Page 5 of His Prince (Unexpectedly Twisted #2)

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ANGEL

I toss and turn in bed, my mind replaying the video chats I had with Mikhail these last few months. The way he’d listen so intently, the tilt of his head, the sparkle of his blue eyes as I poured my heart out.

But the longer I think about it, the more I realize I did most of the talking.

He was always so quiet, never revealing much about himself, and yet even still, he managed to woo me in his silence.

I’d never been listened to so intently. It validated something inside of me. And when he did speak, it was profound and sweet. And sometimes he’d say things so hot that I’d jack off right then and there, letting him watch me as I came.

His pupils would dilate, his breathing coming out harsher, whispering words of encouragement in English and Russian. But looking back, he never got himself off. The first time I’d ever heard him come was yesterday.

When he emptied himself into my ass .

I drag myself out of bed, my eyes dry and red from lack of sleep, the muscles in my body weak from exhaustion. Even so, I need to get breakfast going like I promised.

Yesterday, after staring for far too long at my phone, willing Mikhail to contact me, I ended up placing a food order, one big enough to fill the mostly unused industrial fridge in that custom kitchen of his, before marching over to the guardhouse near the front gate, letting the guys inside know I’d be getting a delivery. A large one at that.

They just blinked at me, almost as if they didn’t understand the words coming out of my mouth. They only responded when I let them know they were welcome to come into the house for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

By the time Mikhail finally arrives home, he’s going to find that instead of breaking me in his absence, I’ve made this place my home.

I hope his skin crawls when he realizes it, hope that he bursts a few blood vessels when he sees people in his house, mingling, eating, and enjoying life.

My heart clenches at the thought, sadness bubbling up inside of me. And at the same time, anger works its way through my system. I’m so sad about this entire situation, and yet I’m so fucking mad at him. How could I have been so stupid? How could someone be so cruel?

I’ll never understand it.

Making my way into the kitchen clad only in my silk pajama pants and t-shirt, I throw on an apron and get to work, pulling out pots and pans and finding a Russian breakfast recipe for syrniki on my phone. As I work on the Russian cottage cheese pancakes, I also cook up some eggs and bacon, wanting to make sure they’re well-fed, and I’m happy that my mind is, for once, not focused on my absent husband.

By the time the food is ready, the first wave of bodyguards meanders through the door. All of them look slightly unsure, but as soon as their eyes land on the food laid out before them on the island, they relax, scooping food onto their plates. As I watch the food slowly disappear, I start to become slightly nervous that I didn’t make enough.

I make notes on what to do differently for lunch as I grab a loaf of Russian black bread and start placing it in the toaster. When that finally lands on a serving plate, it’s scooped up almost immediately and shoveled into waiting mouths.

“Thanks, little husband,” one of them says, causing my cheeks to flush. “I haven’t had anything like this since my grandma passed.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, my voice a little watery at the appreciation they have for me. At least someone likes that I’m here , I think as I utter, “Come back for lunch.”

“We will,” the bodyguard near me says, nudging me with his arm and then ruffling my hair.

As they eat, they chat openly, growing louder with each second that passes, and I learn their names between chews and swallows.

The guy I saw smoking on the treadmill yesterday is Gael, a man who is half Irish and half Russian, hence the name. The one with the red hair and nose ring is Titus, or Titov, as his parents call him. The one who keeps nudging up against me and calling me little husband is Felix, or Feliks, from the guardhouse. There are others as well—Boris, Lev, and Benedikt. I plan on learning all their names, both their Russian and English counterparts and placing them at the forefront of my mind. I plan on endearing myself to them, making myself indispensable.

I won’t be thrown away by them like I was my husband.

Eventually Casey shows up, his eyes honing in on me, worry settling in his gaze as he takes me in. Unlike me though, he looks well-rested and happy, and my heart is full knowing he’s okay. But even still, in the depths of his eyes, I can see anxiety bubbling up just below the surface. He can tell something’s wrong. He knows me too well. We’ve been through too much together.

So I ignore the looks he’s giving me.

He knows. He fucking knows .

“So, little husband,” Felix says around a mouthful of bread and butter. “You look good in the kitchen, so very feminine. Where did you learn to cook? From your mama?”

