Page 45 of Broken Vows (Marital Privileges #4)

Emerson

M y smile bounces off my phone screen when my aunt Marcelle fans her cheeks. Her cheeks are the color of beets, and her eyes are dilated. Anyone would swear I shared in explicit detail how amazing the past few days have been. I only gave her a basic bullet-point rundown.

Alas, I guess a person without a sex life would be intrigued by the most mundane story.

Fortunately for Aunt Marcelle, my sex life isn’t close to boring—anymore.

Excluding the slight hiccup during our first night at Mikhail’s penthouse, the past few days have been magical. The reimagination of our relationship is a masterpiece, and I can’t wait to share it with a broader audience.

Though I’ll never get the chance if I don’t get a wiggle on. I’m meant to be hunting down the dress Mikhail spent a fortune on, not steaming up my aunt’s reading glasses like her raunchy romance novels usually do.

“If I don’t hear from you before next Sunday, I will see you some time that afternoon.

” Mikhail wants to be in attendance when the electrostatic precipitator is installed at my mother’s pub, and I want to be there too.

It is exciting wondering how fiery the flames will become when we return to the place that sparked them.

Ember’s is a replica of my family’s pub, but nothing ever compares to the real thing.

I startle when a voice from behind asks, “Any luck yet?”

Twisting to face Loretta, I shake my head.

Kolya, understandably, assumed my walk out days ago was the end of my relationship with Mikhail and Mikhail’s bid for his inheritance.

He had the staff pack my belongings and store them in the attic.

The sixteen-thousand-dollar gala dress I’m planning to refund was packed with my one lousy backpack.

As beautiful as the dress is, with the electrostatic precipitator being installed next weekend, and my earnings and tips this week not taking me close to half its purchase price, I must be cautious with spending on Mikhail’s behalf.

It is easy to be overgenerous when you think you’re about to inherit five hundred million dollars.

“Not yet,” I answer, drawing Loretta further into the dark.

“Are you sure this is where he placed my belongings?” Under the assumption his contract was over, Kolya returned to Moscow three days ago.

The house staff has been in disarray ever since.

Kolya is stern. He runs a tight ship. I don’t see Zelenolsk Manor maintaining its pristine condition without him.

“That is where Kolya told Charles to place your belongings. It should be there.” Loretta rummages through a handful of dusty boxes before sneezing. “Perhaps I should call Kolya and ask him?”

“No,” I shout, a little too loudly. I startle Loretta. “It has to be here somewhere.”

I grunt in frustration not even five minutes later. The dress bag is nowhere to be found, and my allergies will give me grief for a month if I don’t leave the attic immediately.

Seconds after leaving the attic, I brush dust and cobwebs out of my hair and off my sweater and jeans before assisting Loretta in doing the same. She’s not wearing jeans, but it is harder to tell which silver strands on her head are cobwebs and which are gray hairs.

“If you come across it, can you please call me?”

When she nods, I recite my cell phone number before thanking her for her help with a smile. I may not have gotten what I came here for, but Loretta has been nothing but kind to me.

As my feet tap the pristine floorboards on the grand staircase, my phone rings. I smile while staring at the image flashing across the screen. Mikhail’s eyes are brimming with lust, but he looks content. Almost at peace.

That’s why I’ve kept quiet on Andrik’s secret for the past week.

Mikhail is almost ready to handle the fallout of my confession, but he isn’t there just yet.

His ego is still frail from the years of torment and abuse he endured after we broke up, and I need it at its full strength before going at it with a sledgehammer.

After taking a moment to admire Mikhail’s delectable features, I slide my thumb across the phone screen and press it to my ear. “Miss me already?”

Lynx rostered me off today because some of the other bartenders were getting crabby about the slimness of their tips on the nights Mikhail and I work together.

Mikhail would have had something to say about it if I had told him.

Instead, I made out I had stomach cramps and would rather spend my night in bed, recovering.

Mikhail looked set to join me until I dry heaved.

He was out the door fast, and I traced his steps only minutes later.

No wonder I couldn’t find the dress. Its disappearance is my punishment for being a liar.

My heart warms when Mikhail answers my question.

“Is the sky blue?” I listen for the noise of chatty patrons at Ember’s when he adds, “It isn’t the same without you at Ember’s.

” I learn why I can’t hear anyone when his laughter is chopped up by the high-powered revs of his engine.

