Page 42 of The Billionaire's Vow

She turned, smiling up at him with genuine wonder.“I’d sit right here and sip my coffee every morning.”

His gaze held hers, something unreadable flickering behind those dark eyes.

“I’m a little jealous,” she admitted, a wistful smile playing on her lips.

Dimitri stepped closer, the warmth of him a stark contrast to the cool glass at her fingertips.“Then stay.”

It wasn’t a command.It wasn’t a suggestion either.

And that was what made it so dangerous.

Chapter 18

Dimitricouldn’tsuppresstheintense satisfaction that settled in his chest as he watched Giselle explore his home.It felt right in a way that nothing had in a long time.Seeing her here, framed against the city skyline, her fingertips trailing lightly over the smooth, polished surfaces, filled him with a possessive sort of relief.At least tonight, she wouldn’t be going back to that disaster of an apartment.

He had visited her place earlier that day, a calculated move to assess the damage for himself.The destruction had been worse than he’d realized.No plates, no glasses, not even a single usable fork or spoon had survived.Her couch—if it could even be called that—had looked as if it had been to war and lost.After what had been done to it, it should be burned.Hell, it probably needed an exorcism.

He turned toward his kitchen, which was integrated seamlessly into the open-concept living space.Cooking had always been a way for him to unwind, a ritual that grounded him in the midst of his chaotic life.He reached for a bottle of red wine, one he had been saving for a special occasion.Having a beautiful woman in his space for the first time in years certainly felt like one.

“Would you prefer red or white wine?”he asked, pulling the cork free with a smooth, practiced motion.

“Water is fine,” she called back, turning toward him with a small, polite smile.

He arched an eyebrow, his hand stilling over the stem of his wineglass.“You don’t drink?”

“Never.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.“Why’s that?”

Giselle crossed the room, her movements slow and thoughtful, as if she were still absorbing the space around her.She perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island, wrapping both hands around the chilled glass of water he poured for her.

“Because my father is an alcoholic,” she admitted quietly.Then her eyes widened slightly, as if startled by her confession.

Dimitri stilled, his grip tightening around the bottle of wine.“What?”

She laughed softly, the sound laced with surprise and resignation.“That’s the first time I’ve ever said that out loud.”She tilted her head, her fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on her glass.“In fact, that’s the first time I’veeveradmitted it.Even to myself.”

His jaw flexed, and he set the wine bottle down with a quiet clink.“Why?”

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, but there was tension in the movement.“Because my father swears he isn’t an alcoholic.He claims that, since he can work all day without a drink, and only starts once he gets home, he doesn’t have a problem.”She let out a dry, humorless chuckle.“In reality, he comes home, grabs a bucket, fills it with several cans of beer, packs the rest of the space with ice, and then parks himself in front of the television and starts drinking until he either passes out in the chair or, on a good night, stumbles to bed.”

Dimitri resumed slicing vegetables, his grip on the knife steady, but his attention wholly on her.“Every night?”

She nodded, her expression distant, as if recalling memories she had tried hard to ignore.“Every single night.”She paused, lifting her hand up, forefinger extended.“Correction.Sometimes, on the weekends, he’ll start earlier in the day but that requires a second bucket.And other times he’ll hang out at the corner pub to drink.”She lifted a finger as if punctuating the absurdity of it.“But in his mind, because he doesn’t drinkwhileworking, he’s not an alcoholic.He has himself completely convinced.”

Her fingers tightened around the glass, her knuckles going white for a moment before she caught herself and consciously relaxed her grip.She shook her head, exhaling slowly.“I don’t think there’s a single day in my life that I remember him not drinking.”

Dimitri watched her closely, his knife moving with slow, precise efficiency.“And your mother?”

Giselle pressed her lips together, looking down at her glass as if the answer was written there.When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet.“She enables him.And she has her own… issues.”

Dimitri had already suspected as much.He had read the financial reports, seen the withdrawals and transfers that made no sense for a woman with Giselle’s salary.But hearing it from her, the import of it hit differently.He had always prided himself on knowing everything about the people who worked for him.But this?This made him want to hunt down every single person who had failed her.

Giselle took a deep breath, pushing away whatever emotions had risen to the surface.When she looked up again, her expression was carefully blank, as if she had decided she had shared too much.“Anyway,” she said, offering him a forced smile.“That’s why I don’t drink.”

Dimitri poured himself a glass of wine, but when he lifted the glass to his lips, he hesitated.Then, with a barely perceptible sigh, he set it down on the counter.

For the first time in his life, the wine tasted bitter.