Page 17

It was hard to hold onto that dreamy day in Fiji once we were back on the jet to Los Angeles. Nik was preoccupied and tense, even though he tried to make sure I was as comfortable as possible. With every hour that ticked by, I found myself slipping back into panic mode.

It was like having an amazing out-of-body experience and then being slammed back into a dreary corporeal form, bound with heavy chains. Whatever had happened between us in that bungalow was off-limits. If I thought about it, I might start to want it again. How was that possible? Not when I had no say in where I lived or worked or who I was married to.

It was much easier thinking about the chocolate plantation tour and the rowdy little restaurant we found to sample such odd and delicious delights as goat curry and sea urchin.

Back at the compound, the guards were strangely absent, or at least keeping a low profile. Was that because Nik knew their presence stressed me out, and he’d told them to stay out of sight, or were they just off having a meeting somewhere? Either way, I was glad to be able to walk in without armed men everywhere. Not that coming home to Nik’s massive mansion wasn’t still completely surreal.

Once we were in the doors, he told me he had some work to do, and I should settle in, leaving me to find my own way back to my room until a shy housekeeper directed me to a different, much bigger suite.

Nik’s room. I looked around at the masculine, dark gray bedspread, ebony wood headboard that looked more suited to some kind of Russian castle of another era than his modern mansion. There was only one framed piece of art, a black-and-white photo of a building I didn’t recognize.

“Mr. Fokin bought that place when he was twenty,” the housekeeper told me when she noticed me furrowing my brow at the picture. She sighed. “Maybe you can make this room a bit prettier?”

If I had to stay here, that would be a given. I’d never decorated a room beyond putting up posters and pictures of my friends back in my old bedroom at home, but I didn’t hate the idea.

“Maybe. If Nik lets me,” I said. If I didn’t find a way out of this mess sooner than later.

She giggled. “He’ll let you do anything you want. You’re his wife.”

My stomach dropped, and I felt the false facade of bravery I’d been clinging to since we returned to this place crumble. The housekeeper must have seen it, too, since she backed out of the room without another word.

The bathroom was similarly spartan, but the big bath and even bigger shower looked inviting after the long plane trip. There was a balcony that overlooked the backyard, with a long pool surrounded by a lush garden. The place was big enough to be a wildlife reserve, and I would have been a fool to think the thick, high wall that I could see off to one side didn’t surround all of it.

And… there was one of the guards, patrolling along the perimeter. I was well and truly trapped here. Not that I didn’t already know, but denial had been my best friend ever since I boarded the plane in Fiji. Somehow, some way, I’d get myself out of this.

Another door in the suite led into a closet that was at least the size of my efficiency apartment, three walls lined with clothing and shoe racks, with a square, glass-topped counter in the middle that was lined with drawers. I was drawn to that, and looked at all the fine watches under the glass, which could be lifted in partitions to pull something out. One partition had several pretty necklaces, a couple bracelets, and sitting on top was a little rack filled with earrings of all different styles. I reached out and touched a long, dangly pair and watched the colored gemstones sparkle in the overhead light.

Wait a second, who was that for?

It was then that I noticed that one wall was taken up by women’s clothing in every style imaginable. My heart jammed up into my throat, furious that he hadn’t bothered to take out his girlfriend’s things before moving me in. Maybe all of these beautiful, designer clothes belonged to that Mila baby who’d just had to call him on our honeymoon.

Holy crap, I was freaking out again, and why? This was all the reason I needed to demand to be allowed back into the guest room. If only that prospect didn’t make me even more upset for some reason.

As I walked down the row of stunning outfits, I came to my very own chef coats from Khoroshiy. Four were crisp white with my name embroidered above the breast, and one was sleek black for when we had a private party. The restaurant had a laundry service, and if one ever got a burn, rip, or hopeless stain, it was magically replaced within a day. The loose, comfy pants I wore in the kitchen hung alongside the coats, and my sturdy, slip-resistant shoes were lined up beneath them.

Could all these new clothes be a gift for me? Well, that was actually pretty sweet, if it was true. What really made my heart soar with gratitude was seeing my humble chef gear. That meant Nik was going to let me keep working at the restaurant.

I sagged with relief because I loved that job. Khoroshiy wasn’t truly mine, but it was my pride and joy to be able to cook there. On a more important note, this meant Nik wasn’t keeping me locked up as his own personal Rapunzel. I’d be able to talk to other people, and work out who might be able to help me get out of this forced marriage.

Just because I was probably the only one who didn’t know who their boss was didn’t mean I couldn’t find someone who’d be on my side. It might even be one of our high profile patrons, which meant I needed to suck it up and start going out into the dining room to schmooze. We had powerful lawyers, politicians, journalists, and movie stars as regulars. Surely, they all weren’t in Nik’s pocket. There had to be one who’d go against him. I just had to find that one.

