He invited me himself.
If he’s cool and comfortable, I too can be.
With brazen confidence, I brushed off my hatred and discomfort about my situation and sauntered towards the dresser. I moved towards the first door as he removed his cufflinks and dropped them in a drawer he’d pulled out of the nightstand. I mentally smacked myself on the head for not realizing it wasn’t the bathroom door. It was a walk-in closet with two double-door wardrobes on opposite sides.
Even company managers don’t have four full-height wardrobes.
I held the doorknob to close the closet door. But then, a curious thought crossed my mind.
He probably has a wardrobe for black suits and another for gray ones.
I took a step into the closet.
What if he suddenly questions me for going into his closet?
Closets are personal, aren’t they?
What better way to show him I don’t care about all he’s throwing my way than acting like I own the place?
My hands extended to open the first wardrobe, and I opened both doors before another thought could creep into my mind.
What the hell am I staring at?
My eyes moved in a flutter of blinks as I tried to make sense of the clothes I was staring at.
They were all mine. There were jeans, pants, T-shirts, simple sheath dresses, and longer ones-all in different colors. I didn’t need to touch the arranged heaps of lace and silk beneath the hangers to know they were underwear.
I threw the doors closed and took a calming breath. I knew I couldn’t stomp towards him to ask why he had a wardrobe filled with my clothes. His answer, just like I asked, why I would be going to his room, would be another ‘What were you expecting?’ line.
I’ll just be cool.
I stepped out of the closet to find him already standing by the window to the right of the bed, typing away on his phone.
With my back to the closet door, I wondered what to do with myself. I had been doing well with the unconcerned act until currently, but I didn’t know if I wanted to remain cool or scream the damn house down in frustration.
Viktor placed his phone on the nightstand and slipped his hands into his pockets.
What now?
He’s clearly counting down to the consummation of the damn matrimony.
My eyes darted to the wide bed, and I internally shuddered at the thought of lying bare in it. I had never associated pain with losing my virginity since I always looked forward to giving it to my husband, a man who would love me as much as I loved him and would be as gentle as humanly possible with me.
Now, I’m about to lose it to a man who couldn’t care less about a woman’s body.
I was halfway to the sofa by the dresser when he asked, “How are you doing?”
Then he turned around, and I stood there, just looking at him. His expression wasn’t as unreadable, but his steel gray eyes still focused on me like he was seeing something on a deeper level. But it was the tinge of discomfort on his face that stood out to me.
“Are you…doing well?” he inquired, coming closer to the center of the room where I stood.
I was confused. By his unexpected question and how he looked like a nun who just spat out a curse word in public. However, confusion alone didn’t cut it. I was frustrated.
He had no right to act cool and concerned like a husband. He was the criminal who kidnapped me and forced me into marriage, all because of a debt. Monetary debt, for that matter. It was annoyingly confusing that he was asking about my well-being as if he had to.
To hell with being cool.
“What do you think? I was a regular college student just yesterday, and now I’m a crime boss’ wife!” I chided, my eyes meeting his.
