King of Sloth (Kings of Sin, 4)
King of Sloth: Chapter 28

By some miracle, no one said a word when Xavier and I emerged from my office after our, uh, session yesterday. People were still trickling in from lunch, and the staff members who were there were too busy oohing and aahing over pictures of Princess Camilla to pay us any mind.

Thank the Lord for small favors.

I’d rescheduled my meeting and forgot about Xavier’s Vuk plan until we met up for dinner the next night. He hadn’t mentioned it beyond his initial text about it.

“Two questions,” I said as we meandered through downtown. “One, what’s the plan for Vuk? And two, where are we going for dinner? I’m starving.”

“Oh, now you’re hungry,” Xavier teased, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. The warm weight sent a swarm of butterflies diving and whirling in my stomach. “Yet you kicked me out when I tried to take you to lunch.”

“Because I remember what happened yesterday during lunch. I got zero work done.” I attempted a haughty look but ended up blushing at the sly glance he sent my way.

I did that a lot more these days, blushing. It was enough to drive a blush hater like me mad.

“I’m aware.” Xavier’s drawl went molten with desire. “You look good bent over your desk, Luna. Especially when your pussy is dripping with my—”

“Xavier.” The flush escalated to a five-alarm fire.

I glanced around us, convinced every other person on the sidewalk could hear his filthy words. I wasn’t a prude, but I didn’t want all the random Janes and Joes to know about my sex life either.

He laughed. “Fine. I’ll save the dirty talk for the hotel.”

The hotel? “Where exactly are we going?” I asked, my voice rife with suspicion.

“You’ll see. Ask me another question.”

“I hate your evasiveness.”

“You love it because you love surprises.”

“I’m a Virgo. I hate surprises.” Except for the Sunday meetup with Pen, but that didn’t count.

“Ask me another question, Luna,” Xavier said, ignoring my perfectly serviceable astrology argument. I was a firm supporter of hard science, but astrology was too fun to give up.

“Fine,” I grumbled. I was intrigued by what he had planned, but I’d never admit it. I didn’t need him springing surprises on me left and right. “The one you skipped. What was the Vuk plan you came up with?”

“The Vuk plan. Right.” We turned left onto a quiet street. “What are the driving forces behind every successful businessman? Why do they do what they do?”

Easy. “Money, power, and fame.”

“There’s one more.”

A furrow dug between my brows. “Ego? No, that falls under the other three. Revenge? Ambition? Spite?”

Xavier side-eyed me. “Passion.”

“Oh.” I wrinkled my nose. “Not as good as spite.”

That was what had driven me to build Kensington PR into what it was today. Yes, I was passionate about what I did, and yes, I needed the income, but during my darkest moments and most sleepless nights, spite was the fire that kept the darkness at bay.

I’d wanted to prove I could thrive without my family’s money or support, and I had. They wanted me to fail and ask for their help; I would rather tie the last brick of my business to my feet and jump into the Hudson before I gave them that satisfaction.

That was just me though. Maybe other people were different. “Perhaps not,” Xavier said dryly. “But I’ve been doing some research into Vuk, and he has an interesting history. Do you know how Markovic Holdings started?” I shook my head.

“Vuk worked for a small distillery in his hometown in high school. He loved the place but hated how it was run, so he hustled and saved until he had enough money to buy it outright after college. He studied chemical engineering, and after he took over the distillery, he revolutionized the vodka-making process to create…”

“Markovic Vodka,” I finished, naming the world’s most popular vodka brand.

“Exactly. Obviously, he’s come a long way since then, but the point is, this wasn’t a man who went into the business for money or fame. He saw something he loved, thought he could do it better, and did do it better. It took years and a shit ton of work, but he did it. That’s passion.” Xavier shook his head. “That was my mistake. I appealed solely to his business side and forgot about the heart.” I smiled. Vuk wasn’t the only passionate one; I’d never heard Xavier so fired up about something until the club.

“Appealing to his other side is a good idea,” I said. “When’s your next meeting with him?”

