Page 5 of Love to Defy You (The Dark Love #2)

Willow

Walking through the airport in Zurich reminds me of the day I landed in Andarusia for the first time.

Back then, I was a bitter teenager with a bad attitude toward my new life.

I didn’t see it as an adventure; I saw it as a way for a father I barely knew to exert control over me.

Not only did I despise him but I loathed everyone around me, and I wasn’t afraid to let them know—including Alek.

It’s crazy how much a year and a half can change a person.

Traveling through Europe with Alek felt like a perpetual holiday, where we spent each day doing whatever we wanted whenever we felt like it.

On a whim, we could pick up and move to another country if the mood struck us, and we existed in our little bubble of bliss we constructed around ourselves, far removed from reality.

But our endless summer vacation is over, and it’s time to head back to school for the fall.

It’s a bittersweet time, and while I’ll miss the freedom we’ve grown accustomed to, I’m ready to embark on a new journey with Alek by my side.

Without structure in my life or goals to achieve, I’ve grown restless. I’m ready for the next challenge.

Once Alek and I grab our suitcases at the baggage carousel, we head outside and hail a cab.

As the driver loads our luggage into the trunk, rain pours off the overhang and creates puddles on the asphalt, and whenever a car passes, it splashes upward toward the gray skies above.

I shove my hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt, grateful I had the foresight to dress warm.

Alek ushers me into the taxi, and when the driver joins us, Alek gives him our new address in German.

It’s only the first week of September, but Alek and I wanted to arrive before the school term starts in two weeks, giving us time to settle into our new apartment.

As we make our way into the city, I stare out the window at the green trees, which will soon start to change their foliage for autumn.

I can’t wait to wear sweaters and boots and drink pumpkin spice lattes while walking between classes.

Zurich appears to be a typical European city with a relaxed vibe. The city streets are clean, and when I take a breath, the air feels pure. People are out and about enjoying local cafés, and despite the dreary weather today, they seem content and happy.

“Apparently, Switzerland is one of the top ten happiest countries in the world,” I say.

“I’m sure we’ll be happy here, too.” Alek reaches across the seat and puts his hand on my leg. His touch is possessive, and my heart rate accelerates under his warm palm.

He doesn’t remove his hand until we pull up to a luxurious apartment building tucked away on a quiet street lined with shady trees.

Alek steps out of the cab first to open his umbrella, then helps me out of the back seat.

The building’s elegant architecture reminds me of Paris with its intricate stonework, private balconies with iron railings, and dark roof with windows jutting out of it.

A café sits next door with plenty of outdoor seating beneath a red-and-white striped awning, and the aroma of coffee beans and baked goods wafts through the rainy air. I picture myself sipping a latte and reading a textbook at a table by the window with a scarf around my neck.

I think I’m going to like Zurich.

Alek pays the cab driver and grabs one of the suitcases. “Are you ready to see our new home for the next three years?”

“You mean four.”

Alek raises his eyebrow at me. “Swiss bachelor’s programs are three years. Didn’t you read the brochure?”

“Of course I did. But I didn’t see anything about a three-year degree in there.” I fold my arms. “So, you’re saying I have to cram a four-year education into three?”

He smirks. “Yes.”

“Fuck.”

Still, three years is longer than any other place we’ve stayed together, including Andarusia. After we graduate, who knows where we’ll go, but I like the idea of finding a place to set down roots and make a home together.

That will be us one day, malishka. Mark my words: I’m going to make you my wife.

I haven’t forgotten the promise Alek made to me almost a year ago to the day. He hasn’t offered me a ring yet, but it feels like we’re already married in every way that matters.

I wrap my fingers around the handle of my suitcase. “Let’s go check out the new digs.”

Alek and I retreat into the lobby, and when we’re tucked inside, he shakes the moisture from the umbrella and closes it. It gives me a chance to take in the surroundings.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but based on the building’s historic facade, I didn’t think the inside would be ultra-modern.

A bored-looking blonde receptionist sits behind a desk made of gray stone in the middle of the spacious atrium, and dark, natural materials make up the columns and flooring.

A gold chandelier twisted into an abstract shape lights the room.

Alek pulls out a small envelope from his sports coat and slips two key cards out, handing one to me. I follow him to the gold elevator doors at the opposite end of the lobby, where he slides his card into the reader before pressing the call button.

