Page 14 of Scream (Duchess & Devils #1)

Maksim.

"Here," Sabrina says, handing me a prescription bottle, as Matilda's driver takes us all back to the small airfield.

"What's this?" I ask, taking it from her to read the label.

"It's an antihistamine."

I arch a brow in question. "I don't have any allergies."

I can tell she’s doing her best to keep her face neutral and not roll her eyes at me.

"It's for your motion sickness. If you take it now, it'll start taking effect by the time we hit two hundred miles per hour." She digs into her bag and then hands me a tiny water bottle. Well, in her hands it’s small. In mine, it’s tiny. Akin to a sip.

How did she know?

She hasn't looked at me once since she got back from dress shopping with her mother, when I stared out of her bedroom window as Parker took the liberty to take her hand and help her down. Like a fucking gentleman.

I pop a pill and drink the water in one gulp, placing the empty bottle in the cup holder between us, before resuming my gaze out of the window.

At twenty-five thousand feet in the air, she falls asleep. During some turbulence, her head falls to the side and rests on Parker's arm. He catches me glowering, and smirks.

"I think I got a good hand in with Tildy," I say, making his smirk drop. "Pretty sure she'll agree you're no longer needed once the marriage certificate is signed."

"And you'll see Sabrina will hate you for it.

" He muses, his southern drawl barely noticeable.

I wonder if it's fake. A show, like her pretty smile with all her teeth showing.

"She doesn't want you. Don’t trust you. Won't trust your people.

Without me, she'll find a way to leave, Maksim.

I'm a ‘non-negotiable.’ You're just the man she's being forced to marry to save her dad and the only thing she actually worked hard to achieve- her legacy. I read the contract. All of it. You keep thinking you’ll keep her safe, but we both know once that license is signed, there's a target on her back.

“Your men answer to you; I answer to her .

That's the difference here, and that's exactly who and what she'll need.

The wars I fought rage on in different countries.

Yours follow you around and hers are in her mind.

Do you think she'll see some random Russian or Italian and believe she'll just go to them if she's in danger of her own free will?

" He shakes his head at me. "We both know when she signs that license, she signs her death warrant.

All you want is your money back - all I want is for her to live . "

"And you call what she does now living?"

"Better than fighting in a ring for money you don't need, getting drunk to fill whatever void you got." His defined jaw clenches, muscle ticking and mine does the same. "She's just trying to survive the only way she knows how."

"You love her." I blurt. I should've taken that second pill.

His eyes retreat from mine and settle down to the top of her head still resting on him, his gaze softening. "My feelings for her don't matter. All that matters is she stays alive in your world until you get your money. And I think we both know that without me, she won't survive it."

It feels like doom befalls the cabin of the plane as we hit another pocket of turbulence. My fingers clutch the armrests tightly, knuckles going white. Fuck I hate flying. The only time I have to do it is when I meet the famiglias in Italy or the different Bratva chapters in Serbia.

And I have to do it all over again for our engagement party next week.

"What’s wrong? Need some alcohol?"

"Fuck you." I spit.

He chuckles darkly, keeping a smug smirk on his face. "If you haven't yet, look up my credentials. I'm sure you have a cyberpunk in your merry band of criminals that can do just that. Parker Savage Hayes."

It's a dig, but I don't let it bother me. I've heard it my entire life. But I do dig back. "Your parents must've hated you if they made your middle name Savage."

There's that fucking chuckle again. "Young, dumb, and full of cum when they had me. Just two hicks raised in a farming town with nothing better to do than get drunk and fuck. "

I wish he'd shut up already. My stomach is threatening to reject my lunch just as the plane stops shaking.

Goddammit.

It's been three days since we landed in New York, and she hasn't reached out to me. Not even through my assistant, Jonny, to tell me we have to be seen together. So, I pick up my second phone and swipe over to the app for the cameras in her home in Brooklyn Heights.

Parker sits at the end of a long table meant to hold eight people – or more if extended by leaf – reading the newspaper like a domicile husband, while Sabrina walks around in an oversized sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder, champagne hair up in a messy knot on her head.

Her hands are on her knees, and she's having what seems to be a stand-off with one lone. .. cupcake, down to eye-level with it.

She picks up the plate and steadily walks over to Parker and sets it down in front of him.

He peers up at her over the edge of the newspaper, folds it, and tosses it down on the table.

From the inside jacket pocket of his suit, he plucks out a switchblade, flips it open, and cuts the cupcake straight down the middle.

He inspects it as though he’s a judge on one of those baking shows, while Sabrina fidgets nervously, playing with the hem of her sleeves.

He cuts it again into quarters. Then, picks a half up and takes a large bite.

Then another.

And finishes the entire thing.

Sabrina shrieks and does a little dance, and I can't help my grin. "Oh my god, finaaaallllyyyyyy!" She squeals, going back to the small island and grabbing one for herself. "Months of trying to get this one right."