“Tomorrow. The problem is, I don’t have a frame for my pitch. I didn’t exactly grow up dreaming of being a nightclub owner.”

“No, but I distinctly remember a pile of discarded bar sketches in Colombia. They’re a start.”

“They’re also in the trash. In Colombia,” he pointed out.

“I’m guessing if you had them there, you’ll have some lying around here.” I arched an eyebrow. “I’ve seen your house. You still have a trophy for winning Biggest Flirt at prep school.”

“Hey, that trophy is made of solid fake gold. It’s worth its weight in sentimentality.” Xavier’s teeth flashed white against his tanned skin. “But you might be right about some old sketches lying around.”

“That’s why people pay me the big bucks,” I quipped.

We walked for another five minutes before we stopped in front of a charming brick building. Ivy blanketed its walls, and a peek through the glass door revealed an elegantly appointed lobby filled with plants and rich fabrics.

“It’s a new family-owned boutique hotel,” Xavier said. “It opened just a few months ago, but its restaurant serves some of the best Thai food in the city.”

My stomach rumbled at the mention of food. “Sold.”

“One more thing before we go in.” His face sobered with a touch of nerves. “I booked the hotel for the night in case you’d rather stay here. With me. Their suites are beautiful, and—”

“Okay.” My heart thudded out another response.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Surprise flashed in his eyes, followed by a slow smile that sent a cascade of tingles down my spine.

“Okay,” he repeated.

That was all we needed to say.

“Good evening, Mr. Castillo.” The front desk recognized him on sight. “Which of our suites would you like to stay in tonight?”

“We’ll take the Royal Suite and dinner by the pool. Please send pajamas and toiletries as well. We didn’t bring any luggage.”

“Of course. If you change your mind, any of our other suites are at your disposal.”

I paused, turning over her words. “Wait.” I fixed Xavier with a disbelieving stare. “When you said you booked the hotel, you booked the whole hotel?”

“I like supporting family businesses.” His dimples twinkled with mischief. “I also like privacy.”

The businesswoman in me said he shouldn’t be splashing money around like this when the fate of his inheritance hung in the air.

The romantic in me said to shut up and enjoy the experience. For the first time in my life, the romantic won.

The concierge gave us a quick tour of the hotel’s amenities before taking us outside, where dinner would be served.

“If you’d like to order more food, swimwear, or any other amenities, you can do so using these cards,” she said, handing us each a slim gold card. They had several white buttons embedded in them for various purposes, including housekeeping, dining, and general services. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you,” I said.

The door closed behind her, I turned, and… My heart skipped an awed beat. Wow.

I’d stayed at many luxury hotels in my life. Most were pretty generic in the way all luxury hotels were, but this place was beautiful.

The turquoise lagoon pool featured a miniature waterfall at one end and a hot tub on the other. Lush foliage and custom rockscapes enhanced the tropical vibes, while a cushioned, candlelit cabana infused the scene with dreamy romanticism. Overhead, a glass dome protected the entire space from the elements, and the temperature was a perfect, balmy seventy-five degrees.

We weren’t in Manhattan; we were in the freaking Garden of Eden.

Xavier laced his fingers through mine and pulled me toward the cabana. When we got closer, I noticed the low wooden table was covered with food.

Correction: it was covered with a feast. Coconut puff sticks sat next to grilled and marinated chicken skewers; classic pad Thai noodles starred alongside pineapple fried rice served in an actual hollowed-out pineapple, and an array of soups and curries perfumed the air with lemongrass, ginger, cumin, and a dozen other mouthwatering spices.

My stomach rumbled again with eagerness.

“There’s no way we’ll finish all this,” I said, sinking onto one of the giant cushions that doubled as a seat.

“Probably not,” Xavier admitted. “I didn’t know what dishes you like best, so I ordered a bit of everything.” Another peek of his dimples. “None with walnuts though.”

Those butterflies in my stomach were getting out of hand; I needed pest control or something.

“I don’t think walnuts are usually featured in Thai cooking,” I said, trying to hide the swell in my chest.

