Page 10 of Silent Ties (Ruling Love #1)

Maxim

E lijah, the annoying shit, won’t leave me alone. From bursting in the moment I pulled into the garage to dinner, he’s stuck by my side. I’ve had to placate him or else he goes to my wife, looking to strike up a conversation with her.

If there’s one thing I don’t need in this marriage, it’s Russet and Elijah forming a friendship.

“You think your mother likes your new wife?” he asks while pouring me a drink after dinner. I’m itching to get home so I hold the glass in my hand but don’t take a sip. Uncle Dima’s already gone and as soon as I can get on the road, I want to be ready.

“I think it might be a pretty frosty relationship so far,” Elijah says.

“What’s that, son?” Dad booms, coming into the kitchen. He’s taken his jacket off and appears lighter now that dinner is over. He won’t get his house back anytime soon, not with the amount of alcohol served, but he knows after the meal is served Mom is less likely to try to get him to socialize.

We take to our usual spot—the kitchen island. There’s a tray full of appetizers and chocolate cake. Dad cracks open a new bottle of whiskey, looking completely satisfied to sit around in the kitchen with his boys.

“Roma already run off?” he asks.

Said son appears. “Nope.” He slides into a barstool, grabbing a slice of cake. “You know I’ve been thinking. Who’s going to host Christmas this year?”

“What?” Dad asks, taking a piece for himself.

The shit-stirring went from Elijah to Roma. “Now that Maxie’s a married man, maybe the new missus will want to host.”

“Your mother would shit her pants.”

“I think she already is,” Elijah says. Gray eyes try to pin me down, but I ignore him. He’s never liked Yelena and doesn’t hide it. Now he’s got something new to latch onto. A fraught mother-daughter relationship. But that’s not what’s happening here.

“You know how my mom is around new people,” I say. “She’ll warm up and stop being awkward after a while.”

Roma stabs into his cake and Elijah remains quiet for once. I don’t like how either are acting. Like my words are wishful thinking.

Dad notices the tension, wiping his mouth with a square napkin. “Relax, son. You know mothers and their daughters-in-law. They never get along.”

“Lies!”

As long as I’ve lived, my grandmother, Irina Zimin has remained the same—short and fierce, with thick glasses and curly gray hair.

Tonight she wears a floor-length red dress and stops to deliver an order to one of the workers in Russian.

Once she’s satisfied, she continues her march toward us.

Roma stands, offering his seat. She motions for him to sit back down and then motions for her son to stand the fuck up .

Dad obliges, giving his chair to his mother, and grabs a bottle of vodka.

“That’s a lie!” she says, holding up a finger to emphasize. She can’t talk without moving her hands. “This whole, mothers hating their son’s brides.” She sticks out her tongue, further stressing how she feels about the stereotype. “That’s not true!”

Dad hands her a glass of vodka. “Right, so you get along with my wife?”

She holds up a hand. “I’m not talking about that woman!”

Roma peers down at his cake, but Elijah doesn’t hide the smirk.

“I loved Emma,” she says and Dad’s entire face softens. “But I think the worst thing she ever did was marry you.”

“Mom!”

Grandma holds her ground, sipping her drink. “The stupidest at the very least.” She stares straight at me when she says, “I got to know Emma. I learned about her. She was British, you know.”

Of course, I do, but Grandma’s lilt lends itself to always sounding like she’s asking a question.

“We’re this big Russian family.” She holds her arms out wide. “But I took the time to get to know her culture. Her thoughts and opinions on the world. That’s how a family works, no? Listening to one another.”

Roma whispers something under his breath.

“No?” Grandma says again. Her three grandsons reply in Russian, confirming. When she turns to Dad, he nods.

He presses a kiss on her cheek before he leaves.

Grandma shoos her other two grandsons and I find myself on a one-on-one with her.

“You don’t know how to use a phone anymore?” she asks.

“You never answer it when I call.” Her phone gets used as a paperweight more than a telecommunications device .

“You never come to dinner now,” she argues.

“I’m studying.” It’s my second semester since starting my MBA. I don’t think Elijah opened a book once during grad school, but I’ve always had to study twice as hard as my brothers.

“And how does your wife like all your studying?” Grandma asks between sips of vodka.

“She’s very supportive.”

Her lips purse and she hums under her breath.

“What?”

Irina Zimin shrugs.

“Grandma.”

“You need to treat her right.”

“I am treating her right.”

She quirks her brow.

I have no regrets about covering her tits with my cum earlier. But that is information my grandmother doesn’t need just like she doesn’t need to know about my cock hardening every time I remember the evidence her dress hides.

Russet is pleasingly submissive, but she’s not completely tamed. This evening her mouth got her in trouble. And there are times when I feel her eyes on me.

She thinks too much. I can see the wheels turning, her brow creasing and her mouth pursing to the side.

She’s chatty too, always talking nonsense.

Sometimes mid-sentence I’ll reach my hand under her pants, stroking her cunt.

Adorably, she’ll stutter, her face reddening.

She’ll ask me what I’m doing even as I push her backward, my body on top of hers.

She’s loud in bed, which makes sense considering she talks too much.

