Page 18 of A Love Most Brutal (Morelli Family #2)
MARY
The day after my wedding, I wake to an empty bed and thirty-two texts in the family group chat, most of which are from Willa and Nate asking about my first night as Mary Orlov .
Those two are worse than the women that my mother hangs out with, nosier and more invasive by double, if I had to give a generously low estimate.
Willa
Did you sleep with him?
Vanessa
Leave her alone
Nate
Right leave her alone
(but did you?)
Willa
It’s a reasonable question, they’re married and Mary is hot! Of course he wants her!
Nate
and maxim needs a baby
Vanessa
they got married YESTERDAY
Nate
and Maxim isn’t getting any younger!
Sean
he is an old fuck
Willa
Babe don’t say that
Nate
not cool, Sean
Vanessa
He’s not even forty, aren’t you like 35???
Sean
I didn’t say he was ugly, I said he was old.
He is handsome, though. Dude’s built like a building.
Leo
Real
Nate
an absolute unit.
Mary
I am blocking all of you.
Willa
Oh good, you’re alive!
Leo
no death by penis
Mary
YOU ARE INSUFFERABLE.
Sean sends a slew of phallic-looking emojis, many eggplants, and baguettes, which I will give points for creativity.
Leo leaves laughing reactions on like fifteen messages, making my phone buzz again with every one.
This is the problem with being this close with your siblings; no damn boundaries.
Mary
You all need to stop thinking about me having sex. it’s not normal.
Willa
right, right
Leo
of course, we’re sorry.
Nate sends a row of kneeling emojis, as if in prayer for forgiveness.
Vanessa
(but blink twice if you had sex with him)
Mary
GOODBYE, GOING ON MY HONEYMOON, SEE YOU PERVERTS NEVER.
Willa
Text us every day!
Nate
send pictures!!!
Leo
take a picture of every meal, literally every one
Sean
Guys leave her alone.
Mary
Thank you, Sean
Sean
she has a baby to make!
Mary
I hate you so, so much.
“Good morning,” Maxim says from the door of the room, and I jump, dropping my phone in the process, it falls to the ground with a loud thunk.
“Hi,” I say. “Morning.”
“Something wrong?” he asks, nodding once in the direction of the dropped phone. I play dumb, looking around like I’m not sure what he means. “You got a lot of texts, is all.”
I blink. “Right, yeah. It was just my family being. . .well, yeah there was a problem,” I lie. “But they took care of it. And I told them never to text me again and I put in my two weeks notice.”
Maxim’s lips quirk in a smile at my story, and I look down at the metal tray he holds. I sit up in the bed and push my hair behind my ears. I just know it’s a damn mess and I would be more self-conscious of it, but he’s stuck with me now so he might as well get used to it.
“Is that for me?”
“It is,” he says, and crosses the room to the bed, setting the tray down next to me. He’s already dressed, and not just sort of dressed—he’s wearing his usual expensive slacks and a button-up shirt. No tie, though.
I am woefully underdressed, but it’s like nine-thirty and we are technically on our honeymoon, so I think he’s the one at fault here.
Maxim takes a metal lid off of a couple of plates and my eyes go wide as I see the offerings. “I tried to order like I thought you would, by which I mean, every appetizer and a dessert.”
“You learn quick,” I say, then gasp, reaching for a tiny bowl. “Cream puffs? Everyone should put them on their breakfast menus.”
Maxim hums but looks pleased as I stuff a whole cream puff in my mouth.
“Is there coffee?” I ask around my bite, but it’s clear enough that he knows what I’m asking for and exits the room before returning a few moments later with two to-go cups.
I take a big sip then wince at the temperature. “How long have you been awake?”
“Not long,” he says. “A couple hours.”
“Do you always wake up so early?” I pick up a plate of what looks like an omelette covered in mushrooms and cheese.
“Usually. I don’t always sleep well.”
I nod, too familiar with that struggle, but not willing to go into it. Maxim certainly doesn’t want to hear about my nightmares, nor the waking thoughts that haunt me as I try to sleep.
“Well thank you for breakfast. And coffee.”
We lapse into silence, Maxim standing casually, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his coffee while he watches me devour two plates of food. I wonder if he’s thinking about last night. Even wondering about it brings to mind the torrid details of our consummation, making my cheeks hot.
What even was that?
