Page 29 of Sin in My Inbox (Sexting Spark #1)

Avery

Sunlight slipped through the heavy velvet curtains, casting a warm golden streak across the carpet. I opened my eyes, instantly aware of the heavy arm draped around my waist and the warm press of Dmitri's chest against my back. His steady breaths tickled the nape of my neck, lazy and intoxicating.

My mind was still stuck on last night's dreamlike haze. The lake shimmering with starlight, the trunk stuffed with flowers, and him saying "I love you" over and over. It was more romantic than any novel I'd ever imagined, and it had actually happened to me—a nobody hotel clerk.

Just thinking about it made me so damn happy I could've passed out.

Which, okay, I did pass out, I thought to myself. By the end of last night, I was so out of it I didn't even know how Dmitri got me back here.

A huge, grounding wave of happiness flooded through me. I carefully turned in his arms, my fingertips lightly tracing his face, still stupidly handsome even in sleep. From his slightly furrowed brow to his sharp nose, down to that chiseled jawline .

"Had your fill of staring?" His low, gravelly voice, rough from sleep, cut through the quiet. Those ice-blue eyes of his were open now, glinting with a teasing spark.

My fingers froze on his chin, my cheeks burning. "Staring? You're so cocky." I shot back, trying to pull my hand away, but he was quicker, grabbing my wrist.

"Fine, call me cocky, little liar." He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand.

My breath hitched, heart pounding like a drum. Why the hell was he always so sexy? It wasn't fair.

"So, what's the plan today, my writer girl?" He rubbed my knuckles, lingering on the calluses from years of holding a pen.

Now's the moment, Avery. Be brave.

I steeled myself. That secret weighing on my chest felt like a damn boulder, making it harder to breathe. I had to tell him everything.

I took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. "Dmitri, can you come home early tonight? I've got something important to tell you." To drive it home, to show I meant business, I added, "And I want to cook dinner for you. Myself."

His brow shot up, clearly caught off guard. "Cook? For me?"

"Yup, for you." I nodded hard, leaning closer to his chest, whispering in his ear, "What's that, Mr. Belov? Your stomach too fancy to try your girlfriend's cooking?"

I played the girlfriend card on purpose, my heart doing somersaults. Were we official? That's what he meant last night, right?

"Girlfriend?" Dmitri repeated softly, then broke into the gentlest damn smile. "I like the sound of that."

Those ice-blue eyes lost all their sharpness and teasing, melting into a warm, drowning ocean of softness. His calloused fingers pinched the soft skin at my waist, making me yelp from the sudden tickle. I instinctively smacked his chest with a fist.

"Alright, my sweet girlfriend," Dmitri chuckled low, letting me squirm in his arms. "Even if you served me a plate of poison, I'd eat it like it's fucking candy. "

"I'm looking forward to it." He held my gaze, dead serious now. "I mean it."

Then he leaned in, sealing my lips with a deep, lingering kiss—a perfect goodbye to the morning.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised against my lips.

Watching his broad back disappear into the bathroom, the nervous knot in my chest from the thought of coming clean was overtaken by a fierce resolve. I had to seize this chance to tell him I loved him—the real him—and lay my whole damn self bare for him.

It was a rare weekend. After Dmitri left, I wandered through his sprawling estate. Sunlight filtered through ancient oak leaves, casting dappled shadows. The crisp fall air hit my lungs. I ran into Petty, her hair pulled back tight as always, her black uniform pressed to perfection.

Her face was its usual stern mask, but for some reason, I wasn't intimidated. Maybe because I could sense she was like Dmitri—hiding a soft heart under that tough exterior.

Petty turned, spotting me, her eyes flickering with surprise. "Good morning, Miss Solovyeva. Need anything?"

I gave a shy smile. "Morning, Petty. I'm cooking dinner for Dmitri tonight, but I'm not exactly a pro in the kitchen. Any tips? Maybe what he likes to eat?"

Petty studied me for a beat, then a real smile cracked her serious face. "Cooking for Mr. Belov? That's a first. In all these years, nobody but you has ever asked."

"Yeah, I want to surprise him." I tried to sound less awkward than I felt. "Maybe a main dish? Does he have any favorites?"

Petty sized me up, then led me to the kitchen, straight to a massive double-door fridge. "His tastes are simple. Loves traditional Russian stuff but appreciates fancy French dishes too. Borscht with sour cream is a safe bet. Or a well-cooked veal roast."

I picked the easier option—borscht and a pan-seared cod for the main course.

