Page 6 of Silent Ties (Ruling Love #1)

Russet

I ’m not Marissa’s spy. Really I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two.

I might have a ring on my finger and the marriage is well consummated by this point, but I’m still the stranger. A potential threat placed on the inside. I’ll be watched and monitored. A guard placed on me at all times.

But at least they remained in the lobby when a nurse took me back for my appointment.

“Contact dermatitis,” Dr. Lowe says after two seconds. “You been using any new products?”

“Nope.”

“What kind of moisturizer?”

Back and forth we go, my legs swinging while I sit on the weird little table that’s always in doctor’s offices. She recommends a slew of things and it hits me for the first time that I now have disposable income to buy these fancy creams and moisturizers.

Not that I want to push it. Maxim’s yet to discuss ground rules and it’s not exactly like I want to ask him, “What kind of wife do you want?” Because then I’d be admitting that this is all real. That for the foreseeable future I will remain his wife, that this new life is all I’ve got.

So far, all Maxim wants is to fuck me. He toes that edge of cruelly torturing me without being so cruel that I’m ready to beg Marissa to get me the hell out of there.

He’ll bite and lick and tease. His voice grows dark and he’s demanding.

My toes curl just thinking about it. There’s a heavy dose of panting and the punishments always turn into pleasure.

But as I wait in the tiny doctor’s office while one of the nurses runs to get me a sample, I can’t help but wonder what the fuck do I do now?

Every day this week, Maxim left to go to school and work, while I lingered. There’s Olga, who I’m certain is spying on me, and the guards constantly ‘protecting’ me. What does the wife of a bratva leader do? Other than sit at home and wait for her husband to get back and fuck her?

“Come on,” I whisper to myself.

I held up my end of the bargain. When I agreed to pay Daisy’s debt I took the IOU and did exactly what Marissa demanded. Showed up, got dolled up, and attached myself to the Russian mafia.

I need to know that it wasn’t for nothing. That Daisy is safe.

Marissa knows I’m here. The moment I put my name down for an appointment, Marissa received a notification. But the doctor and nurses are genuine. They suggest a calming moisturizer and ask me what SPF I use. No one slips me a message. No one confirms that my sacrifice was worth it.

“Have a good day,” the nurse says, showing me out. I awkwardly pay for the few things they prescribed with a credit card I’ve never seen before. Just another way to monitor me.

The guards load me up in a black SUV, my body swaying when we turn a corner. The world is bright with a sun that doesn’t match the frigid winter temperature. It’s the time of day when most workers are at their desks, but plenty of citygoers fill the sidewalks.

I’m left feeling strangely empty until my hand slams against the tinted window. “Stop here.”

One of the guards, the bald one I’ve talked to the most, barely turns his head back.

“I want to get a coffee,” I tell him pointing to a cute corner café.

“You’ve got one of those fancy machines at home.”

My teeth grit. I don’t need him to tell me what’s in my kitchen.

“Is there a raspberry cheese pastry?” I ask as the car idles at a red light.

The men have the audacity to begin speaking to each other in Russian.

I lean forward between the two front seats and point at a drugstore. “Pull over,” I demand, “and one of you go in there and get me a box of tampons.”

The idiots share a look of horror but the bald guy, Sergei, nods. Once the light turns green they pull up to the curb and he opens the door for me.

“Thank you.” I don’t know why I bother with niceties when they didn’t even want to stop in the first place. But as we enter the coffee shop, I ask him if he’d like anything.

“No.” He stands next to me, arms crossed, while I study the pastry selection as the line crawls in front of us.

He never fidgets but I can tell he’d rather be waterboarding an Italian mafia soldier than stand in this hellscape, otherwise known as a coffee shop.

Alternative music plays and the tables are full of students on laptops.

A child wails. The mother, who’s probably a tourist and been on her feet all morning, miserably tries to feed her some yogurt.

“A medium caramel macchiato please. Oh, can you add an extra shot of vanilla. Thanks. And two everything bagels, a raspberry pastry and that.” I point at something that looks good.

