Aiden presses his palm over hers, gently stopping her. “Nonsense. I’ll get him a plate.”

Jonathan raises a perfect brow. “I thought there was no more food.”

His son narrows his eyes on him for a beat before he disappears into the kitchen.

“How did you find me?” I whisper what I’m thinking.

This is another reason why I don’t drink. My inhibitions kind of disappear, and sometimes, I don’t know when I’m thinking aloud.

“I always know where you are.” He removes his jacket, places it on the chair beside him, and loosens his tie. “You don’t really think you can escape me, do you?”

I should focus on what he’s saying, but my entire attention is robbed by the way his lean, masculine fingers glide over the tie, wrapping around it. Tugging on it.

Why am I not that tie?

As if answering my thought, Jonathan’s knuckles glide over my cheek, turning up the heat a notch. “You’re warm. Have you been drinking?”

I motion at my half-empty third glass. “A little?”

His gaze holds mine, and I’m caged in the moment. It’s like he’s taking me hostage, and I can’t, under any circumstances, find a way out.

Not that I want to.

Aiden re-joins us and places the plate in front of his father — not so gently, might I add. Jonathan takes a moment before he drops his hand from my cheek.

“What is this supposed to be?” Jonathan asks as he stares at the pasta with meatballs.

“Food. Eat it.” Aiden pauses. “Or don’t.”

“You made it?”

“So what if I did?”

“Is it edible?”

“It is,” both Elsa and I say at the same time, then we break down in giggles.

Jonathan throws me an indecipherable glance before he takes a tentative bite of his food. Although Aiden pretends to be focused on his plate, his gaze keeps filtering back to his father.

The latter says nothing, but he keeps eating, which means he likes it. Jonathan is a tyrant and picky in everything — food included. He wouldn’t have continued if he didn’t like it.

Elsa asks Aiden to pass her the salt, and he says no because it’s not good for her health. Elsa tells him he’s being too much.

While they’re busy arguing, I lean over to Jonathan until his woodsy scent smothers me and murmur, “Tell him you like it.”

He turns his head so his lips are mere inches away from mine. His attention remains on my mouth as he whispers back, “What was that?”

I gulp at the heated look in his eyes. It’s so different from the one he gave me this morning. Maybe that one will never appear again? Or is this wishful thinking because I’m drunk. “The pasta. Tell Aiden you like it. That would mean so much to him.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

Even though he doesn’t show it — and never would — Aiden does care about his father’s approval, in a way. There’s just a deep hole between father and son that’s almost impossible to mend, and after talking with Aiden, I’m certain it started after Alicia’s death. Instead of fulfilling child Aiden’s emotional needs, Jonathan brought him up to be just like him. Impenetrable, hard, controlling. In his mind, he probably wanted his son to be the best, like everything about his own life. However, I don’t think Aiden knows that. I feel like he thinks his father doesn’t care about him in any other way, except for the fact that he’s his heir.

Jonathan does, though. I hear him every other day asking Harris for updates about Aiden and Levi. From the outside, it might seem like an extension of his control freak nature, and to some extent, it is, but he also makes sure they’re fine and protected. Jonathan is the type who brings the world down if anyone so much as bothers his family. He just doesn’t express it. In turn, Aiden doesn’t know it. There’s a huge gap between father and son, and it’ll take a long time to resolve the pile of miscommunication cluttered in their relationship.

But baby steps, right?

I pull away before Jonathan brushes his lips against mine. From the way he’s staring at me, I don’t doubt that he might actually do it.

It’s not only because of PDA, but I’m also kind of worried about my reaction in my drunken state. Who knows if I’ll start clawing at his clothes right in front of his son and daughter-in-law?

“It’s different from Margot’s.” Jonathan pauses eating to pour himself a glass of wine. “It’s good.”

Both Elsa and Aiden halt their banter about the salt and stare at Jonathan as if he’s grown a few heads.

I wouldn’t be surprised if this was the first time the tyrant ever complimented Aiden. He can be so heartless sometimes.

Okay, most of the time.

Aiden clears his throat but remains silent.

It’s Elsa who grins like a proud mama. “He cooks the best food ever.”

“Maybe he can cook something for the family dinner next time.” Jonathan is speaking to Aiden, but he stares at me over the rim of his glass, and I pretend I’m not the subject of his attention.

“Only if Levi does,” Aiden says.

“Make it a competition, then.” Jonathan takes a sip of his wine. “Aurora and I will be judges.”

Elsa points her glass of wine at herself. “How about me?”

“Your and Astrid’s votes aren’t subjective. You’re forbidden from voting.”

She appears disappointed, but she touches her husband’s bicep. “I’m sure Aiden will win.”

“We’ll see.”

I’m about to reprimand Jonathan for being his usual aloof self, but the sadistic spark in Aiden’s eyes stops me. He likes the challenge his father is throwing his and Levi’s way.

The King men surely think differently. It’s like they bond over battles and wars.

As a confirmation to my theory, after dinner, Aiden does the dishes, then sits with Jonathan around a coffee table on which there’s a glass chessboard. It’s similar to the one at home, where Jonathan has taught me how to play.

Or tried to, anyway. I usually end up straddling his lap or splayed all over the chessboard as he fucks me.

I fight the flush that covers my skin but fail. Thank God for the wine; otherwise, my arousal would be clear.

Both Jonathan and Aiden’s poses are similar, their grey eyes sharpened as they think of ways to bring the other down.

As Elsa and I finish our no-idea-how-many glass of wine, my attention is robbed by Jonathan’s pure masculine beauty. He leans both elbows on his knees and forms a steeple at his chin with his fingers. Those long fingers that I can’t stop staring at — or at him.

It takes them both a long time to make a move because, I assume, they calculate like hell before attempting it. When Jonathan slides a piece forwards, he’s so sure and confident. There’s no question that he’ll win. Aiden might pose a threat, but it’s still too early for him to beat his father.

That doesn’t stop the younger King from trying, though. He grew up to be a force not to be trifled with.

Be proud, Alicia. Your boy is now a man.

“They’re so alike,” Elsa whispers from beside me. We’re snuggled on the sofa opposite them, sharing a soft blanket.