For a moment, we lie still, wrapped in silence and the echoes of our heavy breathing. Then I roll off her to the side, pulling her with me so she's half-lying on my chest.
Her hair is all rumpled, her lips swollen, her beautiful blue eyes still a little unfocused…and I've never seen a more beautiful woman in my life.
She chuckles, shaking her head slightly. “That was…”
“Perfect, my beautiful girl,” I murmur, kissing the corner of her mouth. “You are perfect.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs with a shy smile, then bites down on her lower lip as if contemplating her next words. “Does that…” she trails off, clearing her throat nervously. “Does this mean we're a thing now?”
The question hangs between us, simple but heavy.
I should lie. Keep things undefined, distant. That would be safer. For her, for me, for everyone. But when I look into her eyes, all I can think is that I’ve already lost the ability to pretend.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “You,kukolka, are my woman, and you own every part of me.”
She smiles, and the whole room seems lighter. “That’s exactly what I want.”
She leans down to brush her lips over mine, but I grab her neck and deepen the kiss. She laughs, her body relaxing against mine as she settles into the kiss.
She pulls back after a while, a radiant smile spreading across her gorgeous face.
“You know, I was thinking…” she says slowly, her eyes searching mine. “Maybe next week, you could come to brunch. With my parents.”
I freeze before I can stop myself. “Your parents.”
She hesitates, misreading my reaction. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought…it might be nice. They’d like you.”
I force a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “I’d like that.”
Her expression softens. She leans down and kisses me again. “Good.” She sits up, flashing me an apologetic smile. “I'll be right back. I need to use the bathroom.”
She disappears into the bathroom, and I sit up, pressing my palms over my face as the emotions I've kept at bay all day come rushing back. Guilt, regret, shame, and something else—something I'm unwilling to acknowledge.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
How am I falling for the daughter of the man I’m supposed to destroy?
Chapter Three
Mireille
We’re all gathered in the parlor of the Balshov mansion, dressed for the opera. Tonight is Anya’s performance, and Dmitri surprised me earlier with a trip to a boutique in Midtown to pick out a gown. But even in silk and diamonds, I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t quite belong here.
I take a sip from the dainty wine glass in my hand, smoothing my free hand nervously down my dress. I'd hoped the dress would bolster my confidence, with its dipping neckline and shimmering glory, and maybe for a moment it did– that moment when I walked out from the dressing room at the boutique that Dmitri had driven me to. I remember the way his eyes had darkened with unmistakable lust, the huskiness in his voice when he told me I looked stunning.
My stomach tightens at the memory, and I can feel myself getting all hot and bothered.
So much has happened in such a little time. I feel like a different person since I met Dmitri, more aware of my body, my femininity. He makes me feel things I'd never imagined prior to meeting him.
It's crazy.
I glance toward the fireplace, where Dmitri stands with Alexei and Viktor. They’re all in formal attire for tonight’s performance—Alexei and Viktor in crisp suits, Dmitri in dark tailored wool with his hair slicked back and a black bowtie hanging loosely at his throat. Butterflies erupt in my stomach at the sight of him, a familiar giddiness rushing up my chest.
Anya Balshov comes into view, stopping beside Alexei to whisper something in his ear. I watch the mask fall off the man's face for a second before he leans back to look at his wife with a warm smile that transforms his features.
It's easy to see the affection between the two, and for a brief moment, a wishful thought settles in my mind.
Maybe someday, I'll have something like this with Dmitri.