“You never know. What do you have against those poor nuts anyway?”

“They look like brains. It creeps me out…Stop laughing.”

“I’m not laughing,” he managed through gusts of laughter. “I just didn’t expect that to be the reason.”

I attempted to hold on to my indignation—my reason for hating walnuts was perfectly valid, thank you very much—but Xavier’s amusement was too infectious, and a smile eventually cracked my frown.

Our rapport took on an easy rhythm as we ate our way through the feast. Talking to Xavier was like talking to one of my best friends. I didn’t have to scrounge for topics or worry he’d take something I said the wrong way. He understood me, and as our conversation wound from food, film, and music to travel, I relaxed to the point where I forgot about everything outside this moment.

“Thailand,” Xavier said when I asked about his favorite places he’d visited so far. “I went after college, fell in love, and stayed there for an entire summer. It was hot as hell, so I spent most of my time at the beach.” A hint of wistfulness flickered over his face. “My mom was a fan too. When I was young, she would tell me about her adventures abroad and how she always went back to Thailand. The culture, the nature, the food…” He nodded at the half-empty dishes in front of us. “She loved it all.”

I remained quiet lest I spook him into withdrawing. Xavier never talked about his mother, and I was fascinated by the glimpse into their relationship.

I knew they’d been close. They’d had to be, considering how devastated he’d been by her death, but I didn’t know the details—the little things that transformed Patricia Castillo from an amorphous piece of the past to a concrete memory.

“Maybe that was why I stayed so long,” Xavier said. “It made me feel closer to her.”

My chest tightened, mirroring the weight he bore. I’d had a few more years with my mother than he’d had with his, but I understood the desire to connect to someone who was no longer there. Their presence, no matter how brief, left an emptiness that could never be truly filled.

“My mother wrote me a letter when I was born.” Xavier’s mouth twisted in a wry smile when my gaze jerked up to his in shock. “I didn’t know about it until last month. My father told me about it during our…during our last conversation. He said he’d forgotten about it because my mom placed it in a safe. I don’t know if I believe him, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. He’s dead, and I have the letter.”

His shrug looked forced. He could pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. We both knew that.

“Did you read the letter?” I asked softly.

His Adam’s apple slid up and down his throat. “Yes.”

I waited, not wanting to push him on such a sensitive topic. I was curious about the letter, but I was more concerned about Xavier. Dealing with his father’s death and a long-lost letter from his mother in such a short period of time must’ve taken a huge toll, especially since he didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. I was the closest thing he’d had to a confidant in that house.

The tightness in my chest compounded.

“It’s funny,” Xavier finally continued. “When I read that letter, I could hear her voice. It was like she was right there, watching over me. She said she couldn’t wait for me to discover my favorite places in the world and that, if I were ever at a loss as to where to go, I should choose a place by the beach. I went to Thailand long before I knew the letter existed, but coincidentally, the beach was one of the reasons I chose to go there. It was far away from my father, surrounded by water, and it reminded me of my mother.” A faint smile. “It was a triple win. I just wish…” The smile faded beneath a shadow of melancholy. “I wish I would’ve found that letter sooner. I might’ve lived my life a little differently. Done things I’d be more proud of.”

“You’re not a bad person, Xavier,” I said, my voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything egregious that you should be ashamed of. And you may not have read her letter until recently, but I think a part of her was always there with you, guiding you. Besides…” My mind slipped to five years ago, when I’d walked away from the only family I’d ever known at the time. “It’s never too late for change. If you’re unhappy with the road you’re traveling, you can choose a new one at any time.”

Xavier stared at me, his eyes a hurricane of emotions I couldn’t decipher.

“I wish she could’ve met you,” he said, so quiet that I felt more than I heard his words. “She would’ve loved you.”

The tightness behind my ribs morphed into a raw, pervasive ache. It spread everywhere—my throat, my nose, behind my eyes and in the deepest grooves of my heart.

I didn’t cry, but this was the closest I’d come to doing so in a long, long time.

