Dropping the remote control on the center table, I went down the hallway, thumb-printed the automatic lock, and went in.
Just the sight of the files on my desk was enough to make all the paperwork I had to go through overwhelming. With a determined sigh, I went around the desk to sit in my leather chair, grabbing the small rectangular case at the edge of the desk.
The vibration of my phone took my attention off the records I had been knee-deep in.
It was Viktor.
“Hello, brother.”
“Mikhail,” he called. “How are things going there?”
“Okay, I guess,” I answered, chuckling and realizing it was a mistake.
Whether physically or over the phone, Viktor could pick the tiniest gestures apart and tell what they implied. Just like Konstantin.
I didn’t need to be inside my older brother’s mind to know I had just given away the fact that I was probably enjoying married life too much. It, in itself, wouldn’t have been a problem had I not been the one complaining about having to marry Isabella.
“I shouldn’t have to, but I will, just in case,” he started. “This marriage isn’t about lust; it’s about debt and punishment.”
“Of course, brother,” I affirmed.
“Good,” he replied. “Send my greetings to her.”
The call ended.
I was lying. Isabella had gotten under my skin; I could feel it. The mere thought of her breathing a few walls away from my office gave me some kind of exhilaration.
The office suddenly felt suffocating. I needed to just step out, maybe purge myself of thoughts of Isabella before coming back to work.
My eyes landed on Isabella the second I stepped out of my office. It wasn’t a sight I had ever seen before, nor was it one I was prepared for.
She was in my white shirt, its sleeves rolled up, her hair in a low, messy bun, as she went towards the kitchen. She moved with the confidence of someone who owned the place, not someone who hadn’t set foot here before yesterday. Hell, if that didn’t make me want to give her everything I owned. No other indication was needed for me to know that that was a problem.
I would have thought she was oblivious to my presence, but then she turned around, her pretty face sporting a small smirk.
“Morning,” she greeted, entering the dining space.
“Morning,” I answered, my voice more gruff than I would have wanted.
“Two mugs?” she inquired, grabbing them from the table.
“Roman came by.”
“Oh, you should have asked him to stay for breakfast,” she said casually as she went into the kitchen.
Like I was being pulled, I headed into the kitchen.
“Where are your domestic workers?” she asked, washing the mugs in the sink.
“They only come up here once in a while. I like my privacy,” I explained,
“I like that,” she revealed. “Where do the mugs go?”
“The drawer…” I uttered, finally uprooting my feet and going to open the drawer against the wall to the right. Our fingers brushed as I took the mugs from her, and the smell of my scent on her turned me on. She must have felt the heat, too, because she moved over to the marble island.
I went over to the island, across from her.
“Pancakes?” she asked, looking up at me. “Typical breakfast.”
