Page 60 of Allegiant

Samson takes a deep breath, rubbing at his short beard. “Okay, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With those ominous words hanging in the air, Samson leads me into the Buckingham mansion.

“Oh!” My mouth pops open before curving into a big smile as I take in the foyer. “This is not what I was expecting.”

All the harsh lines and colors are missing here. Plush sofas are fitted into tiny alcoves. Tall white vases cascade with flowers along the walls. Colorful rugs are dotted over the marble floor. One of the walls is dominated by a large fireplace. Logs are piled ready to be lit at the first sign of autumn.

“Wasn’t always like this,” Samson muses. “Wylder, my older brother, it’s technically his house now. He kept it as my father had it for a long time.”

“Your father’s dead?”

He nods.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says harshly. “His death was the best thing to happen for me and my brothers.”

“Oh well, in that case, I’m glad the fucker is dead.” My candor draws a surprised laugh from Samson. “What happened for Wylder to decide to make a change?”

“Neo happened. I’m sure you’ll meet him soon. He’s always around here somewhere. Lurking and watching. Come on. Let’s go find Jules. I’m starving.”

“Who’s Jules?”

“Matthias’s chef. Matthias is my brother,” he clarifies, seeing my confusion. “One of many. Technically Jules doesn’t work here, but we’ve all been spending more time here recently, so he has too.”

“Do you live here?”

“I have a house over on Fifth Street, but I keep rooms here as well.”

I give a low whistle. “Must be nice to be rich.”

He shoots me a wink. “Definitely has its advantages, and you’re about to experience the best one.”

Samson takes my hand and tugs. I try not to focus on how much calmer I feel when he’s touching me.

The kitchen he leads me into is bright and welcoming. A large island sits squarely in the center of the room. Big windows let in lots of natural light. A man with a messy mop of blond hair is whistling cheerfully as he flips what looks to be pancakes on the stove.

My stomach grumbles loudly at the delicious smells wafting through the air. The man—Jules, I assume—whips around at the noise. Delight shines in his green eyes as they sweep over me. “Samson! You’ve brought me a hungry guest. You know I love it when you do this.”

As if he’s not already one of the most attractive men I’ve ever set eyes on, Jules also has an accent to die for. French, if I’m guessing correctly.

“Hi.” I give him my trademark grin and wave my spare hand. Samson still has the other in a death grip. “I’m Rowan.”

“I’m Jules.” The chef sweeps forward to kiss both my cheeks. “Enchanté.”

Yep. Definitely French.

A new voice speaks from behind us. “I thought I was your favorite, and here you are, kissing another man.”

Jules’s face flames as he hastily backs away. He turns back to the oven, his shoulders stiff. “You know you’re my favorite Buckingham, Harley.”

I turn to see a tall man leaning against the doorframe. Effortlessly beautiful, his dark curls are chaotic, like he’s been running his hands through them repeatedly. A dark jacket is draped over his arm, leaving him in a half-buttoned white shirt. His attention is fully fixed on the chef, who suddenly seems to be very busy. A small divot appears between his brows as he stares at Jules. Studying him, wanting him.

After a few beats, his gaze slides to me. The frown is replaced by a smirk as he spots me. “Hello. You must be Rowan.”

My eyes widen. How does he know that?

Samson snarls and pulls me closer to him. “Behave, Harley.”