Saying I was restless might be a mild understatement.
I knew better than to celebrate her calmness as good news. There had to be something behind it. Something behind the control she held on to even as she gave herself to me. I wouldhave to find it out. It would’ve been simpler if that were all I had to wonder about. But, it wasn’t. I craved Isabella even more.
The vibration of my phone brought me back to the present, and I pulled it out of the pocket of my black joggers. It was Roman.
“Yes?”
“Did you travel to Cuba with your bride?” he asked.
“Come up,” I instructed.
“Should’ve thought of that,” he mumbled, clearly to himself.
Ending the call, I went into the kitchen.
There was a low knock on the entrance door, to which I answered, “Come in.”
“Had to be sure I wasn’t walking into a smooching scene, seeing as you’re cozied up here on your first night together,” he remarked, walking into the living room.
“Needed some privacy,” I pointed out, clenching my jaw at the sudden thought of our mingled moans just a few hours ago. “Coffee?”
“What a question. Of course,” he answered, approaching the four-seater dining table which sat between the sitting room and the kitchen.
I carried the two mugs of steaming hot coffee to the dining table and took the seat to his right, where I could be the first to see Isabella if she happened to come out—all I would have to do is look to my left, while Roman would have to turn all the way around.
We took our first sips in silence. I was about to ask why he came when he spoke.
“Congratulations, brother,” he remarked, dropping his mug. “On joining the married men's society. I wouldn’t have thought this day would come in five years.”
“Youknow how the marriage came about,” I dismissed.
“Yes, Bratva business,” he concurred. “But you’re now a married man. That’s not changing.”
“I am,” I agreed, sipping more of my coffee.
“To a gorgeous bride, at that,” he uttered. “I could swear I caught you getting lost in her eyes two or three times yesterday.”
“Bullshit,” I retorted, chuckling at his ridiculous attempt at teasing.
“Jokes aside, brother,” he started, sitting more upright, his expression like the one he wore at Bratva meetings. “It all went down too easily. With her, I mean.”
“How do you mean?”
“Her reaction towards the whole marriage idea,” he stated, as if I was physically draining him with my question. “It’s not how someone who was pulled into a marriage they didn’t plan two days earlier reacts. She seemed so ready for everything at the wedding yesterday. Yuri told me how she lashed out at you at Giovanni’s funeral. So, her being so cool during the wedding is suspicious, you’ll agree with me. And now, you two are up here, in your penthouse, like a normal couple on a normal honeymoon.”
“You think your brother isn’t good enough to make a bride change her mind?” I joked, emptying my mug.
His insinuation was the exact thing that had kept me restless since I’d gotten up. But I’d rather not dive into how suspicious Isabella’s behavior was. It just rubbed me the wrong way.
“Come on, Mikhail,” he answered. “Isabella Moretti isn’t as docile as she seems. You know this.”
“This isn’t about being docile. She has probably seen that fighting the situation is pointless,” I reasoned, waving a dismissive hand.
“Well, I just had to warn you.”
“And it’s Isabella Lobanov now,” I corrected.
“Yeah,” he drawled, smiling.
