Chapter 88

**Hadassah POV**

“Welcome to the sea palatium,” Torin says.
With my nose almost pressed against the car window, I translate, “The sea palace.”
“Originally nicknamed the Temple of the Sea, an old monastery built by pilgrims during the latter part of the seventeenth century,” he educates with a critical undercurrent in his tone. “A relic of history that our dear host tore down to build his expansive estate.”
Expansive indeed with rigorous security checks that surpass protocols of presidents. The palace grounds are perched on a dramatic cliff, commanding panoramic vistas of the sea beyond. The cliff is lush with greenery, adding a natural frame to the majestic structure. Terraces and balconies extend from different levels of the palace’s facade. Some terraces even feature infinity pools that seem to merge with the glassy sea. Torin and I travel with a select few from his guard, as well as the one percenters who travel with a convoy of their own, which is why the dual lanes are clogged with exotic vehicles.
Eventually, it’s our turn for a swift drop off as the luxury car pauses perfectly in front. Our doors open in unison and I slip out. The main entrance presents a grandiose staircase leading up from a beautifully landscaped garden, with pathways made of polished stone. Soon Torin sidles my flank and he places a guiding hand on the small of my back as we ascend the pristine steps.
We are welcomed into a double-height foyer with a dramatic chandelier made of glass and metal, echoing the ocean waves. Once we’re inside we’re scanned and patted down professionally before we’re permitted access to the ballroom. The walls are adorned with intricate gold-leaf moldings and silk draperies in rich shades of deep burgundy and royal blue.
Elegant round tables are meticulously arranged throughout the ballroom, each draped in luxurious white linens with a subtle shimmer. The centerpieces are masterpieces of floral artistry with fine silverware, and crystal glassware that are set on the tables.
Torin leads us towards a particular table. The low hum of prim conversation fills the space, weaving through the elite crowd with their attire reflecting their status and sophistication.
“Torin Moon?”
Torin bristles like he already recognises the voice. A man I don’t know approaches with the cavalier of spotting an old friend with an aura of self-satisfied superiority in his crisp suit and pompadour hairstyle that simply emanates old money.
“We all took notice of such a dashing pair and I just had to know who they were,” he says, giving me a courteous but curious once-over. A glister of malicious mischief in his eyes before they spring back to Torin. “Turns out I know one of them.”
He extends a hand and Torin makes it a point to claim my hand, threading his fingers with mine as he fixes on an indulgent smile. The man’s eyes dart to my hand, inspecting the radiant cut 59.60-carat blood diamond ring that Torin gifted me that just happens to only fit the ring finger.
“I see a lot has happened since the divergence with your brother,” he remarks with an unreadable tone and he looks back at him inquisitively. “Is it true? You never know these days, people like to hear the sound of their own voice, especially our kind.”
*Our kind, the hell? They think their wealth makes them the superior species or something?*
“I’m afraid the rumors are true,” he says with a rueful sigh. “Our interests are no longer aligned.”
“You think it does when it comes to family?” he sneaks in a condescending chortle. “Blood is business and business is blood.”
“Well sometimes that blood commits an act that is beyond reconciliation.”
He gives a half-hearted nod. “I see. Well, you lost one thing of value and gained something else worth tenfold. Where ever did you find such an exquisite being?”
I swallow a retort that would drop his jaw right down to his saggy balls.
Torin glances at me. And I must look how I feel because he stifles an amused smile.
Torin slants closer to me. “Il mio tutto,” he says in a way that weakens my resolve. With a mocking tone, he adds, “Forgive my dear friend. Baldwin has a foreigner fetish, and by foreign, I mean anything that’s not a white woman.” Torin looks back at him with aloof apathy like he’s undeserving for further engagement. “If you will excuse us, Mrs Moon and I would like to get seated before the bidding starts.”
We move on to one of the tables close to the auction stage. Torin pulls out a chair for me and I settle on it. The chairs are upholstered in rich velvet, their high backs and gilded frames adding an extra touch of grandeur. I cross my leg over the other and Torin seats himself next to me before placing a possessive hand on my thigh, gliding it up to crest my knee as his thumb idly strokes the fabric, warming my skin beneath.
The raised stage is adorned with heavy velvet curtains in a rich, deep blue. The auction items are displayed with each piece illuminated by soft, focused lighting.
“Meeting ‘your kind’ actually makes me glad that I’m middle class.”
“You were middle class,” he corrects with his vigilant gaze on the bustling populace around us.
I look back at him with his impeccable side profile, well carved jaw with the honey-brown luxuriant strands of his textured middle part hair, every feature of his face sharp and refined with a regal reserve.
“You think I would purchase a wedding ring worth seventy million for just any hostage?”
I nearly choke on my own saliva.
I flick out my fingers for my eyes to skim over the blood diamond.
“Seven—seven,” I splutter like a blubbering idiot. I end my own embarrassment by sealing my lips close for a heated moment. I wait until I can compose a sensible sentence, and all I can muster is. “A wedding ring?”
“That is usually what a man in love does for the one he loves.”
He finally looks back at me. In that fleeting moment when our eyes lock, an invisible thread seems to intertwine between us. And I have no intangible way to sever the bind. In the midst of a crowded room, this eye contact becomes our private sanctuary.
“A wedding ring without the proposal? Even if, whatever made you think that your ‘hostage’ would say yes.”
He peers deeper into my eyes earnestly, leaning infinitesimally closer as if he’s seeing something only he can. “My hope, my confidence, springs from that gaze newly born in your eyes, an evolved light like a glimmer of the divine that never existed before.”
Why does he have to say stuff like that?
On its own whim, my manicured hand takes a hold of his chin.
“You really know how to work that tongue.”
“You want to know how well?”
He steals a kiss and it lingers sweetly before my mouth opens as an invite as his tongue unfurls inside before his tongue tangles with mine so lusciously, a small moan escapes me. And I break away before he captures my jaw with a ravenous grip, an insatiable look blazing red and raw in his eyes.
“Torin, we’re in public.”
With a humored grin, he says, “Just wait until we get home.”
I roll my eyes exaggeratedly as my gaze strays to the immaculately dressed waitstaff that glide through the crowd with practiced ease. They carry silver trays laden with champagne flutes and the one with a blonde buzzcut seizes my attention. I recognise the form before I catch a glimpse of his face. He offers his tray to a cluster of guests with a polite nod and smile. He picks up his head and his eyes flicker up to meet mine in the grand distance.
*Calum.*