Best sex of my life? I would say probably, yes. Utterly confusing? That too. Neither of us were supposed to like it that much. I wasn’t supposed to see a bottomless well of want in his eyes, nor feel it reflected all the way through myself.
There are worse things in life than enjoying sex with your husband. It’s not such a horrible affliction, is it? So long as he doesn’t start getting any funny ideas. I can have feelings-free sex with Maxim Orlov while we try to make a tiny Orlov.
I’ll deal with the stress of actually having said tiny Orlov when the time comes.
“So what’s with the outfit then?” I ask. “I thought we were on vacation.”
He looks down at his clothes, a crease between his brows and lips turned down.
I take another bite of croissant before I speak. “You look like you’re going to a meeting. I was thinking, like, swimming.”
“You want to go swimming?” he asks.
I halt my chewing, my turn to frown. Is swimming too immature for him? Does the man know how to take vacations?
“This fancy ass hotel has a pool, fitness center, spa—we have our own hot tub. It would be a shame not to partake. A waste of money, even.”
“We stay for free,” he reminds me as if his last name isn’t embossed onto the stationary on all of the bedside tables in the hotel.
“All the more reason. It’s like a buffet, they should be losing money on us.
” I wipe my fingers on the cloth napkin and crawl out of the bed, the air cool on my bare legs.
I slept in Maxim’s muscle shirt which he’d slipped over my head after declaring that me walking around naked would be too distracting.
His eyes flit to my legs, and then quickly back up at my face.
So polite .
“Did you have other plans today? Work?” I ask.
“No, we’re traveling today.”
I stare blankly at Maxim. The honeymoon isn’t a long one; just three days, and mostly for appearances, but I didn’t think we’d be going back to his home today . I thought we’d have time to get facials and what the fuck ever someone does at an Orlov.
“Willa didn’t tell you?”
I prop my hands on my hips, causing his eyes to stray downward again before quickly returning to safer, less indecent territory. “She didn’t.”
“We’re going to Mexico,” he says. “Three days. You can do lots of swimming.”
I blink, processing this news. Part of me wants to be upset at the surprise—I do not love surprises—but I had already written the next three days off of productivity of any kind. Now I’ll just be unproductive in Mexico, presumably next to a large body of water.
“When do we leave?” I ask.
Maxim looks down at the shiny watch on his wrist. “We leave in an hour.”
I shouldn’t be shocked that the beachside Orlov resort in Mexico is even nicer than the Orlov we slept in last night.
Everything since we left has been dripping in luxury—the plane that took us here, the limo that was waiting for us when we arrived, the full spread of chilled tropical fruit on our table as we stepped inside the room.
I knew Maxim had money, everyone knows this, but to know his net worth and to experience it are two different things.
It’s not like we didn’t have our share of luxurious vacations as kids, but there is a difference between a nice room at a nice resort and the nicest room at the nicest resort, and it’s felt in thread counts and included amenities.
Even more with every employee knowing us by name, politely welcoming Mr. and Mrs. Orlov as we passed.
Our room isn’t as large as the other was, but it has indoor and outdoor seating as well as its own small pool .
I’m not tired since I slept most of the flight here—the plane was nice and the leather seats were stupidly comfortable.
The flight attendant even brought me a blanket that was so soft I asked Maxim if I could take it with me.
The blanket sits on our second California King bed in as many days while I float on my back in the pool, Maxim reading a paperback in a patio chair beside me.
He traded his slacks for shorts and his button up for a polo, which was more exciting to me than it should have been, seeing his shins and biceps, his detailed tattoos on display for my perusal.
Willa packed all new clothes in my suitcase, including three of the sluttiest little bikinis I could imagine.
I put one on as soon as we’d arrived and caught Maxim staring at my ass immediately.
Once again, my sisters love to meddle.
My fingers sufficiently pruned, I dunk my head under water one final time before I climb out. My bathing suit is bright purple and probably not appropriate to wear in public spaces, but I look great and it’s just Maxim. He saw a whole lot more of me last night.
The sun is setting, beautiful pink and orange painted across the sky over the ocean.
I turn over my shoulder to tell Maxim, only to find him already looking up at me.
I can’t see his eyes beneath the sunglasses, but I imagine they’re violent and stormy based only on the firm set of his mouth.
If I let my mind wander, I begin to imagine that he resents being here with me.
That this is a honeymoon he would’ve preferred to save for his ex-fiancée. I am sure she was nicer than me.