“So much so, I’m playing hookie. Wanna join me? ”

I almost shout yes until I remember how slow the cab driver was. Anyone would swear he was paid by the hour instead of the mile. I will never make it back to Mikhail’s penthouse before him.

“Um.” My gag is brutal. It almost makes me puke. “I’m still not feeling the best, so maybe you should?—”

“You don’t look sick,” Mikhail interrupts, his tone somewhat stern but still playful. “You look mighty fine to me.”

My eyes shoot in all directions before they land on the camera in the far corner of the foyer. “Are you spying on me?”

“There’s no such thing as spying on your wife.” My anger crumbles away during his last word. I love when he calls me his wife. “Protecting them, yes. Taking care of them, also yes. Spying on them… no such thing.”

“Mikhail—”

“Get your ass outside, Ember, before I remember how your mother never spanked you, so you’re more turned on by the thought than scared.”

Excitement blisters for half a second. Confusion swallows it. “You’re here? At Zelenolsk?”

His hum vibrates through my body before clustering at my clit. I’m so excited to see him again that I sprint through the main entryway doors, uncaring I am about to be called out as a liar.

As I reach the covered driveway, I sling my eyes to the left before veering them to the right. I’m seeking Mikhail’s motorcycle, so it takes me longer than I care to admit to find him at the end of the lot, leaning against a flashy red sports car.

A familiar flashy red sports car.

Oh no.

The irony of my purchase isn’t lost on me.

I bought this ghastly monstrosity in a fit of anger and confusion.

It was a knee-jerk reaction to the chaos swirling in my life.

It is a flashing neon sign of how stupid I am, and I cringe more than I gleam when I join Mikhail at the side of a 1. 2-million-dollar purchase.

Don’t get me wrong. The car is beautiful, but just like the dress, I can’t keep it. There’s no way Mikhail will take Andrik’s money once he finds out the truth about his inheritance, and as much as I wish I could keep Andrik’s secret forever, cracks are already forming in my armor.

Furthermore, I don’t want to form our reimagination on an unstable surface. It will crumble if I do that, and my heart won’t survive a third demolition.

“I’m guessing it isn’t as easy to refund a car as it is a dress… right?”

“You’d be correct.” Smiling, Mikhail tosses a set of keys into my chest while saying, “So suck in your bottom lip before I bite it, get your ass in the driver’s seat, and give me my money’s worth.”

When he slides his eyes down my body, his gaze hot and wanton, 1.2 million stops ringing through my ears. The same tingling sensation that hit me when we made our wish list for when he got his motorcycle license is racing through my veins now, and I’m too horny to think rationally.

While recalling how packed the floors of Ember’s are every night—so I should earn a decent salary this year—I jog to the driver’s side door, slip onto the leather seat, and then groan.

I should have paid more attention while wasting money I didn’t earn. It’s a manual shift, and I only learned to drive an automatic.

“Don’t even think about it,” Mikhail says while joining me in the low ride.

“It’s a stick. I don’t know how to drive a stick.”

He pffts me. “Tell that to my cock. You’ve had no trouble driving it multiple times in the past week.”

Electricity spasms up my arm when he grabs my hand, places it over the gearstick knob, then requests for me to engage the clutch.

“The what?”

Mikhail’s laugh makes me hot all over, and it has me sizing up the backseat. It won’t be as comfortable as a king-size bed, but I’m sure we can make it work.

My eyes flick from the red stitched seats to Mikhail when he says, “Lesson first. Then we’ll test the softness of the leather seats.”

Air whizzes from my nose, falsely displaying I hate how easily he can read me, before I pay close attention to his instructions. I engage the clutch, then glide the gearstick through the gears as shown by Mikhail.

He takes it slow, his patience as mesmerizing now as it is between the sheets.

We spend the next few hours in the driveway of Zelenolsk Manor, Mikhail patiently guiding me through the intricacies of driving a manual car. Moments of frustration surface occasionally, but they’re quickly overshadowed with memories I will cherish for a lifetime.

Every time I stall the car, Mikhail’s laughter echoes throughout the sports car’s tight confines. It is infectious and warm and has me squirming in my seat more than his suggestion we take this circus on the road.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He encloses his hand over mine and guides the shifts of the gears as we glide down the long driveway. His touch is so reassuring I veer toward the open road instead of completing a U-turn.