“That’s usually where the clothes are, yes.”
There’s no way in hell Wolfgang would let me leave the house with her. Those goons he has scattered around the property would drag me right back.
“You’re a Rykov now,” Ekaterina says, reading my mind. “And it gives you plenty of rights. Before, you were the daughter of a traitor—and that only granted you a room with a lock on the door.”
That explains why I was left to my own devices this morning. I hate that my change of name is what granted me back my liberties. But at least I have them now.
I nod, and Ekaterina puts down her coffee, calling out for someone over her shoulder. Moments later, a man—another goon—shows up behind her.
“Be a good man and bring the car around. Victoria and I are going out.”
She pushes back her chair, dragging across the floor with a groan as she flashes me an enthusiastic smile. I leave the table to freshen up, dabbing at the probably smudged mascara under my eyes.
And as I take the corner to go back to the staircase, Mikhail is there, blocking my way.
I halt, jolting almost, sensing the shift in energy. Sensing the danger exuding from him, from that scar across his left eye and all the tattoos that suggest a dark, perhaps tragic past.
What is he doing here? Was he spying on me? On what we talked about? As big as this house is, there doesn’t seem to be much privacy.
Inhaling, I square off my shoulders and move to walk past him, wanting him to know I’m not afraid. If he can see through me, he doesn’t show it. Yet, once again, he shifts and blocks my way.
“Whatever it is, I don’t want to talk to you,” I say.
“Too bad. Because you’re still going to hear it. My mother…” His eyes squint. “Stay away from her. She’s not your fucking friend.”
“What is this? A warning? Or a threat?”
“Think of it as a suggestion.” His shoulders rise on the last word.
“Right. A suggestion… from you. I think I’ll pass, but thanks.”
I step to the side, and he extends a hand between us, stopping me. I look down at it, then dare to look him in the eye.
“Do what you want. But if you’re going to ignore it, the least you could do is watch your back.”
WOLFGANG
I should walk away.
Like the night I raked my eyes over Victoria’s perfect body when I first brought her here, I should turn my back and fuck my fist to take off the edge.
I’m supposed to keep my eyes on the prize—not because Father warned me a few nights ago, but because I know he wasn’t entirely wrong about the reason I shot that asshole at the wedding. I fucking hate it.
Still, the way I left things with my wife doesn’t sit right with me.
No matter where I go or what I do, she’s in my head. Her presence lingers. My body begs me to sink into her again, to taste her, to remind her she’s mine.
Staying away only makes it look like she’s the one who owns me, not the other way around. So my coming to her room right now has nothing to do with my “feelings”—it’s about setting the record straight again.
Her room, yes. Because over the past few nights, we’ve been sleeping separately.
She took her stuff out of my bedroom and fled back to her prison willingly. At first, it made my blood boil. It took everything inme to let her go, to resist tying her to my bed and watching her squirm. But she’s been distracting me lately, and I shouldn’t have let her.
Upon entering, I take in all the clothes and toiletries she brought back from whatever shopping she did with Ekaterina.
My eyes trail up her naked thighs, beneath the oversized t-shirt that covers her hips. It’s gotten so hot outside that I’m surprised she’s not sleeping naked.
I approach her bedside, seeing her chest rise and lower with quiet breaths. A lock of hair lies across her plump lips, and I bring my hand to her face, gently pushing it away.
