Oops.
I hold up the useless phone, biting my tongue because I know he’s about to explode with rage that I was careless enough to go out on my own with a dead phone. Leonid has been paranoid about my safety since the attack at the mansion, and while I understand his fear, it’s really starting to get on my nerves.
For several seconds he simply stares at me, and then he exhales sharply and runs a hand through his hair. “I thought you were at the home office.”
I purse my lips. “Okay? I was just tired of being inside all day. Thought I’d come out for some fresh air.”
“I looked for you everywhere when I got home.”
Something uncomfortable twists inside my chest, and it’s not just because of what he said, but how he said it—with the low tone that makes it sound like he was truly afraid when he couldn’t find me anywhere.
It makes me want to walk up to him and hug him tight. It makes me want to assure him I’ll be careful and tell him my whereabouts from now on.
This isn’t right.
It doesn’t make any sense that I always feel the need to surrender to the man who dragged me from my normal life and pulled me into this mess in the first place. The man who threatened to kill my parents and best friend if I dared to run from him.
The man who defied all odds to get to me and protect me,a tiny voice whispers in my head. It makes the anger I already feel toward myself flare even hotter as irritation takes over.
“You tracked me down because I stayed late at work?”
His stare hardens. “You snuck out without telling anyone.”
“I’m an adult.”
“You’re my wife.”
For a moment, we both stare at each other. Leonid looks perfectly calm and in control, while I’m a heaving, frowning mess. I hate how he manages to keep it together all the time, and how hard it is to read him.
I push to my feet, and the bench scrapes softly against the deck. The calm I’ve been searching for all evening vanishes in an instant.
“You’re right,” I say, clenching my teeth hard enough that I’m afraid I might lose a tooth or two. “I’m your wife. Notyour prisoner or a piece of furniture. I’m a grown-ass adult with autonomy, and I won’t let you take that from me.”
“You think this is about taking away your autonomy?”
The night wind whips through my hair as I fold my arms across my chest. “You did that when you kidnapped me. You don’t own me, Leonid.”
His gaze darkens and he closes the gap between us in one long stride. “You don’t need to like me, ptichka. But you need to come to terms with the fact that you’re mine. Only death can tear me away from your side.”
“Then you need to start preparing your coffin.” The words come out sharper than I intended, weeks of frustration spilling free before I can stop them. “There are guards everywhere I go. I’m not even allowed to make decisions for myself anymore. If I stay late at work, you show up and interrogate me. I don’t want to live this way, Leonid. I’m not your goddamn property.”
Heavy silence follows my venting, the tension in the air palpable from the way we’re both glaring into each other’s eyes.
Below us, water laps gently against the yacht, and somewhere farther down the marina, a buoy bell rings softly.
A flicker of an expression I can’t quite identify flashes over Leonid’s face, and then, in a voice that’s gentler than the evening breeze, he says, “I know you’re not my property. I’ve never considered you that way.”
My vision blurs as tears spring to my eyes. “Then stop treating me like this.”
His jaw flexes. I can practically see the battle happening behind his eyes—the part of him that wants to protect me versus the part that doesn’t understand why I refuse to let him.
“Vasili is out for blood,” he explains in a quiet tone. “I only have a few weaknesses, and you’re one of them. I’m trying to keep you safe, ptichka. The thought of you getting hurt in themiddle of all this drives me crazy. I can’t let anything happen to you.”
“There are ways to do that without treating me like a prisoner, Leo.” I sniffle. “I know you mean well, but all of this is suffocating. I just want to live a normal life.”
For the first time since I’ve known Leonid, the walls he’s built to shield his expression crack, and there’s visible pain etched on his face. The same pain splinters through me.
Somehow, knowing my words hurt him is even worse than our arguments. It’s not what I intended.