“Well, no. She died when I was born, so I learned from our household cook, Aggie.”

“I see,” Felix says as Gael pulls out a cigarette and lights it up, holding a cup of tea in his hand.

“Does our little husband know how to bake as well?” Gael asks, puffing out a ring of smoke from his lips.

“He knows, you fool. He made us cookies yesterday,” Titus replies, winking at me. “Delicious cookies, just like a woman.”

“Yes, but Russian baked goods. I would kill for pirozhki.”

I pull out my phone and type that in, misspelling it several times until Felix leans over and gives me the correct spelling.

“I can do that,” I say and then look up and see all of them watching me intently.

“Why would you do this for us?” Boris asks, his shaved head glinting in the sunlight filtering in from the window. “Why cook and bake for us? We are nothing but soldiers.”

“Because I want to be useful,” I say as Casey moves up next to me and takes a seat silently at my other side. “And you deserve to be well-fed.”

“A man in the kitchen,” Gael snorts and then stubs his cigarette out on the edge of the plate. “The things we see here in America.”

Titus smacks him in the back of the head, and Gael frowns at him, the two of them conversing loudly in Russian. I can’t follow it, knowing only the basics of the language, so while they speak, Casey leans into me and whispers in my ear.

“You okay?”

“I’m great,” I lie, the first of many I’m sure.

He doesn’t look convinced, but I’m not ready to admit what a failure my marriage seems to be.

A cloud of smoke moves past my face, and I fan it away with my hand .

“Would it be too much to ask you all to smoke outside only?” I ask with a small smile.

They stare at me before Titus says, “That’s not how it’s done.”

“Well, as your little husband , I’d like it done this way. So please take your cigarettes outside from now on.”

They glumly agree to it, two of them walking outside to finish their poison sticks and the others stubbing them out on the plates before them.

By the time they meander out of the house, I’m left with a large mess and Nina clucking at me from the hallway. Casey lingers as well, his body leaning up against the wall, his arms folded across his chest as he watches me carefully.

He’s always worried for me, like a mother hen. He won’t let this go. Not when my disappointment and hurt are so clearly painted across my face.

“You’ve opened a can of worms, boy,” Nina tells me grumpily as she moves through the kitchen, gathering the plates and putting them in the sink, but I ignore her, feeling my cheeks heat at her proclamation.

I sure hope I’ve opened the can of worms. I hope they wriggle in all the hidden spaces of this place.

Plus, everyone shies away from worms, but in gardening they’re so valuable. They provide so many nutrients to the soil and a better soil structure. Maybe that’s what will happen in this cold, dark, and dreary place.

Maybe this can of worms I’ve opened will do wonders for this place.

For my breaking heart.

Nina turns the water on in the sink, bubbles piling up on the dishes as she grabs a piece of bread leftover on a plate, examines it, and then takes a small bite.

She won’t admit it out loud, but she’s enjoying the taste of home.

I make a note to have more of it shipped from the small Russian bakery in Maryland. I want her on my side as well .

I want Mikhail to come home to loyalties divided.

I want to make him as miserable as he’s made me.

“Casey, you really don’t need to hang out with me today. I’m not doing anything of importance. Just exploring and checking out the garden,” I say, still avoiding his watchful gaze.

He shakes his head and moves toward me to insist on being present, but Nina swats him away.

“He speaks indirectly, but you heard him. He doesn’t need you here.”

His eyes widen at her stern voice, his lips parting in frustration, but I wave him away.

“I promise I’m fine, and I’ll tell you if I need you.”

“You promise?”

“Of course,” I say with a wobbly smile.

He goes with an unsure backward glance, a papa bear always wanting to protect me.

But I don’t need protecting. I can manage on my own.

I get to work washing the dishes, Nina moving up next to me and helping me in stoic silence.

I murmur that she doesn’t need to help me with this, but she just tuts in that way of hers and continues to do so. Apparently, Nina has a way of getting what she wants as well.

And to be honest, I’m not sure if she’s helping because she feels sorry for me or because she wants her kitchen back to the completely clean and sparkling way it was. I don’t know why Mikhail has such a nice custom kitchen if he never uses it. What’s the point? Is it just a treasure to acquire, to show off and never use?

