I dropped my forehead onto his chest and snickered. His arms came around me. Only a man in the mafia like Kirill would make light of something like this.
He continued embracing me. “This past week with you, I liked it despite the confetti room.”
What confetti room?
I pulled away and glared up at him. “The confetti room?”
“The living room.”
It dawned on me, and I tapped his chest. “The sitting room. You called it the confetti room?”
“Don’t be mad. I’m over it. I even find it cute now. You’re trying, right?”
“I am. I might take lessons from Mamma.”
“Or hire people to do it,” he said. “I don’t want you so consumed with redecorating the house you won’t have time for me.”
I stared at the buttons on his dark shirt. It reminded me I needed to check his wound. “And will you have time for me?”
He tipped my chin up. “Of course. Haven’t I started making time? I won’t promise there won’t be days or nights I’ll be really busy, but I plan to work smarter, not harder.”
“That’s my motto and why I like to find experts in their fields,” I said. My hand on his chest inched up his shoulder. “How is your wound feeling?”
“It’s throbbing. Sloane used anesthesia earlier to stitch me up.”
“I know you were fighting her on it. Was it because Dom was there and you needed to show how macho you are?”
He scowled his cute scowl. “No. I just don’t like more needles in me.”
“That doesn’t make sense, you know that, right?”
His scowl deepened and bordered on the sinister. Okay, that was a new one. “Coffee’s ready. Why don’t we take it on the porch before you miss your sunrise? And get your coat.”
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Kirill
I watchedmy excited wife’s sexy ass for two seconds before she covered it with her coat. She was a contradiction. An amazing contradiction and she was all mine. I poured coffee into the preheated mugs and handed one to Lucy.
Her brows furrowed. “You’re not wearing a coat?”
“Didn’t we have this conversation before?”
“We had heaters, and it had been fifty degrees. This is like thirty-two outside, right at freezing.”
“I should take you to Siberia,” I murmured.
“No, thanks. Okay, then, if you’re going to act all macho.” She was in a good mood. I found myself watching her all the time. Anticipating her needs. Anticipating her moods. Every frown, every smile, every mischievous glint in her eye. I loved it when she was happy and when she seemed to be in the process of solving a problem. I had a wife who picked locks. She wanted to put criminals like me away; well, she was a bit criminal herself. She was just in denial. There was still the Chloe business we needed to discuss and how it affected the bratva. I was findingout now, I didn’t want to disappoint my wife anymore. It almost felt like it hurt me more than it did her.
I didn’t know what was happening to me or how my world was shifting.
I followed her outside to a porch swing. The sun was peeking out on the horizon.
“I love the fall sun,” Lucy said as she sipped her mug. She was holding it with both hands as if trying to warm up.
I leaned back nonchalantly, starting the swing of the hanging seat. My mind returned to her question of why I hadn’t wanted the anesthesia at first. It had left me with a concerning insight into my actions. I didn’t even care about how I acted in front of De Lucci. It was that Trevor guy. I didn’t want to act weak in front of him. I was coming to the conclusion that A) I was, indeed, finally experiencing a feeling called jealousy, and B) Kolya had called it, I was getting attached to my wife, and C) It didn’t matter now. I wasn’t afraid. I faced death at the hands of my wife. Therefore, my life belonged to her as hers belonged to me. Fuck if that was logical, but I was illogical when it came to Lucy. That much I admitted to myself.