She patiently walked me through prepping ingredients, showing me how to chop beets without staining everything, how to dice onions, and how to blanch beef to kill the gamey smell.

Her movements were sharp, professional, almost elegant.

I cooked sometimes, but usually quick stuff to fill my stomach when I had no time. Petty's detailed guidance was a lifesaver.

The kitchen filled with the smell of ingredients, the vibe loosening up. While I clumsily tackled an onion on the cutting board, I tried to bridge the gap. "Petty, you've been with Dmitri a long time?"

"Thirty-three years, Miss Solovyeva. Since he was a boy." Her voice was calm as she fixed my uneven potato chunks into perfect cubes.

A soft curiosity bloomed in me. "A boy? I can't picture him as a kid."

Petty paused, just for a split second, stirring the soup pot. Her gaze drifted to the window, like she was chasing a memory.

"He was a lot more open back then," she said finally, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "Used to hide behind his mom, laughing like a little angel over the smallest things."

I pictured a young Dmitri clinging to his mother, and a smile tugged at my lips.

Bet he was adorable.

"So, what made him so serious?" I asked.

Petty stopped chopping, her eyes meeting mine, complicated and heavy. "After his mother died, he didn't smile much."

The air turned thick. I'd hit a nerve. "Oh, Petty, I'm sorry—"

"No, Miss Solovyeva, let me finish." Her eyes held mine, filled with something I couldn't quite read. "Especially after losing Mariah five years ago. That's when he turned cold. All these years, I never saw him trust a woman again."

Her gaze pinned me. "Until you."

Mariah? The fiancée he killed?

My heart raced, my grip tightening on the knife.

"Why-why did Dmitri kill Mariah?" I asked cautiously, watching her face.

Petty shook her head, her eyes full of regret. "She cheated on him with his top lieutenant and tried to steal secrets that could've brought down the entire Belov empire. "

Her voice was steady, like she was telling someone else's story, but I heard the pain underneath. "He caught them in the act. A freaking mess, you can imagine."

I sucked in a breath. I hadn't expected that.

"Trust shattered, he was a wreck. But he didn't kill them." Petty sighed, heavy with sorrow.

"He let them go?" I asked, stunned.

Her voice dropped. "Gave them new identities, made them disappear from his world forever. That was his mercy."

I didn't know how to respond. Maybe it was the onions, but my vision blurred.

Petty stirred the soup again, her hand trembling slightly.

"But in the chaos, they turned on him to escape.

Shot him multiple times. One bullet missed his heart by a hair.

He was in the ICU for a month, critical condition, doctors thought he wouldn't make it.

That betrayal nearly killed him—and froze his heart solid. "

Clang. The knife slipped from my hand, hitting the cutting board.

Betrayed by his fiancée and his trusted right-hand man. Bullets tearing through him. Fighting for his life. My stomach churned, my face paling. I couldn't breathe, like an invisible hand was choking me.

Those ugly scars on Dmitri's body—I'd wondered but never asked. Now I knew. The truth was brutal, carved into him by the people he loved.

His obsession with loyalty, his zero tolerance for betrayal, those rare moments of vulnerability—it all clicked.

And me? Living under this fake name, Ella, tangled up with him. What did that make me? Another woman lying to him?

"Miss Solovyeva?" Petty's concerned voice snapped me back.

"I'm fine," I mumbled, grabbing the knife, wiping at my teary eyes. "Just hard to imagine. It must've hurt like hell."

"Physical scars heal," Petty said, giving me a knowing look, like she saw my inner turmoil. "The heart? That takes time."

She shut down the topic, focusing on the soup. "It's almost done. Watch the heat, Miss Solovyeva."

I nodded mechanically, my mind far from the pot. After learning this, how could I tell him? Would my lies rip open his barely healed wounds?

The thought chilled me to the bone.

I forced myself to focus on dinner prep, replaying Petty's instructions in my head, trying to drown out my racing thoughts with busywork.

When the table was finally set with my decent-looking borscht and seared cod, night had fallen outside. I lit candles, their soft glow dancing on the fancy tableware, creating a cozy, romantic vibe.

The old antique clock ticked steadily, the hands creeping past Dmitri's promised "early" return. I sat at the table, my nerves like a stormy sea, jumping at every little sound, thinking it was his car.

Finally, heavy footsteps echoed outside. I rushed to the foyer, my heart about to burst out of my chest.