Is that like me?

Am I just a trophy he wants to prop up and display?

“Would you be able to show me where the gardens are now that we’re done, Nina? Mikhail told me about them,” I explain as I dry my hands off, trying to push those negative thoughts away. I can stew on them later when I’m all alone .

Nina wipes her hands on a light gray towel and tosses it on the counter.

“ Gardens is one word for it. More like a burial ground,” she murmurs, and I feel my heart sink even more. Is this another thing Mikhail lied to me about? “Go up and change, bring a jacket. You’ll catch a chill.”

I nod and do as she says, walking to our room and pulling on some pants and an oversized lavender sweater, feeling the need to hide myself from it all. I want to slip under the covers of that king-sized bed and sleep for a week, but then again, I don’t have time to do that. I have a garden to inspect and lunch to make.

Perhaps I’ll buy some paint for the dreary gray walls inside and paint them a rainbow of colors.

Perhaps some of the bodyguards could be persuaded to help me if I bribe them with more Russian snacks.

That thought percolates in my mind as I meet Nina by the front door, her face drawn, her foot tapping impatiently on the muted marble floor.

“Finally. You took your time. This way,” she hisses and then marches out the front door. I follow along, the cool breeze nipping at me. My breath puffs out as I nearly jog alongside her. She’s shorter than me but has the legs of a horse and the drive of a mule. As she rounds a corner, moving through a smattering of trees and overgrown hedges, I finally see it and my steps falter.

“Oh my god,” I say, my voice cracking along with my heart.

Before me sits a ruined plot of land, replete with broken fountains, crumbling walls and overgrown weeds. There’s not a flower in sight, not a hint of green. Nina was right, it’s an empty plot of land, a burial ground of broken dreams.

It’s horrendous.

“I have a garden, just for you.”

Fucking liar.

“This needs a lot of work,” I whisper, feeling my eyes start to water, my nose stinging harshly .

Nina huffs and folds her arms across her chest. “More than a lot of work. It’s best to just leave it, let it rot.”

I purse my lips and the sadness and anger mix within me, creating something ugly. Loathing.

Hatred.

“I can do it,” I whisper, swiping at my eyes. “I can make this better.”

“Some things don’t ever change, no matter the type of work you put into it.”

“I won’t give up,” I tell her and then tuck my hands into my sweater pockets and turn around, marching back to the house, my phone in my trembling hands.

There’s still no word from Mikhail, no updates, no response. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d blocked my number.

Well, fuck him then. If he left me here alone, then I’ll take that as a sign I can do what I want.

I glance around as I stand on the wide porch, searching for cameras. I don’t see them but I make sure he doesn’t see me cry. Pulling up an app on my phone, I get to work ordering plants and seeds, new garden decorations, and a slew of paint and wallpaper.

I don’t even use the credit card he gave me on the plane.

“Use it for whatever you’d like, sólnyshko.”

Fuck no. I use my own money, the cash I have sitting in a trust fund my father gifted me. I use my own money because changing the entirety of this place will be my goddamn pleasure.

I trudge toward the guard’s apartments, shifting the basket of flowers in my arms as Casey grumbles under his breath. He found me in the living room, staring out the window a few hours after breakfast. I tried to get him to leave and take the day off, to let me stew in peace, but he adamantly refused.

Loyal as always .

“You don’t need to come with me, you know?”

“And leave you to those horny pariahs? No. I’m going with you. The fact you were alone yesterday…”

“Casey, I’m fine. Really. And they aren’t horny, they’re just…Russian.”

He glances down at me and nudges me slightly. “I’m not sure I like these Russians.”

I let out a small laugh and then sigh. If only I wanted him. If only he wanted me. Things would be so much easier if I’d fallen for my bodyguard, like my brother, Diablo did. But as hot as Casey is, with those tattoos and that thick, dirty-blond hair, and as much as I’ve grown to love him, it’s not like that for us.

I’ve only ever felt that way for Mikhail, and it was wasted.

I sigh as we continue to walk. I take in the beautiful grounds surrounding us when I see someone in a full suit with impeccably styled hair dragging something through the trees. I come to a stop and lean forward, focusing my gaze.

