Forbidden Temptation My Mafia Fiance's Alpha Father (Brooklyn and Aden) novel Chapter 50

Chapter 50
Aden

I’m holding my breath, waiting to see who has finally come to dinner, waiting to see if Brooklyn is here, if her tears are gone… when Jayde breezes in.

“Hey baby,” she says with a big smile, settling into her seat across from me and looking at my plate. “What, you couldn’t wait for me?”

She looks up at me then, and her smile falters. She can see, clearly, that I’m in a foul mood and she has to tread very, very carefully.

“Wait for you?” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Why should I wait for you, when you are late?”

Jayde glances at the grandfather clock on the far wall and winces.

She is late, by five whole minutes. Something that she knows I do not stand for.

The chef comes through the door again, putting an entrée and bread in front of her.

“I didn’t know we were on such formal terms in this house,” she says casually. “I’m sorry, I won’t be late again.”

I narrow my eyes at her further and wait until she realizes her mistake.

The right choice would have been all apology, but instead, she made a joke.

She screws her mouth shut, looking down at her plate and taking a piece of bread out of its little basket, fiddling with it between her long-nailed fingers.

Do you think,” I ask slowly, “that I should wait for you? That as the Alpha of this house, I should be at your beck and call?”

Slowly, Jayde shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “You’re right, I should have been on time.”

“Damn right you should have been.”

“You are not my mate,” I say again, banging my hand on the table. “You are here at my leisure. And if you decide that you no longer wish to be, no longer wish to receive my generosity and my gifts, you are free to leave at any time.”

Her chin begins to shake a little, from frustration or tears, I’m not sure.

Still, she knows her place in this relationship. She always has. I let her get away with a lot—I treat her, spoil her, rarely contradict her.

But really, deep down? She knows she’s here for one thing.

Slowly, she stands and—giving me a proud look she can’t help—walks from the room, heading up the stairs. To the third floor, the attic.

The room that I keep there. The room she absolutely hates.

I call to the chef for his next course. When it’s delivered, I quickly slice the steak into pieces, biting it down without tasting it.

When I’m finished, I toss my napkin onto the table and follows Jayde up the stairs.