Page 21 of Forced to Marry the Russian Bratva

He ignores my sarcasm and checks my watch, suddenly acting like a rock. “I have meetings today. I'll be back with lunch.”

“Don't hurry on my account,” I mumble. I think he pauses at the door, but I must have imagined it, because it closes just as fast.

I immediately start to eat. I might be furious, but I'm not stupid enough to starve myself to death in here. The next morning, I once again bang on the door.

“Hello? Is anyone out there? Can you hear MEEE?” I scream loudly.

“Oh, I can hear you all right,” Valentin’s voice comes bellowing down the hallway. “And if you keep that up, I’ll make sure to forget that coffee you love so much!”

From that point on, the door banging ceased. Not because his threat scared me, but because I grew tired of screaming anyway.

Two more days pass, and the pattern stays the same. Valentin brings me meals, and I keep arguing, but he remains infuriatingly calm, which only frustrates me further.

On the fourth day, when he brings lunch, I try a different tactic.

“Valentin. I need to head to work, please. My clients will be wondering where I am, and if my employees don’t hear from me, they might call the cops or something. You don’t want that kind of trouble, do you?”

He turns to me, and his lip turns into that half-smile he uses with me when he’s utterly annoyed. “Don’t worry. None of that will be a problem.”

“What do you mean?” I frown. “How would you know what will and won’t be a problem at my workplace?”

“Everything's being taken care of, Gela,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair in a motion so soft that I find myself momentarily distracted by how long and graceful his fingers are for a man as hard as he is.

I blink away the distracting thoughts, shaking my head when I notice him turn around to walk away. “Wait…” I run up and touch his shoulder, feeling a current as I make contact with his muscles and immediately pull away. I clear my throat.

“Explain what you mean by everything’s taken care of,” I ask, avoiding his gaze.

“Eat your lunch, Gela.” He turns around.

In frustration, I throw my hair scrunchie at him. It bounces off his back, and he turns with his eyebrows shot up.

“Seriously?”

“Let me out of this room, Valentin!”

“Maybe I will, tomorrow,” he grins, and walks right out.

***

The next day, when Valentin enters, he comes in empty-handed.

I watch him skeptically, not bothering to put down the book I’m reading in bed.

“What do you want?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

“I noticed you didn’t call me a bastard when I brought in your breakfast this morning,” he grins, leaning against the door, which I notice remains unlocked.

I put aside the book and get out of bed, now perched on the side of it, watching him with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m thinking it’s time to come up with something more creative.”

“Oh yeah? Maybe we can brainstorm together. Over lunch?”

“What?” I ask, shaking my head. “This seems like some kind of trick.”

“No trick.” He clicks his tongue and beckons with his head at the hallway outside. “Join me for lunch?”

I stand, still confused. “You mean…I can leave this room?”

“For lunch, yes,” he shrugs.