Page 34 of Arranged Control

“I’m not some dog you have to look after.”

“No, you’re the daughter of a powerful Bratva boss, and you’re my wife.” He rubs his face and blows out a breath. “You’re going to make every single decision I make difficult, aren’t you?”

“If they don’t involve me, absolutely.”

“Come visit my house. If you hate it, we’ll talk about some other arrangement.” He scowls at that last word.

“Fine. But no matter what we do, I’m keeping my apartment.”

He turns away with a casual shrug. “Whatever keeps my beautiful wife happy.”

I know it shouldn’t matter, but this ismyplace. It’s the first space that ever really felt like a home. Even back when I was younger and living with my father in the Morozov family mansion, it never felt like I really belonged. I was always an afterthought. Always in the way. I learned how to survive in that place and accepted my role in this world. I learned how to be a good girl and how to follow the rules.

But it was here that I started to learn about who I really am and who I want to be.

It’s hard to give that up.

Plus, some deep, dark part of my heart still clings on to the tiny, improbable hope that I won’t stay married to Seamus forever.

I know that’s messed up, but I never wanted this relationship.

And if it ends, I’ll need somewhere to go.

This apartment is my escape hatch.

Seamus might not like that—but he’ll learn to live with it.

Now I just need to convince him to wear a shirt at all times, and I’ll be in good shape.

Chapter 11

Alina

Istraighten a row of organic cotton sweaters hand-knit by artisans living in some tiny fishing village at the edge of Ireland. Beneath them are boots made by a bunch of hiking-obsessed hippies out of Oregon. I clean up the box of handcrafted sterling silver jewelry from Australia and run my hands over a stack of luxurious merino wool leggings.

“You look like you’re petting that stuff,” Kira calls from the register. She’s meticulously folding some new shirts we got in that are dyed in these incredible new washed styles from India. “Seriously, I think you love this stuff more than you love me.”

“The clothes never call me out.” I sigh and rub my face against the wool legging. “So soft. So beautiful.”

“Creepy!”

“The leggings never call me creepy.”

“Sometimes I worry about you, Alina.”

I laugh and continue my circuit of Sistine. The boutique’s been open for an hour and so far foot traffic’s been pretty light. That’snormal for this time of day. We’ll get more shoppers midday and after work, and there are a few private slots reserved for high-end clients after we shut the doors at six-thirty. Kira handles those unless I’m specifically requested, which is less often these days.

When I first opened Sistine, I figured it would be a fun distraction. I didn’t really take it seriously. I mean, I’m just some random girl, right? I didn’t know anything about operating a successful retail space.

But I got obsessed. That happens sometimes. The numbers aspect of the job made sense, and Kira’s always been really good at marketing. Together, we built a really good stock of rare and hard-to-find brands and started to build a reputation for cutting-edge style. I try to keep prices as reasonable as possible, and Sistine has still managed to pull in a profit year after year, growing every single quarter.

I love it. I know I’m a lucky nepo baby and this never would’ve happened without my family’s money, but still. I got my start and I ran with it, and now Sistine is my everything.

“You know nothing’s changed since you last touched everything, right?” Kira gives me a look as I join her up front. I pull up our accounting software on the computer and start going through the numbers.

“I’m aware of that, thank you.”

“How’s life with the husband? Do you fold his underwear yet?”