For the next three days, we exist in our bubble.
Now that we’ve unleashed the beast, we fuck feverishly, learning our ways around one another’s bodies.
We touch freely and sleep in late, waking up with our limbs tangled and our sheets sweet with sweat and vanilla perfume. We eat every meal together. We swim in the pool, and I make her squeal when I dunk her, then gallantly let her clamber onto my shoulders to dunk me back.
On the third evening, we watch the sun set on another day, and Janella sighs, blissed out, “Heaven has nothing on this, I think.” Her head is on my chest, but I can feel her smiling. She’s been smiling for days, weightless and unburdened.
“Feels normal, doesn’t it?” I ask, lips pressing to the crown of her head.
When she’s quiet, and I can practically hear her thinking, I squeeze her.
She giggles and squirms against me, but admits, “I just didn’t think normal is what a man like you could ever want.”
“It’s probably not what I should want,” I admit. The truth isn’t like pulling teeth, not here at least. In our bubble, there are no repercussions. Everything is fair game. Especially fantasies. “Sometimes, when I’m with you, I forget the would’ves, could’ves, should’ves. It’s just you and me in the moment.”
Pressed so close together, there’s no way to miss the way her breath hitches. Softly, she confesses, “Sometimes, I forget, too.”
Chapter 20 - Janella
I’m not a vain woman, but I haven’t stopped staring at myself in the mirror for the past ten minutes. The thing is, I still can’t conflate myself with the reflection looking back at me.
The Elie Saab gown I’m in is nothing short of a work of art. The amber silk may as well have been painted on. It’s embroidered with the most intricate beading I’ve ever seen. My hair has been swept up in a chic coiffure that a Scandinavian lady called Ida did for me after she did my makeup.
Diamond earrings that Iosif presented me with earlier wink at me.
They match the custom, marquise-cut diamond ring he put on my finger, followed swiftly by the assurance that I can take it off after the gala if I really want to, when I started hyperventilating.
I feel close to it again, looking at this version of myself that may as well have been pulled off a red carpet or peeled from a fashion magazine.
“We’re going to be late if you keep staring,” Iosif’s voice sounds from the doorway, but he’s no better. His gaze lingers. “Not that I can blame you. You’re ravishing.”
“I love it when you compliment me in triple word score words,” I laugh breathlessly.
The truth is, the same can be said for him. The way he wears that tux should be illegal. Whatever he paid for it? Worth every penny. It’s tailored perfectly to his body, the star of tonight, now that someone’s styled his hair back to brag about his unfair cheekbones. The silver hoop in his ear has a diamond of its own to catch the light.
His grin is impish. “I don’t know if staring at me is much better.”
“Maybe this isn’t my scene,” I suggest, not for the first time.
“You’ll make it yours.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
He crosses the room to me in a handful of strides. His hands swallow mine in their warm grasp. “You can.” There’s no question there, for him.
“Iosif, I’ve never been to anything like this. I feel like Princess Mia in the first Princess Diaries movie. You didn’t even tie me up to the chair with handkerchiefs to table-train me.”
He blinks at me, bewildered. “I understand none of those words.”
I can’t decide if he’s obtuse because he’s in his 40’s or because he’s Russian. Either way, I promise, “We can change that if you stay in with me.”
“Janella,” he coos, turning my knees to mush. “You are a successful businesswoman. You’ve held your own and one by one made every member of my feral-ass family adore you—”
“Actually,” I interject, “I’m still working on Valentin.”
“—And you threw a dagger at a man’s dick without flinching. You can handle a room full of vapid rich fucks making small talk. Because Ihaveto go, and it’ll be a lot more fun with you in my arms.”
My face heats. “That’s different,” I mumble.