The door opened, and there was Dmitri, towering in the doorway, carrying the chill of the night. He handed his black coat to Nick, his face etched with exhaustion. But when he saw me, those ice-blue eyes lit up, the tiredness melting into a warm smile.

"Sorry, Ella," he said, striding over, his cool aura enveloping me as he pulled me into his arms, kissing the top of my head. "Dealing with Vladimir's stubborn-ass subordinate took longer than I thought."

"You jerk," I teased, scrunching my nose to hide my unease. "Daring to be late on your girlfriend's first day. But you're okay, right?"

I hugged him tight, soaking in his familiar cedar-and-tobacco scent, trying to chase away the dread in my gut.

"Come on, food's getting cold," I said, forcing cheer into my voice, pulling him toward the dining room.

Dmitri let me drag him, his eyes full of indulgent amusement. But then Nick stepped in front of us, his usually stoic face showing a rare flicker of hesitation. "Sir, you need to handle—"

"Not now," Dmitri cut him off, his tone sharp. "The only thing I need to handle is eating the dinner my girlfriend made for me."

I caught a weird vibe, my voice cautious. "Something urgent? I can wait. "

Dmitri didn't answer, just waved Nick off. Nick pressed his lips together, bowed silently, and backed away.

Turning to me, Dmitri flashed that warm smile again, like his earlier edge was my imagination. "Nothing's more urgent than eating the first meal my girlfriend cooked for me."

He led me to the dining room, clearly pleased with my setup. The candlelight softened his sharp features as he sat, eyeing the table with interest.

"Looks amazing," he said, scooping a spoonful of the red soup and tasting it carefully. My heart was in my throat, watching his every move, terrified my amateur cooking would disappoint him.

Then he grinned, genuine. "Tastes great."

His praise warmed my cheeks, a sweet rush filling me.

We ate and talked, the vibe so warm it felt like a dream. He casually mentioned how he'd handled that defiant assistant; I shared my kitchen disasters—nearly dumping a whole jar of salt in the soup, almost burning the pan, only saved by Petty. "She said I'm the clumsiest student she's ever had."

Dmitri laughed, his eyes soft. "Clumsy? Nah. Everything you do is perfect in my book."

In the candlelight, his handsome face looked gentler, his eyes brimming with warmth that could melt me as he listened. Seeing him like this, after Petty's story, knowing how openly he was giving me his heart, a huge urge surged up.

Now. Tell him. A voice screamed inside.

"Dmitri, I-" I set down my fork, summoning my courage.

But then he shifted to grab his water glass, his suit jacket sleeve riding up. The candlelight caught a stark, dark red stain on his white shirt cuff.

"Your hand!" I gasped, all my planned words vanishing. Fear and heartache crashed over me like a cold wave. I jumped up, rushing to him, grabbing his arm. "You're hurt! Why didn't you tell me?"

Dmitri tensed, trying to pull back, his voice light. "Just a scratch, Ella. No big deal. "

"No big deal?" My voice spiked with panic. I held his wrist tighter, not letting him dodge. "That's a lot of blood! That's not 'no big deal'!"

I saw more red on his shirt collar, stark against the white. Picturing a blade slicing his skin, my heart clenched, pain stealing my breath.

I couldn't hold back. I threw my arms around him, burying my face in his neck, trembling from the aftershock. My voice muffled against his fancy shirt, thick with tears. "Do you know how scared I am? Why hide it? Why not tell me?"

Dmitri softened, silent for a moment. Then his strong arms wrapped around me, careful, like I was something precious. His chin rested on my head.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice low, tender, with a vulnerability I'd never heard. "I didn't want to ruin tonight."

He tightened his hold, like he wanted to meld me into him. "Didn't want you to worry. Seeing you hustle for me, lighting up this room with candles—it's too perfect. I wanted to ignore everything else, even this stupid pain."

I looked up, tears blurring my vision. The candlelight showed his pale face, sweat still beading on his forehead, but his ice-blue eyes shone with unguarded warmth and a fragile kind of love.

He was in so much pain that he was sweating, yet he was forcing a smile to calm me.

This was the man Petty described—torn apart by betrayal but still craving love. Not the cold, ruthless boss, but a lover hiding his pain to keep me from worrying.

"Dmitri." I choked, hugging him tighter, my face pressed to his cool neck, tears soaking his collar.

All my built-up courage crumbled. Not because I feared his anger.

I was terrified of seeing disappointment in his eyes, terrified of the pain of losing him.

Maybe another day, I told myself.

Just not tonight.