When we file inside, Alek presses the button for the top floor.

The elevator pings open onto a short, carpeted hallway with low lighting. Alek holds the door until I walk out, and he follows me into the corridor.

I pause. “There’s only one door.”

“You’re very observant, malishka .”

I push his shoulder, making him chuckle. “Do we have the entire top floor to ourselves?”

“We do.” The corner of his lip twitches. “I recall you accused me of being ‘a spoiled rich boy’ the night we met, and I won’t accept anything less than the best for you.” Alek slips his key card into the reader, then pushes the door open into an enormous penthouse.

It’s already furnished with modern, minimalist furniture in shades of black and brown that remind me of IKEA, but for rich people.

Most of the walls are painted black, accented by the light, natural wood flooring.

Recessed lighting is embedded into the white tray ceilings high above our heads, which makes the apartment feel less claustrophobic.

It’s luxurious in a simplistic and cozy way.

“It’s Swiss interior design,” Alek explains. “We can change it if you don’t like it.”

“I like it.” I wander into the kitchen and run my fingers across the beige stone countertops, which are cool to the touch. “All it needs is a few personal touches. A few plants and maybe some framed photos of us.”

“I’ll leave it up to you.” Alek takes our suitcases and wheels them down the hall toward our bedroom. I follow behind, stopping to peek into each room—a massive sitting room with windows overlooking the city, an office, a bathroom—until I join him in the bedroom.

“Holy shit,” I say. “This looks like one of those modern interior designs on Pinterest.”

The platform bed is covered in a black duvet and pillows, and the headboard is made of wooden slats that scale the wall. Dark curtains are pulled back to reveal the cityscape beyond the window alcoves.

“Just wait until you see this.” Alek smacks my ass as he walks past me, approaching a door on one end of the room.

I follow, and when he opens it up, I gasp. “Oh, my God. It’s my dream closet.”

It’s bigger than my childhood bedroom back in Conroe, Texas.

The built-in wardrobes are made of dark wood, with clothes already hanging inside, and a countertop island sits in the middle alongside an ottoman settee.

Floor-to-ceiling mirrors stand on the opposite end of the closet, and I quickly shut my mouth when I catch my jaw hanging open in my reflection.

Alek rolls our luggage bags inside and sets them against the wall. “I had a personal shopper stock our wardrobe, but we can return anything you don’t like.”

“Let me guess,” I say, “she didn’t buy me any underwear?”

He smirks. “You would be correct in that assumption.”

Alek walks back into the bedroom, but I take a moment to revel in my luxury closet just a little longer. I stare at the counter in the middle and imagine Alek bending me over it while we watch ourselves fuck in the mirror.

Yeah, I’m going to like Zurich a lot.

The doorbell rings, waking me up from my nap. When I tested out the bed, I felt like I was lying on a cloud, and it was impossible not to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out, but I feel rested and refreshed.

I get up and trod out of the bedroom in my bare feet, rubbing my eyes. Alek’s voice floats down the hall from the foyer, and I follow the sound to join him.

When I round the corner, a vaguely familiar guy is conversing with Alek in Russian, but I can’t place where I know him from.

Alek glances at me when I join them and switches to English. “You remember Mikhail Aslanov, don’t you? From my birthday party last year?”

Oh, right. I remember him now—he’s seen me naked with Alek balls-deep inside of me. Heat rises to my cheeks. “Yes, hi.”

Mikhail flashes me a charming grin. “Good to see you again, Willow.”

While Alek’s Russian accent is barely discernible, Mikhail’s is a little thicker. He’s also broader in the shoulders than Alek and stands a couple of inches taller. The sleeves of his black T-shirt strain against the size of his biceps, which makes him look like Alek’s hired bodyguard.

From what I know about Mikhail—which, admittedly, isn’t much—he isn’t a bodyguard, but he does look out for Alek like an older brother would.

He rakes his fingers through his obsidian hair, revealing a dark tattoo on his forearm—a harp encased in an intricate circle, with an arrow piercing through it at a diagonal.

I tip my chin toward him. “Nice ink.”

He brings his arm down and glances at it. “Oh, thanks. If Prince Alek ever lets you see me with my shirt off, I’ve got plenty more I can show you.”

Alek makes a growling noise in the back of his throat. “How did you get up here, anyway?”