Sergei’s lips press together, ashamed of my order.

“He hasn’t gotten my tampons.” I nod to the guard who managed to find a parking spot along the curb.

Sighing, Sergei motions to the other Russian, and I step back into the crowd of waiting coffee lovers.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” a woman beside me says.

The two carat diamond burns my finger.

Anytime I leave it on the bedside table I get pointed looks from Olga or Maxim. Before he left this morning, he sank down on the edge of the mattress, slipping it onto my finger. For a second, I pretended he was being romantic. But really he just wanted to remind me of my place.

“Thanks,” I say, trepidation tightening my stomach.

Gloria’s smiles never reach her eyes and today is no different. Her heavy kohl liner is smudged and she smirks. “Recently married?”

“Yep.”

“Thinking about children yet?”

What’s the point of being stuck with guards if you can’t use them as personal hitmen?

Sergei warily looks my way, his bulky shoulders and severe facial expression out of place. He takes Gloria for a fawning woman as she continues to point toward my ring.

“No,” I tell her. I am not thinking about children.

She pulls out a sonogram photo and my mouth dries. “My daughter just announced her pregnancy. Took her to her first appointment yesterday.”

Tears prick at my eyes. It should’ve been me at Daisy’s doctor appointment.

“Beautiful.” I’m not joking. There’s a new type of tension in my shoulders, my throat tight as I struggle to keep calm. To keep pretending that Gloria is just an overly excited soon-to-be grandma. “And everything is. . . healthy?”

“Yes. She’s due early September. ” She tucks the picture back into her purse too quickly.

I want to keep it but know it’s impossible.

Even if I took a photo on my phone it would lead to awkward questions.

“Of course, mother is hoping for a girl, but it’s too early to tell. She’s quite a wild one, my Daisy.”

Her Daisy. I swallow a lump of emotion, my mouth tasting funny now. Marissa’s little helper has no business talking about Daisy like she knows her.

A barista calls out names. People shuffle to get their coffees.

“Though, I suppose you’d know all about Daisy’s wild ways.” Gloria’s voice is no longer soft and cheerful. This is her true tone—the cold, demanding soldier.

“She’s supposed to be out.” That was what I agreed to. Being Marissa’s pawn for her stupid joke in return for Daisy’s safety.

“Do you know how expensive it is to live in the city these days?” Gloria tsks. “Relax. She’s surrounded by loving tías.”

“Oh, fuck?—”

A group of tourists crowds into the coffee shop, saving Sergei from hearing.

“Get us information,” Gloria demands.

“That wasn’t the deal!” I agreed to the marriage. To just fucking with them. If I’m caught spying by the bratva I’m done for.

Gloria shakes her head, frowning. “You’re not that dumb.”

“The Zimin’s aren’t that dumb, either.” They already think Marissa planted me on purpose. I don’t blame them for not trusting me. “I want to talk to her.”

“Get us information. ”

A barista shouts out a slew of orders, people jostling around us.

“I can’t!”

It doesn’t matter. Gloria’s grabbed a drink, her hips swaying as she passes Sergei, who stares in confusion at a teenager’s outfit.

I grab my macchiato, annoyed that I need the sugar for a laundry list of reasons.

“Here.” I pass the two bagels to the guards when we hop back into the car. There’s a box of tampons and chocolate in the backseat and the sight of it brings tears to my fucking eyes. Who knew I’d get emotional when a guard tries to be sweet?

The guards begin to speak Russian and I’m starting to realize the driver doesn’t know English very well. They’re both nervous about my offering.

“Seriously, it’s okay.” I poke my head in between the front seats. “There’s cream cheese.”

“This was not necessary,” Sergei says.

“Eat the damn bagel, Sergei.”

Surprise lights up his face when I say his name.

“It’s an order,” I add.

The driver, Pavel, jams the bagel into his mouth and pulls the car away from the curb. Sergei takes a tentative bite and that’s when I realize I’ve traded my best friend in the entire world for these two guys.