Page 64 of Forced to Marry the Russian Bratva

I’m afraid that if I start telling her how I truly feel, I won’t be able to shut up.

When we arrive home at last, I exit the car quickly and don’t bother waiting for her as I usually would before heading inside.

I need space to process this unexpected twist of feelings.

“Valentin,” she calls after me as I walk up the stairs of the mansion. “What's going on? You've been acting weird since the taco place.”

I keep walking, heading for my office where I can pour myself a drink and sort through these thoughts.

“Don't you dare walk away from me,” she says, grabbing my arm. Her touch stops me in my tracks. “Tell me what's wrong.”

I turn to face her, torn between wanting to confess everything and wanting to guard my heart. She’s made it pretty clear, over and over again, that we’re nothing more than a temporary arrangement. The thought of pouring how I feel at her feet, only to be doused with the same disappointment again, feels like a spectacularly stupid thing to do.

“Nothing's wrong. I told you, I'm tired.”

“I don’t believe you!” Her eyes flash with anger. “We were having a great time, and then suddenly you shut down. What happened?”

“Gela, just drop it!” I hiss.

“No!” She raises her voice and crosses her arms in front of her. “I won’t just drop it. You’re clearly upset, and I want to know why.”

The disappointment transforms into a hot, red rage, and everything I’ve been suppressing comes out like volcanic ash.

“Fine!” I ask. “You really want to know what’s wrong?”

“Yeah.” She furrows her brows. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’m not a goddamn mind reader.”

“Alright then. Here’s the thing, Gela. You should rethink your plans because I’m not letting you go!”

She recoils slightly. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that when I listened to you talk about your grand plans for your business, your employees, and your downtown loft—” I step closer. “—I noticed that those plans weren’t passed by me!”

She takes a step back and shakes her head. “Are you even hearing yourself, Valentin? This arrangement is temporary, remember? Once the danger passes, we go back to our normal lives!”

“Forget Normal, Gela,” I groan, taking a step toward her, but she takes one back. “It doesn’t exist anymore. You’re a part of this life now. You can’t just walk away!”

She pales and shakes her head. “I'm not yours to let go of, Valentin!”

“That's not what I meant—”

“Then what did you mean?” she nearly shouts. “Because it sounds like you expect me to just fall in line with whatever future you've decided for us.”

“I haven't decided anything,” I protest. “I just want you to consider—”

“You can't just insert yourself into my future because we've slept together!” she shouts. “That's not how this works!”

Her voice makes me flinch. Everything I’m saying is coming out wrong. If only I knew how to express my feelings to her.

“Gela, what I’m trying to say is, we should talk about such decisions together, because…because you’re a part of my life now.”

Her eyes search mine, and for a moment, I think she might understand what I'm trying to say. But then her expression hardens.

“I'm tired,” she says flatly. “I'm going to bed.”

“Gela—”

“No. I can't do this right now.” She backs away toward the stairs. “You don't own me, Valentin. Remember that.”