But I’ve made it my mission to catalog every sound she makes.

I’ll spend every night of this marriage understanding what makes her moan and what makes her eyes roll back.

And I don’t care how I have to do it. By marking her, biting her, burning her .

I’ll consume all of her and she’ll let me.

“Maxie.”

Why does everyone, including my grandmother, insist on this stupid nickname?

Serious eyes stare up at me over the glass of vodka. “What are you doing to help her get situated with this new marriage?”

I frown. “I’m not a dictator. She can go out and do stuff. Mom suggested Olga go over and help.”

Before I only had a cleaner come twice a week. A chef prepared and left meals for the week and the laundry got done by someone like clockwork. Olga took over everything, keeping Russet company and helping her settle in.

“I didn’t ask what Olga was doing. I asked what you are doing?” She rolls her eyes after a beat of silence. “What does marriage look like to you?”

I shrug.

She sighs, shaking her head. No wonder Elijah grew up with a flair for the dramatics.

“You’re the kid who planned out his entire life.

You knew what university you wanted to go to.

What degree you wanted. You picked out your home with meticulous care and if anything is out of place it drives you mad.

And now you’re telling me you never once thought about your future wife? ”

“Grandma. . .”

She raises a finger in warning. “You are a good boy, Maxie. You married for the good of the family. But now you have your own family.”

Russet is mine to protect, but it’s possible I consider her more like a houseguest.

“Talk to her,” Grandma advises.

“That’s all she does.” Irritating nervous chatter.

When I get home I want to relax. Lately, that means spanking her ass until it’s blooming and sheathing myself into her warm cunt.

It’s the first time in months, I’m calm enough to drift off into an easy sleep at night. She warms my bed, I’ll give her that.

“I hope you are listening to her,” Grandma says. She waggles the same threatening finger. “And I hope you don’t just listen but are talking too.”

My grandma fell in love with my grandfather after they married.

She has strong feelings about what makes for a good marriage, so I keep my mouth shut.

The past month, the only thing I’m expecting from this marriage is an alliance.

Grandma, the romantic she is, expects love. I hate to break it to her.

“Oh, my dear boy.” She hops off the stool and pinches my cheek.

I pat her hand. “When did we decide this was our new version of hugging?”

“It’s not.” She wraps her arms around, squeezing tight. It’s a good thing I’m still sitting on the stool or I’d have to stoop.

I know my wife is in the kitchen before I spot her. She runs a hand along the walls as she walks, to keep balance. She’s clumsy as fuck.

“Sorry.” She stops under an arched doorway. She keeps her distance both to stay out of the server's way and because she must assume she’s breaking into a personal moment.

Irina is delighted by the intrusion, though. Her head pops up, her face practically sparkling. “Oh, Russet!” She marches to her, arms flung out before grabbing her in a hug.

Russet stiffens, her body swaying due to the combination of Grandma’s force and her high heels. Her brows lift and I swear I made the same expression earlier when she placed a smacking kiss on my cheek.

Grandma pulls back and points a finger toward her. “You tell me if Maxie is bad. I will fix it, I promise.”

Crimson stains her face, different from her other blushes. It’s softer and there’s a wisp of a smile on her lips. “Okay,” she says but I know she’ll never do that. She’s still shy around my family.

I press a kiss on Grandma’s cheek and tell her I love her in Russian. “I need to say goodbye to my mother and then we can go.”

Russet nods, biting down on her lip, hair falling in front of her face. She’d stay down here and wait if she could, but I don’t let her. I grab her hand, leading us upstairs. It tightens when we get to the top.

My brothers are both out of sight, no doubt already slipping away. Roma because he doesn’t like it here and Elijah because he doesn’t like my mother. Dad smiles, knowing we’re about to exit too.

He kisses both of my wife’s cheeks. I don’t know if he’s trying to win father-in-law of the year, but he needs to cut it out. Throughout the evening he’s made sure she’s looked after as if he thinks I don’t know how to do my job.

“You know you’re welcome anytime.” He bends slightly to look Russet in the eye. She nods. That’s not enough for him. “I’m serious. This is your home too. Your home away from home. Even if you just need somewhere to hang out.”

“Thank you,” she says a bit too breathlessly. I drag her out of Dad’s grasp and back to where she belongs—by my side.

My mom’s bony hand grabs my arm. “You can come hang out with us too.”

There’s an air of sadness to her tonight.

Most don’t see it, or rather they refuse to acknowledge it.

My mother is shy. That’s why she’s stiff and formal.

She didn’t come to America until she married my father.

At twenty-eight, she started all over again, and not only did she raise twin boys, but had Elijah to deal with.

“Russet is still settling in,” I say, thinking of Grandma. “Why don’t you two get lunch? Maybe it could be a weekly thing. ”

Mom is like me. She loves her schedule and more importantly, keeping to it.

She lifts her chin and I see the same thought that crosses her mind every time I ask her something. Did your father put you up to this?

“Please,” I add.

Her gaze moves over my shoulder. Russet tries to take her hand back, but I hold on tight.

“Of course,” she agrees. “How better to get to know my new daughter. Right?”