CHAPTER SIX
1345 Words
“Know what, darling?” She tilted her head, diamonds catching the light.
He studied her. The diamonds on her neck.The smile. The way she looked at him like he was a son she’d been waiting for, not collateral her husband dragged home.
She didn’t know. About the deal. About the three months. About the knife to Than Phu Yai’s throat. She thought this was an arranged marriage between allies. A political match, maybe, but a match. Not a leash.
“Nothing,” Kirin said, and managed a smile. It felt rusty. “It’s nothing. I’m just... tired. From the flight home and everything else.”
“Of course you are,” she said instantly, fussing again.
“And this room! So bare. Khan told them to keep it neutral until you chose your own things, but neutral is just another word for sad, isn’t it? We’ll fix that. Tomorrow we’ll go into the city. You’ll tell me what colors you like. Designs. We’ll get you new canvases. Proper light. I want this to feel like yours, not a hotel.”
She kept talking. About the gardens and how the lotus pond would look beautiful behind his sketches.
About the chef and how he made mango sticky rice that could end wars.
About how Khan was grumpy in the mornings but a darling if you got him coffee first, black, no sugar — “Mom always says I’m impossible before caffeine,” he’d grumble.
About how she’d always wanted a daughter-in-law to fuss over, and how the gods had sent her Thee Young Master Kirin Theerakul instead.
Kirin listened. And for the first time in three days, the noose around his neck felt a little looser.
She didn’t know. And for now, he wouldn’t be the one to tell her.
After Na Mai left, Kirin tried to get some rest on her insistence but he couldn't. With the reality of his situation and what was at stake pressing down on him, Kirin was beyond stressed. So instead, he got to work personalizing his prison at least try to calm his mind.
It began with the entire walk-in closet— his clothes, his accessories, his shoes, his racks, his organizers, all moved here before he even landed. But they’d arranged it all wrong. By color, like a boutique. He pulled everything out and rehung it his way: by fabric weight, by fabric type, by season, by how it made him feel. Cotton with cotton. Silks with silks. Linens with linens. All of it, row by row. Fabric by fabric.
Order.
His own ontrol.
The bathroom, too. His towels, his essentials, his products lined up on the marble. He didn’t look at the labels. His hands knew them by shape.
Then the studio.
The east wing had a corner room with north-facing windows. They’d left it empty, probably expecting him to ask. He didn’t ask. He just opened the crates stamped K.THEERAKUL. — FRAGILE.
Canvases. Easels. Turpentine. Pigments from Florence. The half-finished oil painting he’d been working on before Bangkok — a boy with his back turned, standing in front of a burning house. He set it on the easel by the window. Same position as his studio in Chelsea. Same light.
His brushes went in the ceramic jar his mother gave him when he was twelve. His charcoal in the tin box from Paris. The little jade figurine of a scholar — chipped at the base — on the windowsill.
He'd arranged everything meticulously, exactly how he liked it.
It wasn’t home. But at least, the space felt like it was finally his. Even if temporarily.
The next morning, Kirin had just emerged from the bathroom when his phone rang.
P'Sae.
He answered.
"Yes, P'Sae?"
"In case the young master has forgotten, you have to be at The Aurelian House in half an hour. You have two shoots to get ready for today. Canvas And Crown, your return shoot. And a joint shoot with Khun Pim. Twin Flames: Return of the Aurelian Princes."
"s**t. I almost forgot about that."
" I thought so," Saen's voice came through with a subtle hint of amusement. "I'm ten minutes from the Vongsawat mansion. Will you be ready by then?"
"Mm."
"Good. I'll be there soon then."
"Okay. Thank you," Kirin said with a small smile Saen couldn't see. "Honestly, what would I do without you?"
"That's exactly why you'll never have to find out, sir."
Kirin grinned. He knew never to take these small bits of Saen's affection for granted. They were as rare as Golden South sea pearls.
The call ended and Kirin got to work with getting ready. Ten minutes later, he was doing a last check in the closet mirror.
He’d thrown on the sage wrap blazer this morning because it was clean and didn’t wrinkle. Cropped at the waist, soft peak lapels, the self-tie belt hanging loose over black trousers. A thin silver chain at his throat, one simple ring on his right hand. Comfortable. Sharp. Him.
The knock was fast and the door swang open right after.
Pim.
He walked in wearing that dusty blue wrap shirt with the gold buttons — the one that made him look like he’d stepped off a resort campaign, his own design— and white trousers that had no business being that crisp this early.
He didn’t say anything. Just went straight to Kirin’s bed and sat, arms crossed, doing his best thunderstorm impression.
Kirin didn’t even turn from the mirror. “You already know, don’t you?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Pim’s voice was tight.
Kirin finally faced him, leaning back against the dresser. “I didn’t want you to get involved. It’s a family matter, Pim.”
Pim stood so fast the bed didn’t even creak. “A family matter? Isn’t that what I am too?” His eyes were bright and pissed. “I consider you and the Theerakuls family, Rin. I thought— I assumed you did too.”
Kirin pushed off the dresser. “Hey. It’s not like that.” He closed the distance, caught Pim’s shoulder before he could turn away. “It’s not like that at all.”
Pim didn’t pull back, but he didn’t look up either. Kirin sighed. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you. Let me make it up to you. Anything.”
That got Pim’s attention. He lifted his chin, eyes narrowing. “Let me help.”
Kirin studied him. “Okay.”
The storm vanished. Pim smiled — slow, trouble. “Good. As compensation, you’re sponsoring dinner for the whole Dao Rung Orphanage today.”
Kirin stared. “What?”
“P’Saen and P’Ton will handle it. You just send the account details.” Pim’s grin was pure mischief. “Family business and whatnot.”
Kirin rolled his eyes. “We both know those issues aren't even close to being related. You’re blackmailing me before breakfast.”
P’Saen’s voice cut in from the doorway. “In case you've forgotten, you have to be at Aurelian House in the next hour. First, Canvas and Crown for Khun Kirin. Studio 3. 8 a.m. Second, Twin Flames. 10 a.m. With Khum Pim. Same studio.”
A pause.
“Hair and makeup will want you at 7, so let's get moving. It's almost 6:30 and if we hurry, we can get you both coffee and something to eat on the way. Not to mention Khun Kirin has two interviews at 1 p.m and another with Khun Pim at 3 p.m before meeting the Executive Director of the Vorasith Art Houses, Khun Araya Chanthaphet.”
Pim had a smug smile on his face as he looked at his best friend. “Damn and I thought I had a heavy workload. Welcome back, Young Master Kirin Theerakul."
Kirin grabbed his phone and wallet off the dresser, brushing past him with a tired sigh. “C'mom. I'll pay for coffee.”
“After you pay for the orphanage,” Pim called after him, too smug for his own good.
- Writer
