“Well, yeah…”
The problem when I married Lucy was I had no hold over her other than the prevention of a mafia war. In terms of wealth, we were evenly matched. The difference between us was that she had a whole fucking family for support.
I rarely had support in mine. Ivan and I still clashed. Maksim was fine as long as the bratva business brought in money for Zahkarov Holdings to clean, and we didn’t have the scandal from last year that put a bullseye on our financial investment firm.
“Can you humor me and use it when you can?” I asked mildly. “It would appease the ego of your overbearing husband.”
Lucy laughed. Fuck, I loved her laugh.
She pressed play on the show while putting the popcorn between us, and I wondered if this was good for her hypoglycemia? It was her snacking at the wrong time. Maybe I should eat the bad snacks for her.
I took a handful of popcorn and started eating.
“So this is a reboot of the original show,” she said. “He used to be the blood spatter analyst for the police department. Now he’s using his knowledge to evade the police.”
“I could use someone like him in the bratva.” I continued consuming the popcorn for her even when my stomach and palate protested at the amount of butter she’d slathered on the kernels. I was determined to keep my wife healthy even when she was unconcerned about her condition.
We watched four episodes that night. Not surprisingly, I enjoyed the blood and gore. It relaxed my mind. I could get used to this. Simply wasting time on the couch with my wife. And though sex entered my mind, I wasn’t willing to disrupt the easygoing pace of our evening. That was a novelty. Relaxing together without being at each other's throats.
But after Lucy called it a night, the tension rebounded and agitated the air between us.
“Well, I’m off to bed,” she said, jumping up from the couch.
“Not so fast.” I clasped her hand and yanked her back down. She fell across my lap.
Before I could say anything, she squeaked, “Okay, I need some more time.”
“We’ve already had sex, so you’re not treating me like a one-night stand.”
She rolled her lips. “I’m not.”
My eyes trailed down her body. She was wearing a tee. I could make out the outline of her bra, but also her nipples. “The couch seems sturdy enough.”
“Someone could walk in.”
“We should renovate the house and put a door to the TV room,” I muttered. “In fact, put a door on every room.”
“I have a few ideas.”
I weighed my options. She was willing to put her stamp on my house. I was finding out I would like it very much.
I bent down and kissed her slowly, trailing fingers down her body. Lucy responded and clasped her fingers over my neck. I could fuck her, but at this moment, I wanted something else.
I lifted my head, satisfied to see the neediness glaze her eyes. “Kirill?”
I set her on her feet and stood.
The backs of my fingers stroked down her cheek. “You get a reprieve from sharing my room. But only if you spend my money.”
Then I left her standing there before I gave in to the urge of carting her off into my bedroom.
I’d been coming home earlyfor the past three days to have dinner and spend time with Lucy. Aside from watching her shows, she picked a night where I could help her clean up the basement space because she refused to hire a crew. She fortunately asked Sato and the gardener to help her move her whiteboards and desk from her apartment. She also suggested repainting the walls and updating the light fixtures. It was a finished basement, but I told her I wanted a whole HVAC installed and made sure the air quality was optimal.
She argued it would cost too much money, and I argued she hadn’t spent a damn dime of mine yet. I knew this because I kept checking the account I opened for her. Morning, noon, and fucking nighttime. As if her spending my money made the marriage more legitimate.
Little did I know I would regret it.
That Thursday, I came home to see an atrocious yellow painting in the foyer.