“Is that George? Oh my god, is that a dead body?” I ask, turning toward Casey, my eyes wide.

“Hm. Yep, looks like it,” he replies, and I huff a small laugh.

“He doesn’t look like he’s even broken a sweat.”

“Yeah, better not to ask questions.”

I take his advice, putting it out of my mind. As soon as we get to the door of the guard house, Casey scans his keycard and we step inside.

As I enter, heads turn toward me, surprise on their faces for just a moment before Felix grins and waves us over.

“Look who it is. Our little husband couldn’t stay away!”

Gael snorts around a cigarette as he lifts weights in the corner, his biceps bulging, sweat dripping from his temples.

Casey scowls at him as Titus stubs out his cigarette and moves toward me, the gold chain around his bare chest winking up at me.

“He brought us flowers,” Titus says. “Perhaps we should call you our little wife instead.”

Casey nearly growls next to me, but I let it go.

“You can call me whatever you’d like,” I say, and Titus grins at me, chucking me under the chin.

“If I did that, Mikhail would surely cut out my tongue.”

I don’t respond to that because I don’t think Mikhail would care even if I fucked someone else. He’d only care if I broke our contract, nothing more.

A bodyguard appears from the hallway, completely naked, scratching his balls, and I glance away, but not before I catch sight of his uncut cock.

My mind flashes to Mikhail and his, the way the foreskin pulled back when he was hard.

“Put on some clothes,” Casey grunts. “Have some respect.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind,” I reassure him. I’ll not have him making this harder for me. I’m here to win them all over. If that means they walk around naked, so be it.

The only thing I don’t want is smoking inside the main house. The rest of it can slide. I’m here to make this place my own, despite feeling as if I’m being buried alive.

I take a deep breath and then point to the container Casey is carrying.

“Sorry to barge in, but I just brought you some snacks,” I explain, nudging Casey to show the box of treats. “It’s not anything Russian, but I hope you like it all the same.”

Gael drops his weights with a loud clang and strides toward me, grabbing it and peering inside.

“Scones,” he gasps.

“Mhm. Even made some cherry jam for you guys.”

Felix glances up at the ceiling and kisses his fingertips, sending up a prayer of thanks.

“Thank God for him. I’ll never miss confession again.”

I grin as they pass the scones out, throwing Casey a smug I told you so grin as the men groan in delight. Thank the lord for Agatha who helped me cultivate my skills in the kitchen as I grew up. I owe this success all to her.

As they eat, crumbs spilling onto the floor, I find a crystal vase in one of the cabinets and arrange the flowers, setting them in the middle of the large dining table. Even just this small pop of color makes this space come alive.

Damn this dreary place.

Rage seethes inside of me at the thought of how na?ve I was, how stupid, but I push it down as I turn to the room full of men.

“Oh, he has a look in his eyes,” Titus says, and I nod, rolling my lips between my teeth. They have gotten to know me quite quickly and can read me better than most. But then again, I’m not much of a mystery. I’m quite open and honest. I don’t hide behind lies and false words.

I school my face and grasp my hands behind my back, rocking on my feet.

“I just need a small favor.”

Gael’s eyes narrow as he lights up another cigarette, but he waves his hand at me, motioning for me to get on with it.

“I have some things being delivered this afternoon and was hoping some of you could help me bring them in?”

“Of course,” Titus replies, but Gael looks a little unsure.

“We have to get Ivan’s approval first. We have jobs, little husband, but we will make time for you.”

“Who is Ivan?” I ask, unsure of this name.

“He’s the head of security,” Casey replies and then lowers his voice. “And shit at his job.”

My eyebrows rise and I glance back at the men who are still eating and watching me.

“I’m sure I can speak to Ivan and he’ll allow you to assist me,” I say, and the guys all nod before looking forlornly at the empty container of scones. I need to triple my recipe next time. “All I need to do is find him. Do you happen to know where he is right now? ”

They glance at each other, and Gael finally sighs. “I can show you where he works.”

Casey interjects, but I stop him with a hand to his chest.

“I’ve got this. Why don’t you stay here and make some friends.”