Keeping that in mind, I got through the next three days without a hitch. No fights, because Nik was barely around. When he was at home, he was glued to his phone with a sour look on his face. This wasn’t the first morning I woke up alone, having fallen asleep before he got in the night before. The fact he was leaving me alone should have been a relief, but it only fed my stress, constantly wondering what was going on.

Stretching and kicking off the decadent sheets, I got a shower and put on one of the many cute outfits in the closet. Nik had assured me they were all mine, in one of the rare moments he was around and looked up to speak to me.

I went downstairs to find a lavish breakfast I didn’t have to make myself, and eagerly sat down to enjoy it. Instead of taking it into the dining room, which only reminded me of my failed escape attempt on my first night here, I sat at the little kitchen table with a view out to the pool.

Okay, it wasn’t like I was exactly enduring that much torment. The life of luxury didn’t suck, but of course, it wasn’t my life. Not really. And I didn’t want it. Not this way.

The second I saw Nik again, I’d ask when I could go back to work, but who knew when I’d see him again. Asking one of the guards was out of the question, and the house staff stayed out of sight when I was around. I was getting unbearably lonely on top of being worried about my future.

Why wasn’t he ever at home? Was he really that busy being a Bratva king, or was he at another house, with another woman who he was trying desperately to convince that taking me to Fiji was just an arrangement that meant nothing. That one time he sat down to eat with me two days ago I’d seen the stupid Mila baby pop up on his phone again, and he’d quickly left the room to answer it.

Just remembering it pissed me off all over again.

What if I managed to get a hold of his phone and make a call to this Mila? Would I tell her in no uncertain terms that our honeymoon wasn’t just a business arrangement, or should I try to get her on board to help me with an escape plan? Surely, she wanted me out of the picture as much as I wanted to be out of it.

So why did I get so fired up when I thought about them being together?

The rest of the day was spent spiraling and listlessly going through home decor magazines the housekeeper brought me, along with promises to help redecorate when I got the green light from Nik. By the time he came home that evening, I was shocked to see him, and not in the best of moods.

“I want to go back to work,” I snapped, barely letting him say hello to me. I slammed the magazine onto the coffee table and stood up, staring him down.

His eyebrows shot up at my whiplash-inducing attack. “Good,” he said mildly. “We’re having a hell of a time covering for you.”

I sputtered in outrage. As if it was my idea not to go to work in the first place! As I was about to defend myself in the most scathing possible way, he grinned, nearly knocking me off my feet. I had forgotten just how disarming his genuine smile could be. He covered the short distance between us and swept me close to his chest. Dipping his head, his mouth found mine, like it was meant to be there. The kiss was long and sweet, and I felt myself begin to melt against him.

“I missed you,” he murmured, dragging his lips along my jaw.

I huffed at his audacity, as if I wasn’t here the whole time and just about rotting with loneliness. I didn’t want to admit it was him I was missing— I just needed human contact. But it was Nik kissing me, and it felt way too good, and right, reminding me of our honeymoon night. This was better than fighting. A lot better.

His hand slid down my back to cup my bottom, pulling me right up against the hard length of his body. Closing my eyes as he kissed his way back to my mouth, I linked my hands behind his neck, letting my fingers brush against his soft hair. Okay, maybe I had missed him, too.

I tugged his head down, wanting to feel his lips on my neck because the man knew how to kiss. He paused long enough to dazzle me with another smile, his eyes shining with that possessive lust that had me burning up.

And then his phone rang.

He froze, one hand shooting to his jacket pocket. He was going to answer it, then leave me all alone again. I was nothing to him. It was probably that freaking Mila baby somehow sensing he was enjoying himself with me. I hated the sense of loss I felt even with his hands still on me, and shoved away.

“Better get that,” I said. “I know how important you are.”

At the look of confusion on his face, I instantly felt ridiculous. I should have been grateful for the interruption, keeping me from making another grave mistake that was only going to dig me in deeper. I ducked my head and zipped past him before he could reach for me and undo my last bit of resolve. Or have to see him choose the phone and feel the sinking despair that had been building the last three days.

“I’m tired,” I sighed, faking calm. “I’m going to bed. I want to get to the restaurant early tomorrow to set things up the way I like them.”

I didn’t wait around for him to answer, and I expected him to follow me after that soul-rattling kiss. I hadn’t imagined how it affected him, and he had to notice how I’d been melting against him like butter on a freshly seared steak.

Instead, I heard him head out again only a few minutes later. I stepped away from where I’d been listening intently by the bedroom door and shook my head in utter disbelief.

No, this was better. It was definitely for the best that something or someone was infinitely more important than me. Now, I could focus on my plan to return to work and find out who I could trust to get on board with an escape plan. If only I could shake that bizarre feeling of disappointment, it would have been a lot easier to concentrate.