The-Sinful-King-By-Claire-Contreras-PDF

“Some will beg to di er,” Aramis said. “I’m some.”
“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“No, you misunderstand.” Aramis turned to me. “I like
this. He’s happy. He’s never been happy before.”
“Surely, that’s not right.” I sco ed.
“We’re actors, Adeline. We pretend a lot for the public.
We smile, we laugh, we prance around for cameras to make
sure the people paying taxes to a ord all of the things we
have think there’s no possible way that while they’re
struggling financially, we’re struggling emotionally. People
think rich people aren’t allowed to be in pain because they
have money. We’re told this so often that at a certain point
we begin to believe it.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “We’re
human though.”
I looked at him for a few beats, at this man who looked so
much like his brother, and let his words sink in. All of the
things he said made sense, of course. It was just
unfathomable that he would be so open about all of it.
“I like you.” I set my hand on his forearm.
“Good.” He smiled wide. “I like you too.”
We turned back to where Elias was sitting behind his
desk. He was wearing a navy suit with a white dress shirt
beneath it. He’d opted not to wear a tie and unbutton the
collar. His dark hair was brushed back and there was a light
five o’clock shadow on his face. He looked so fucking
handsome and while his brother, Pierre, and I were balls of
nerves, Elias looked completely at ease.
“Ready?” the cameraman asked. There were three
reporters in the room standing behind the cameraman, all
with notepads and pens in their hands, their expressions
eager and in awe.
“Ready,” Elias confirmed. He looked over at me and
winked. I smiled, but wasn’t sure if it was believable, as
nervous as I was.