My fingers reach for the buttons of my shirt, slowly undoing each one. She watches every movement, her eyes heavy-lidded, and the longer she looks at me like that, the hungrier I become. When the shirt is free, I guide her arms through the sleeves and button it just enough to cover her before I zip myself and lift her into my arms.
Together, we make our way up the stairs, climbing until we reach the bedroom. When I lay her down, she gives me a look that says she’s afraid I’m about to walk out, but I know I’m not going anywhere tonight.
I strip off my pants, keeping my boxers on, and grab two T-shirts from the drawer. I pull mine over my head, then help her out of my dress shirt before slipping the soft cotton over her. I regret it the second it’s on. It’s like a crime to hide that much beauty.
“You’re staying?” she asks quietly.
I nod and slide in beside her. “I am.”
Her eyes warm, and something in my chest warms with them. She lets out a sigh and sinks against me, her head resting over my heart.
I hold her close, wishing I could find a way to prove my father wrong. Wishing I could figure out how to stay the man I am and still keep her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
FIONA
My body achesin the best way. I should hate it: the bruised hips, the faint burn in my thighs, the way my lips still feel swollen from his mouth.
But I don’t. I like it. I like all of it.
I reach for him without thinking, my arm sliding across the sheets like he’s mine to hold.
But he isn’t there. And the warmth he left behind feels cold at the same time.
Sitting up, I glance at the clock. Seven. On a Saturday. There’s no meeting this early, is there? So where the hell did he go?
I tug on leggings and a hoodie and make my way to the bathroom, not bothering to look in the mirror. I already know what I’ll see. The flush on my neck. The guilt in my eyes.
We keep doing this dance. His hands on me, his voice in my ear, the way he looks at me like I’m some kind of prize he can’t decide if he wants to cherish or ruin. Then he disappears, acting like none of it meant a thing.
By the time I make it downstairs, Galya is already setting out breakfast, the warm smell of eggs and buttery pastries filling the kitchen.
“Good morning, moya dorogaya,” she says warmly.
“Morning. I’m going to take my tea and a danish out back. I just want some air.”
She doesn’t ask questions, just hands me a to-go cup and folds napkins around the danish like she’s packing me off for school. One of Aleksei’s men appears and sets my sneakers beside me without being asked. Having these people do everything for me is strange, but I can’t say it’s entirely awful.
“Thanks. Do you know where Aleksei went?”
He shrugs. “He left early. Didn’t say.”
Of course he didn’t.
I pretend it doesn’t bother me, that my stomach didn’t just cave in a little. Instead, I head around the back of the house, moving past the tall hedges toward the garden that stretches beyond the pool. I follow the path slowly, chewing my danish while the tea burns a warm line down my throat with every swallow.
What the hell are we even doing? This thing between us, it’s not built to last. I’m a prosecutor. He’s…Aleksei. And even if I wanted to pretend that we exist outside that, the world wouldn’t let us. Sooner or later, someone will find out.
Then what? What would I even say? That I married a man who made my knees shake and my morals blur?
I toss the empty cup and napkin into the trash can by the bench and turn to head back. But when I do, he’s standing right in front of me, like I somehow wished him here.
For a second, I’m sure I’m imagining it: him shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair damp and clinging to his forehead as if he ran miles just to get to me.
But when he takes a step forward, I know he’s real.
“Can we talk?” I ask, releasing an exhausted sigh.