"Did you update your measurements?" he asks, getting up to grab another from the kitchen island.

"Of course!"

Not understanding why I want to be part of the celebration, I pick up my phone and call her. She looks down at the screen when she sees my name pop up and lets it ring while she chews.

I silence the screen I'm watching her from so she doesn’t hear an echo.

Answer the fucking phone, princess.

"Hello?" She says around another bite of cupcake.

"What are you doing?" It comes out rougher than I intended.

She swallows. "I just perfected a recipe I've been working on for months. Strawberry-Lemon."

My mouth waters. I have a weakness – a sweet tooth – and that sounds delicious.

I doubt I can ask her to save me one. But there is no triumph without try.

"Congratulations," I say sincerely, with a smile on my face, as I watch a genuine smile spread across hers.

But then it drops as suddenly as it began, and I can see the walls going back up with a shake of her head.

"Thank you. Can I ask why you called? Is everything alright?"

I clear my throat. "Yes... I needed to..

. tell you..." shit. I should've thought this through.

I watch as she places the phone down on the counter and puts me on speaker while she goes to the fridge, grabs a carton of milk, then pours herself a glass.

"Needed to ask what time we'll be leaving Friday evening? "

"Same time as last time."

"We left an hour late last time."

She pauses. "That's... my fault. I'll be sure to not lollygag."

"Hmm."

"Well, if that was the only purpose of your call, I assure you, while I'm ever so pleased to hear your grunts, this could've been handled via text or email. Have a good evening, Mr. Giordano." She hangs up on me and goes back to devouring the cupcake, souring my mood.

I call her back immediately. Her eyes roll. "Yes?"

"Save me a cupcake, I'd like to try this… perfected dessert."

She stays quiet for a moment, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "Are you at your penthouse?"

"I am." I'm not. I'm in my office at Eden, but I can be at my penthouse before she gets there.

"I'll have Parker drive me. I can be there in thirty."

It is the first time I have ever raced home.

I look around my place. It's a large, open floor plan, spacious with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the skyline, seeing as the building is just outside of Manhattan.

Sleek, minimal black furniture is placed intricately and out of the way.

It's not uninviting, it's just not cozy .

The kitchen is full of new, high-tech appliances, including my espresso machine – the only appliance I actually use other than the microwave that heats up my prepped meals.

High protein, low carb. Unless I need to carb load.

The counter tops are bare, and I can't help but compare them to her countertops that are so. .. busy .

Will she bake here, or will she keep going to her house so she doesn't mess it up?

I don't know why, but the thought of her not baking here, dirtying up the counters, singing, puts a dark cloud over my head.

I've been watching her too closely.

I tell myself it's to see if Parker tries anything, having had Niko add more cameras in her home, but it's more of the same. If she cries out at night, Parker soothes her without touching her, stands around for a while, and then goes back to his room once she’s okay. Every now and then, his hands turn into fists, like he’s trying to stop himself from climbing into bed with her.

I shoot a quick text to Jonathan to purchase the best baking instruments on the market and have them delivered to my home.

The buzzer to my door rings, and I go to open the door and almost laugh. Sabrina's hair is up in a messy knot above her head, and she's in a white puffer coat that makes her look like a giant marshmallow. She holds out a glass container to me, holding four cupcakes.

To fuck with her, I grunt while taking it from her gloved hand.

She frowns, looking almost annoyed that she expected more, and I gave her less.

She should get used to that.

"Right, well, I'll be going now," she turns, but I grab the elbow of her puffer or, what I think is the elbow, and turn her around.

"Would you like a tour of the place? See where you'll be staying?"

My future bride hesitates, pulling the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. Her brows go up, then together in contemplation. "Sure."

She doesn't take her coat off, just follows me up the stairs, but she does linger as she eyes it all.

I get to the second bedroom on the left, open the door, and turn the light on to a soft glow.

The space is large, with a king-size bed, a nightstand on either side, a dresser with eight drawers, and a small ottoman chest she can use to put her blankets in.

"This will be your bedroom. I'm right across the hall. "

"And Parker?" Her voice is small as she stands at the threshold, clutching her puffer with her gloved hands as though it's colder in here than it is outside.

I hold in my scoff. "The room next to yours," I answer.

"Thank you," she says, taking a step out of her bedroom and back into the hallway. "I should go. Parker is waiting for me."

I grunt and it makes her walk away faster.

Is she afraid of me?

Afraid of being alone with me?

She reaches the base of the stairs quickly and doesn't wait for me to open my front door.

She just rushes out and is down the hall and, in the elevator, before I can even muster a goodbye.

When she turns to push the button on the elevator, I swear tears are swimming in her red-rimmed eyes, making the green pop.

A bit of disgust forms in the pit of my stomach.

She's beautiful, yes, but there's only one word I can form in my mind when I see her-

Weak .