“She left this with the letter.” Xavier reached into his pocket and retrieved an antique gold pocket watch. He set it on the table and ran a pensive thumb over the case. “It’s a family heirloom. I’m not a watch person, but I’ve been carrying it around because…I don’t know. It felt right.”

“It’s gorgeous.” I picked the watch up gingerly and opened it, admiring the sapphire accents and exquisite craftsmanship. Whoever made it obviously did so with love; every element was hand tooled to perfection, including the faded but legible engraving: The greatest gift we have is time. Use it wisely.

I studied it, careful not to rub against the time-worn letters. “The quote is a good reminder, isn’t it?” The corners of Xavier’s mouth flicked up without humor. “I wasted years doing nothing with my life. I was so resentful of my father and so scared of fucking up that I didn’t even try. It made sense to me at the time but…” His voice caught. Stalled. Then the conversation turned in a direction I didn’t expect. “Do you know why my mom died?”

I closed the pocket watch and returned it to the table, my heart pounding. “It was a house fire. She didn’t make it out in time.”

“No, that’s how she died, not why.” The hurricane in his eyes brewed into something darker, stronger, beyond the confines of categories. “She died because of me.”

Nothing could’ve prepared me for the punch of his words. Air evacuated from my lungs, and a bruise blossomed where the impact hit, unexpected and agonizing. “Xavier…”

“Don’t,” he said harshly. “Don’t try to say it’s not my fault until you hear the whole story.”

I lapsed into silence, my eyes burning with unshed emotion. “I was ten. My father was away for business, and my mom was volunteering at an event. She loved art, so she donated a lot of money and time to local galleries.” Xavier swallowed. “My father’s birthday was the day after his scheduled return. She wanted to surprise him with a party, and she put me in charge of the decorations. It was my first time being in charge of something so important. I wanted to make them both proud, so I went all out. Balloons. Piñatas.” His knuckles whitened. “Candles.”

An invisible anchor dragged my heart through my stomach. No. “I did a test run to see how everything would look,” Xavier said. “But I thought I heard a noise in another room, and I got distracted. I accidentally knocked one of the candles over.” His eyes were bleak. “I tried to put it out, but there was wood and cardboard everywhere. The fire spread too quickly, and I got trapped. Luckily, we didn’t have a lot of staff back then, just a housekeeper. She was outside checking the mail, and when she saw the flames, she called the fire department. But my mom came home right then, and when she found out I was inside, she didn’t wait for the firefighters. She ran in and pulled me out. We almost made it to the front door before a beam fell and trapped us again. I don’t remember much of what happened after that. I passed out from too much smoke inhalation. When I woke up, I was outside with the medics. I survived. She didn’t.”

I didn’t think; I just reached out and closed my hand around his, wishing I could do something, anything, except listen helplessly.

“My father rushed home when he heard the news. I don’t think he truly believed my mother, his wife, was gone until he saw her body. And when he did…I’d never heard anyone cry like that. Sometimes, I can still hear it. It was almost inhuman.” Xavier brushed his fingers over the pocket watch, his expression taut. “He loved my mother more than anyone else in the world. They’d met in college, the aspiring businessman and the heiress who fell in love with his charm, his ambition, his loyalty. She was the reason why he worked so hard to build the Castillo Group, and when she died, a part of him died with her.”

Xavier lifted his head again, his gaze clouded with decades-old anguish. “He blamed me. After her funeral, he told me he wished I were the one who’d died instead of her. He was drunk at the time. Really drunk. But I’ve never forgotten those words. The truth always comes out when our inhibitions come down.” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I couldn’t breathe through the knots in my chest.

I had a shitty family, but I couldn’t imagine a parent saying that to their child. Xavier had been ten. He’d been just a kid.

