The Art Of Revenge (Thalia Nash and Brandon) novel Chapter 58

Thalia’s Pov

He undoubtedly agreed to accompany me to Italy just because I asked him to; the man could do anything for me, which was why I was working my tail off to figure out how to fix his illness.

He could turn or stop the world in order for me to receive the sleep I needed if he wanted to. He was every woman’s dream, yet I couldn’t understand why he had such a hard time finding love. He would have made someone happy without a doubt.

The day to travel came and he’d awoke weak, so I was left to finish the packing. I wanted to cancel the trip, but there was a professor I wanted to meet in Italy the next day.

He was not going to be there for a week because he was attending a summit on another continent. I wanted him to check my math for my project.

Italy provided me with many of the facilities and minds that I needed for consultation. I lied to Brandon, and I wasn’t pleased with myself.

He assumed I was going to rewind and work for his company, but I was actually using it as a cover for my project to save him.

Working for Brandon allowed me to relocate and purchase project-related items without Brandon’s awareness. And it also allowed me to turn one of his rooms in the beach house into my secret mini Lab.

Nestor was all I needed; he knew how Brandon worked and how to keep what I was doing hidden from him. Brandon was still obsessed with bringing Josh down to notice what I was doing.

I was planning to do a walk-through soon and tell him the good news. All he had to do was hold on for me.

When I looked at him, I noticed that he was staring at the wall like a mental patient and that he had lost weight. Surprisingly, I approached him and sat on his lap. “Howdy, handsome,” I said.

He inquired, “Do you recall the promise you made to me if I survived to see the baby?”

I gave the impression that I was pondering and put my palm over my mouth. “Mmmmm, please remind me, I seem to have forgotten,” I said.

He chuckled, his gaze falling on my breast, which I feigned I hadn’t noticed. I was hoping to persuade him to light up about the vacation.

“We’re going to have sex,” he said solemnly, and my heart skipped a beat as I just stared at him. He was dead serious, and that terrified me.

“I’m going to make it, Thalia,” he said, “and I hope you can keep your promise.”

The door opened and Nestor walked in, I exhaled deeply, but I could hear Brandon clenching his teeth in irritation.

“I’m sorry, hope I did not disturb anything?” He inquired.

“Yes you did, now get out!” Brandon became enraged and yelled at him.

“No, it’s fine,” I said as I tried to stand up, but Brandon grabbed my arm and asked where I was going. He wasn’t done with me yet, and he was waiting for my response.

“Is that all you’re looking forward to?” I questioned, clearing my throat, while my gaze locked on him. He smiled and released me as the room fell silent. “You’re the cherry on top,” he said.

“Then you just have one job: make sure you survive,” I stood up and stated.

Nestor gave me a sidelong glance as I proceeded to the kitchen, where he followed me. “Could you just quit promising him phony sex,” he issued a warning.

“I’m sure it’s none of your business, but have you done all the necessary preparations?” I inquired, shifting the conversation’s focus.

“Everything is in place, but Brandon does not appear to be in good shape. Is it possible that we can change the date of our trip?” He suggested, but I ignored him; he was absolutely accurate, but I was not going to let this opportunity pass me by.

“You can assist in the packing process,” I replied.

*Thalia If you put too much pressure on him, he will die before you can create your device.”

“I have taken notice of your viewpoint,” I replied and requested him to hurry up.

“Thalia?” He called me out.

“What?” I yelled angrily.

“Congratulations,” he replied while handing me a small box

“What is this for?”

“I never got to congratulate you on your pregnancy, and I’m sorry for that,” he said. I couldn’t tell if I was supposed to laugh or be puzzled. Looking back, I couldn’t recall him ever congratulating me, in retrospect; pitiful was the correct term to use to describe him.

I received the present and thanked him because he had been so helpful.

“What is that?” Brandon inquired upon entering.

I turned around; we had clearly taken longer in the kitchen, and he had begun to be concerned about what we were discussing.

“After three months, Nestor has finally given me my pregnancy present,” I said as I left the kitchen. Brandon yelled some type of jealousy slur at him.

But I couldn’t help but wonder, was Nestor so enraged at my pregnancy that he refused to even congratulate me back then? What was the point of him congratulating me now?

I grumbled and focused my attention on my phone while putting the present in my suitcase. I needed to confirm that the professor would be available. Following confirmation, I continued packing and stopped when I felt I couldn’t go anymore.

Nestor finished packing, I just sat there.

Brandon couldn’t even cook for me since he was too exhausted. He was having a very horrible day. When I was supposed to be apologizing, he kept apologizing. I was the one who was at fault, I was telling him that everything was fine.

I’d gotten quite good at lying, but where were my lies getting me to if he wasn’t going to live long enough to find out what I was doing for him? Was it worthwhile for me to tell lies? Would I be able to live with myself if I knew I had been aloof from him in his dying days?

I was preoccupied with finding a solution for him rather than spending time with him?

I sat there, pondering and calculating what could possibly go wrong. I raised my eyes when Nestor walked in front of me.

“Everything is packed,” he said, “but Brandon still insists on cooking for you before we leave.”

“Where is he?” Looking around, I inquired.

He said, “In the kitchen.”

I stood up and walked to the kitchen, Brandon was ready to start cooking when I stepped into the kitchen. I ignored his request and stuffed everything back into the drawers.

“Thalia, the baby, requires nourishment,” he cried out.

“Nestor is stopping by in the city to buy us food for that reason,” I explained. He was enraged as he gazed at me, adamant that he would not relinquish control of his kitchen.

I needed to divert his attention, so I leaned down close and gave him a small peck on his dry chapped lips.