“Hell no. I don’t want to be friends with these guys. I’m going with you,” he replies, and I sigh, letting him follow me and Gael out of the house.

As we walk, the sun peeks out from behind a cloud, warming me slightly. “Thank you for taking me, Gael. Do you know where George is, by any chance?”

He looks over at me, skeptical. “Why do you need to know where our doctor is?”

“Oh, is that who he is?”

“Amongst other things.”

“What other things?”

Gael doesn’t answer, just continues walking, moving to a stone on the edge of the walkway and putting out his cigarette. He then lights another one.

I really need to get their chain-smoking habits under control.

“Anyway, avoid that man. You don’t need to speak to him.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I was just wondering. I haven’t seen him since that one time. He didn’t come to lunch or dinner.”

Gael huffs and then pulls a drag from his cigarette, smoke billowing out of his mouth.

“Georgiy isn’t around much. He’s a busy man. Don’t take it personally.”

“I won’t,” I say as Casey stares down at me, looking cynical. But he bites his tongue. I don’t need him discouraging any of this.

We move inside, passing by Nina who is vacuuming a very ornate, dull-looking rug, one I plan on rolling up and stashing in the attic, replacing it with something far more colorful. Not that I say that. No, I plan on doing what I want. When I want.

Gael leads me down a hallway and up some stairs. At the end is a door that’s locked. It’s the first one I’ve seen with a keypad.

At least there’s some kind of security here, I think as Gael punches in a number that I memorize as he goes. I would usually bet that they change it often, but honestly, with the way I’ve seen things run here, I’m not sure.

It’s almost as if Mikhail wants someone to come in and end it all.

To take it all away.

I don’t understand it.

Casey eyes me, and I give him a subtle nod to keep that number locked in his head as well. As my eyes slide away from him, the door swings open and I’m greeted with a small space, piled high with documents, three computers situated on a rickety desk, and a man who I assume is Ivan behind it all. His dark hair is messy, his glasses sitting slightly crooked on his face, and his shirt is slightly stained and buttoned up wrong.

Casey sighs when he sees Ivan, but Ivan disregards him completely.

“Why you interrupt me at work? I’m a very busy man,” he says, his Russian accent incredibly heavy.

Gael looks back at me and then starts speaking rapidly in Russian.

I don’t like this, not knowing what is being said, and make a note to figure out how to become more fluent in this language.

Finally, they stop talking and Ivan looks at me, adjusting his glasses.

“Well, go on. I’m busy. Very busy,” he says, and I clear my throat, deciding not to mince words.

“Could I borrow some of your men for projects I’ve started?”

Ivan blinks at me and scoffs. “Do what you want, little man. Now leave me. I’m busy.”

“So you’ve said,” I murmur, and Casey smirks at me.

I shrug, and he winks at me.

“Thank you, Ivan. I’ll make you cake.”

“I hate cake,” he says.

I scramble slightly. “What about something Russian?— ”

“I hate Russia.”

I’m taken aback, a laugh nearly bubbling out of my throat. This is so absurd.

“What the hell?” Casey murmurs, and I finally blurt the first thing on my mind.

“Snickerdoodles.”

“I’ve never had a doodle. But I am intrigued.” He pauses and pushes his glasses up his nose. “Now go.”

We shuffle out, Gael leaning against the wall waiting for us and Casey running a hand down his face.

“Snickerdoodles?” Casey asks, and I shrug.

“Everyone loves those, especially mine.”

“Everyone loves your snickerdoodle?” Gael replies with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Casey scowls at Gael who just walks off, leaving me alone with Casey once more. We walk down the hallway in silence, and it’s only when I bring up Ivan that Casey’s mood sours.

“I hate that guy. Worst fucking head of security I’ve ever met,” he grumbles, and I eye him.

“Yeah, well, I mean, he seems a little weird, but that doesn’t make him bad at his job.”

“He’s shit at his job. Trust me.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Since I now have you and he’s given his approval, while I make lunch, can you go and recruit some guys to help me bring my orders where they need to be? My app says the delivery will be here in about thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, you know I’ll do anything for you,” he says, and I wrap him in a quick hug.

“Thanks, Casey. You’re the best.”

“I am.”