That made my heart drop. It pained me more that I didn’t know what to say.
He went out of the kitchen, two coffee mugs in hand.
Quickly, I dished out the food and found my way to the dining table, taking my seat to his left.
“I was going to come back to get it,” he uttered, his eyes on the food and not meeting mine. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” I whispered.
Every swallow made me more uncomfortable. Mikhail ate silently, his hands controlling the fork with rigid movements.
The thought of him leaving for work in his current mood, with the feeling that he was below the level of my ideal man, just didn’t sit right with me.
“You know nothing about the type of man I had marriage fantasies about,” I started, clearing my throat. Mikhail’s fork stopped moving, but he looked straight ahead, not turning in my direction.
“I told you, I grew up lonely in a big house. I hated the type of work my dad did, even when I had no idea of the details. Then, he started taking my brother with him everywhere, leaving me with no one to relate to in the house. It made me hate the mere mention of the mafia. Whenever I complained to my brother, he would tell me mafia men were too busy to be at home like regular men and that I would get used to it. I always knew I wouldn’t. I imagined different scenarios where I ended up with a mafia man. I could never see myself being happy with suchmen. My visions either ended with me forcing them to issue me a divorce or strangling them with their fucking ties.”
I heard a sound that momentarily stopped me from talking. It was the sound of Mikhail laughing- a brief, deep laugh. I chuckled, more from relief that he was now facing me.
“I never wanted a mafia man that conveniently kept mistresses while claiming to be joined with me in holy matrimony. I didn’t want a powerful man whose harsh treatment would have to be washed away with exorbitant gifts. I never had teenage dreams about a mafia man I’d have to walk on eggshells around.”
I swallowed, pausing for a second before going on.
“The type of man I always fantasized about was a man who would be soft for me, even if he was hard with others. I've always hoped to belong with a man who's vulnerable with me. A man who makes me love all my craziness even more because of how wholly he loves me. I always looked forward to marrying a man who treated me like a valued princess.” Holding his gaze, I divulged, “A man who goes haywire because he thinks I’m not safe isn’t below the bar. He’s a dream come true.”
His mouth opened and closed again. My hand came over his on the table, and his other hand closed over mine.
“You’re a gift, Isabella,” he eventually uttered, his eyes on our joined hands as he massaged mine. “A gift I never thought I, of all people, deserved.”
Closing the gap between us, he placed a chaste kiss on my lips.
In that moment, the thought of the plan I had against him made me want to throw up.
**********
I was reading the book Mikhail had lent me from the study in his home office when I heard knocks on the entrance door. A confused frown crossed my face as I folded the page and dropped the book on the stool beside the couch I occupied. It was late in the afternoon, and Mikhail’s text, which he sent to me about thirty minutes ago, told me he hadn’t left the warehouse yet; he wouldn’t need to knock to come in, anyway. Rising to my feet, I went towards the door.
“Oh, my,” I exclaimed happily as Emilia’s smiling face appeared in front of me when I opened the door.
“Hi, Isabella,” she greeted, stepping inside calmly. Too calmly.
“Yo, girl!”
My eyes dilated as I registered another voice. Emilia entered the living room, stepping to the side.
I poked my head out the door. And there she was, her pink crop jacket as bright as her grin.
Elizaveta Markova.
My closest childhood friend.
“Liza!” I practically screamed as she got to the door and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug.
Her heels made her look even taller than I was. I had to look up a bit to see her face. She looked as stunning and sharp as ever, with her dark bob looking a bit darker.
“I missed you so much, Bells,” she crooned, shaking my shoulders with her hands.
“I missed you more,” I revealed, remembering to shut the door behind us. “How are you even here? When did you get back? How did you meet Emilia? Mikhail knows about this,doesn’t he?” I questioned, looking from Liza to Emilia, who leaned against the back of the couch.
