Page 24 of Sold Bratva Wife

“I did.” She shifted her bags to her other arm. “Thank you for today.”

It was the first time she’d thanked me for anything since I’d bought her at that auction, and fuck me, it felt good.

“You’re welcome,” I replied, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

She headed upstairs, and I found myself staring after her long after she disappeared.

***

A week later, I was working in my office when I heard something I thought I must have been imagining.

Could it be that Alisa was … singing?

Her voice was soft and sweet, floating through the open door.

Did the sun rise the wrong way or what?

Simply out of curiosity, I stepped out of my office and followed her voice, only to find her in the library, humming while she browsed the bookshelves.

“Who knew you sang so well?” I grinned without thinking.

She spun around, startled. “Jesus! Make some noise when you walk, will you?”

“Sorry,” I shrugged. “The song. Don’t you remember?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “What?”

“That song you were humming—we used to listen to it the whole time we spent that summer in the Hamptons. You played it so many times, I thought I’d go insane. I can’t believe you’re still singing it.”

She blushed, and I saw her close her eyes a second too long before she met my gaze again. This time softer. “Oh. Right.”

“You used to dance to it in the kitchen.”

“I… did.” She cleared her throat. Her cheeks flushed, and she turned back to the bookshelf.

Just then, I realized what an idiot I was being. I had no right bringing back those memories around her because while those were some of the happiest days of my life, I knew what followed must have been dark for us both.

I shouldn’t have been this honest when it’s clear she’d been trying to maintain a careful distance.

“So, how was your day out?” I asked, changing the subject.

Her shoulders relaxed a little. “Good. I got a massage. And my nails done.” She turned and wiggled her fingers at me, now painted a deep red. “See?”

“Get those claws out of my face,” I pretended to groan.

She rolled her eyes and laughed.

“The massage lady said I was carrying all my tension in my shoulders,” she snapped back. “I told her she should try living with you.”

“Oh yeah?” I smirked. “Wait till she gets a feel of my shoulders. She’ll send you a sympathy card.”

She rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever.” She brushed past me, heading for the door. “I’m going to change for dinner. My clothes smell like spa oil.”

I watched her go, noting the relaxed set of her shoulders, the easy swing of her hips. These outings were good for her. She came back each day a little more like herself and a little less like the wary, angry woman I’d brought home from that auction.

***

Another week passed, and I started seeing Alisa less and less. Some days, I learned she’d left before I even had breakfast. Pilates or Yoga. Other days, she came in after dinner.