"Perhaps." Cyril's gray eyes hold mine with uncomfortable honesty. "But if you don't and the child isn't yours, your enemies will use that weakness to destroy everything you've built."
The truth of his words settles over me like a weight. I think of Matvey's text, the venom in those words.I look forward to meeting the child. If it's yours.My rival already senses the doubt, already sees the vulnerability he can exploit.
"Find out if she was seeing anyone before the yacht party," I hear myself say. "Discreetly. I want to know her history."
Cyril nods once, sharp and final, then moves toward the door. He pauses with his hand on the frame. "And if she was?"
The question hangs in the air between us, weighted with implications we both understand. If Aria was with someone else, if there's even a possibility the child isn't mine, then everything changes. The engagement. The protection. The future I've been building in my mind.
"Then I'll deal with it." The words come out cold, absolute.
But as Cyril leaves and I'm alone with my vodka and my doubts, I know I'm lying to myself. If that child isn't mine, if Aria has been playing me from the beginning, it won't just destroy my reputation. It will destroy something fundamental in me that I didn't know still existed until she jumped into that storm-tossed ocean.
I need to see her. Need to look into those dark eyes and search for deception I pray I won't find.
Aria's bathroom is thick with steam when I enter her bedroom an hour later, the air heavy and warm against my skin. Aria is submerged in the massive tub, her dark hair piled on her head in a messy knot, her skin flushed pink from the heat. The sight of her makes my breath catch, makes my body respond with an urgency that has nothing to do with strategy or doubt.
She's beautiful. The curve of her breasts just visible above the water, the elegant line of her neck, the way her eyes flutter open as she senses my presence. Exhaustion is etched into her features, shadows beneath her eyes that speak to sleepless nights and stress I've caused.
The tabloids. Maya's betrayal. The forced engagement. I'm asking too much of her already.
"Nikolai." My name on her lips sounds wary, guarded, and something in my chest cracks at the distance in her voice.
I kneel beside the tub, my hand trailing through the water until I find her thigh beneath the surface. Her skin is slick and warm, and the touch ignites electricity between us that makes her breath hitch. She doesn't pull away, doesn't tell me to leave, and I take that as permission.
I strip off my clothes with desperate efficiency, my eyes never leaving hers. The water sloshes over the marble floor as I climb into the tub, the heat enveloping me as I pull her onto my lap. She comes willingly, her body fitting against mine like she was designed for this purpose, and I bury my face against her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin.
My cock is already hard, pressing against her, and when she shifts her hips, the friction makes us both groan. I capture her mouth with mine, the kiss deep and consuming, tasting the uncertainty on her lips mixed with desire that mirrors my own.
"Touch me," she whispers against my mouth, and the breathless quality of her voice makes heat pool low in my stomach.
My hand slides between us, finding the slick heat of her, and she gasps as my fingers circle the sensitive bundle of nerves. She's already wet, already ready, and the knowledge makes possessive satisfaction surge through my chest. Her body responds to me like this, even when her mind is building walls.
"Nikolai." My name becomes a plea as I work her with my fingers, feeling her inner muscles flutter around me. "Please."
I lift her slightly, positioning myself at her entrance, and our eyes lock as I lower her onto my cock. The tight heat of her body makes my vision blur at the edges, makes every thought except this moment, this woman, evaporate like steam.
She moves slowly at first, her hips rolling in a rhythm that's both torture and perfection. The water laps against the sides of the tub, creating waves that mirror the building pressure between us. My hands grip her waist, guiding her movements, and I watch her face as pleasure transforms her features.
"You're so beautiful," I murmur, my accent thickening with desire. "So perfect."
Her answer is to increase her pace, her nails digging into my shoulders as she rides me with increasing urgency. I feel her body tightening around me, her inner muscles clenching in a rhythm that tells me she's close. My thumb finds her clit again, circling with the pressure I've learned she needs, and she shatters with a cry that echoes off the marble walls.
The sensation of her coming around me triggers my own release. I thrust up hard, burying myself deep as pleasure crashes through me with enough force to make my arms shake. Her name tears from my throat, raw and desperate, and I feel her body milk every last pulse from mine.
Afterward, she rests her head on my shoulder, her breathing gradually evening out. My fingers trace lazy patterns along her spine, and I feel the rapid hammer of her heart against my chest. This is peace. This is what I've been searching for without knowing it existed.
But I know what I must do. The words form in my mind, heavy and inevitable.
"Aria." My voice comes out rougher than intended, the accent thick with emotions I can't suppress. "I need you to take a paternity test."
Her body goes rigid against mine. She lifts her head slowly, and I watch her face shatter with betrayal so profound, it steals the breath from my lungs.
37
ARIA
Ishove away from Nikolai so violently that water explodes over the tub's edge, cascading across the marble floor in a miniature tsunami. My body still thrums with the aftershocks of what we just did, which makes his request feel like a knife sliding between my ribs. I climb out on legs that shake with more than exertion, wrapping myself in a towel that suddenly feels as substantial as tissue paper.
