagerly I had eaten, I searched for something to say.

"You can have my portion if you're still hungry," he offered with a small smile.

I shook my head, feeling a rare, genuine smile touch my own lips. "I couldn't eat another bite, as much as I’d like to."

He chuckled softly and began to eat his own meal. We sat there in a newfound silence—not one of war, but of a temporary, fragile truce.

After the meal, the atmosphere shifted. Levi reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out a small, long velvet box. He didn't say a word as he opened it to reveal a delicate diamond chain, designed to be worn around the thigh.

"This is the final piece of your ensemble for the gala tomorrow," he said, his voice dropping to that low, commanding register.

I looked at the shimmering diamonds, then at him. "Levi, this is too much."

"It is exactly what is required," he countered. He knelt before me as I sat on the island. The cool metal of the chain touched my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the kitchen. There was no crudeness in his actions, only a meticulous, almost reverent attention to detail as he fastened the clasp.

The weight of the diamonds against my skin felt like another vow, another mark of the world he was determined to keep me in. When he finished, he looked up at me, his eyes dark with an intensity that made my breath hitch.

When he carried me back upstairs later, I didn't protest. I leaned my head against his shoulder, watching his handsome profile in the dim light, wondering which version of the man holding me was the real one—the one who cooked for me in the dead of night, or the one who marked me with diamonds.