Her eyes get shiny. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“Get used to it. I plan on doing a lot of nice things for you for a very long time.”
14
SAVANNAH
I wakeup to a warm body wrapped around mine.
I’m disoriented. This isn’t my apartment. This bed is massive, the sheets are the softest thing I’ve ever felt, and there’s a man’s arm draped over my waist.
Ledger. His office. The memories flooding back. Coming home to his penthouse.
I turn my head and find him already awake, watching me with those blue eyes that make my stomach flip.
“Morning, wife,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.
“Morning, husband.”
God, he’s gorgeous. Silver hair messy from sleep, stubble on his jaw, bare chest showing all those tattoos I’m still learning. In the morning light, he looks younger. Less dangerous. Just a man who happens to be ridiculously hot and happens to be mine.
“How do you look this good in the morning?” I ask.
He laughs. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“I probably look like a disaster.”
“You don’t.” He pulls me closer, kissing my forehead. “And you’re in my bed where you belong.”
There’s a soft knock on the door. “Mr. Volkov?” A woman’s voice. “I have coffee and breakfast when you’re ready.”
“Thank you, Marie. Give us twenty minutes.”
Footsteps retreat down the hall.
I blink at him. “Staff?”
“Yes. Marie is the housekeeper. There’s also Pedro for head of security, a chef named Antoine who comes in for dinner and sometimes lunch, and a few others who rotate through.”
“How many people work for you?”
“In this building? Six full-time. In the company?” He grins. “A few thousand.”
Right. Because he’s a billionaire.
Twenty minutes later, we’re dressed in comfortable clothes and heading to the kitchen. Well, Ledger is dressed in gray sweatpants and a T-shirt that should be illegal for how good it looks on him. I’m wearing one of his T-shirts and pajama shorts I found in a drawer he cleared out for me at some point.
The kitchen is something out of a magazine. White marble and stainless steel, with the biggest island I’ve ever seen. Marie, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and graying hair pulled back in a bun, is setting out plates of eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and pastries that smell incredible.
“Good morning, Mrs. Volkov,” she says warmly. “I hope you slept well.”
Mrs. Volkov. I’m still getting used to that.
“Very well, thank you.”
“If you need anything, just let me know. I’ve stocked your bathroom with toiletries, but if there’s anything specific you prefer, I can have it delivered today.”
“I’m sure it’s perfect. Thank you, Marie.”
