I shove the thoughts away and start toward the den, not bothering to change yet.
“Boss said your clothes coming soon,” the same guard adds, as if that’s supposed to mean something.
I pause and glance over my shoulder. “What clothes?”
“Don’t know.”
Well, that’s great, because neither do I.
“Thanks,” I mutter, already pulling my phone from my bag, my thumbs moving quickly.
Fiona
Did you buy me clothes? Because I have my own.
The reply comes faster than it should, like he’d already been waiting for it.
Aleksei
You are my wife now. That means you represent me, so you will dress the part.
I snicker.
Fiona
I’m not showing up to work looking like a walking luxury brand ad.
Aleksei
Wear what you want to court. But when you’re with me, you will wear what I give you.
Frustration flares in my gut, but I don’t bother replying. What’s the point? There’s nothing left to say. But one thing’s for damn sure: he’s not going to tell me what to wear. Not ever.
I type the message, then hesitate, my thumb frozen over the screen.
Fiona
Are you going to be home for dinner?
Is this normal? Too much? It’s just a question. One anyone would ask. Right?
It feels strange. Too domestic. But not entirely unreasonable.
And just like that, I start imagining it. Him as some powerful CEO, me doing what I love. Both of us coming home, collapsing on the couch, and laughing at something stupid before I crawl into his lap, look into his eyes, and whisper how much I missed him. How much I love him.
A sigh slips out before I can stop it.
That life doesn’t belong to us. It never will.
When I peer down at the phone, dots appear before they disappear, then blink back to life again. My pulse ticks up.
Just say it already. What the hell are you doing?
Finally, his reply lands.
Aleksei
No. Eat without me. I have business.