“The thing is, I didn’t blame him,” he said. “Not at first. It was my fault. If I hadn’t been stupid enough to light that one damn candle, there wouldn’t have been a fire, and my mother would still be alive. But the older I got, the more I…” Xavier faltered. “I don’t know. I got angry too. Anger was easier to swallow than guilt, and my father was right there, taking his rage out on me. Physically, mentally, emotionally. He still wanted me to take over the company because he had no other choice. I was his only heir. But outside of that obligation, he hated me, and I hated him back.” He tapped a tattoo on his bicep. It featured the family crest for the Castillos’ biggest rival and had set social media ablaze when he first got it. “One year, I came home with this, and I left with scars.”

My stomach roiled at his matter-of-fact tone.

“My father was the only parent I had left,” Xavier said. “It should’ve brought us closer, but it drove us apart. Every time we were together, we were reminded of who was missing, and it hurt too much. So we lashed out in our different ways, and by the time I graduated college, I was done. I didn’t want anything to do with him or the company—except when it came to money. It doesn’t reflect well on me, but it’s the truth.”

Heavy silence descended, punctuated by the soft burble of water and faint music from inside the hotel.

Xavier stared at where my hand rested over his, a thousand emotions passing over his face before he shook his head.

“I’m sorry.” He let out a rueful laugh. “This was supposed to be a beautiful dinner, and I dragged you into the most morbid conversation possible.” He tried to pull his hand away, but I stopped him with a firmer grip.

He’d been there for me at the hospital, in Spain after my father’s email, and in a dozen other situations and ways he didn’t know mattered as much as they did.

It was my turn to be there for him.

“This is a beautiful dinner. Coconut puffs are the way to my heart,” I said, earning myself a shadow of a smile. “But before I say what I’m about to say, I want you to know two things. One, I’m terrible at comforting people. I have no talent or desire to do so, and tears make me uncomfortable. Two, I hate platitudes. They’re fake and stupid. So I want you to listen carefully when I say this: It wasn’t your fault. You were a kid, and it was an accident.” I squeezed his hand, wishing I could imprint my sincerity into his skin because I meant every word. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Xavier’s eyes gleamed bright and turbulent. Playboy, heir, hedonist, flirt—those masks were gone, leaving only the man in their place. Raw in his vulnerability, flawed in many ways, and marred by cracks and bruises beneath a deceptively polished façade.

I looked at him, and I’d never seen anyone more beautiful.

His hand curled around mine and squeezed. Just once. Just enough to jump start a piece of my heart I’d never known existed. Then the cracks sealed, the bruises faded, and he stood, withdrawing his hand from mine to pull his shirt over his head.

I was so thrown by the sudden shift in atmosphere that I didn’t find my voice until he was halfway to the pool. “What are you doing?”

“Skinny-dipping.” His pants joined his shirt on the ground.

“You can’t skinny-dip here,” I hissed, glancing around. “There are security cameras, and someone could come out any second.”

“No one will come out unless we call them. Even if they do, they can’t see anything if we’re in the pool.” Xavier shed his boxers, his smile containing equal parts challenge and amusement. “Come on, Luna. Don’t make me do this alone.”

He stood in front of the pool, all bronzed skin and sculpted muscle, as naked and unabashed as a Greek statue come to life. Soft lights spilled over the hard contours of his body, tracing the ridges of his abs and the strong, lean sinew of his legs.

A hot ripple wavered through me, coupled with a surprising pinch of envy.

What would it feel like to be that carefree and spontaneous? To do something I wanted without worrying about the consequences?

Oh, what the hell. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen the goods before.

I made an impulse decision and stood before I changed my mind. Xavier’s eyes darkened as I walked toward him, shedding my dress, tights, and underwear with each step.

By the time I reached him, I wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing, and it felt good. More than good. It felt freeing.

“Stunning,” he whispered, and I felt that one word from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

We sank into the pool, our movements languid as we relished the silky, heated waters. We didn’t talk; we simply floated there, unburdened by the weight of our clothes and long-hidden secrets, our fingers interlacing more out of habit than thought.

It was impossible to see stars in the city sky, but the quiet, the warmth, and the fragrance of exotic blooms jeweling the air transformed our little pocket of New York into a magical secret world, at least for tonight.

Our lives weren’t perfect, but here, together, we were at peace.

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