Page 14 of The Bratva’s Innocent Sold Bride (Fokin Bratva #9)

With that, he stormed off up the stairs, leaving me more confused than ever. Did I want him? Was I disappointed right now? Where the hell was he going? It was a long, restless night, alone.

The next morning, the butler asked me if I wanted to go anywhere or do any shopping.

“Maybe?” I said, heading to the kitchen. If Mat really expected me to cook, I'd better see if there were ingredients.

“Just let me know,” he said. “I’ll arrange a ride for you right away.”

This was new. Had Mat taken my complaint about not having anything better to do than escape to heart?

The kitchen was fully stocked, and I settled in to research the easiest possible recipes with what was available.

I didn’t think I should push my luck and serve him crusty boxed macaroni and cheese, which was about the limits of my capability.

I had just about decided on a chicken recipe that looked foolproof when the head housekeeper approached me with a tablet in her hand.

“Mr. Fokin asked me to give you this,” she said, putting it down in front of me and tapping it to reveal several websites. “These are the portfolios of some designers in the area, but of course, you can hire anyone you want. Or he said you could leave it up to him if…”

“If what, Mrs. Keeley?”

She swallowed. “If you don’t have a preference.”

I was pretty sure that wasn’t what he said and spared her from quoting him verbatim.

I thanked her and looked at the websites.

So he really didn’t expect me to personally furnish the entire house if I didn’t want to.

I could either hire someone or leave it completely up to him.

And could I suddenly go anywhere I wanted?

I decided to look for a nice Russian dessert to make as I pored over the designer’s websites.

They were all wonderful, but I felt strangely proprietary over the house all of a sudden, not wanting to hand it over to someone else.

Maybe I wanted to do it myself after all.

It wasn’t like I had anything else to do.

Once everything was taken care of in the kitchen, with a lot of help from the cook, I ran upstairs to change into one of the pretty new dresses that had been hanging ignored in my closet.

It was uncanny how Mat seemed to know just what I liked, down to the colors.

For instance, I never wore red, and even though it was a popular color that most men liked, there was not a trace of red in all the pieces he bought me.

I felt bizarrely shy as I hurried down to meet him when he came in, at precisely 7:45. Giving me a kiss that was much too brief, he stepped back to look me over from head to toe. A warm blush rose up my entire body as he smiled down at me.

“I don’t have words for how beautiful you are. I’m sorry to have to say the same thing over and over.” He said something in Russian, telling me it meant I looked like a flower on a bright day.

I was glad I chose the yellow dress, even though it wouldn’t bring out the green in my eyes. He even noticed that, leaning close.

“They’re warm brown, like honey, today,” he said. “I love those changeable eyes of yours.”

I was about as gooey as honey at that line, and tried to shake it off, leading him into the kitchen.

“I have to warn you,” I said.

“Is it poisoned?” he teased.

“You might wish it was. The end might be quicker.”

I brought out the chicken dish, feeling oddly proud because it certainly looked and smelled appetizing.

I had actually enjoyed putting it together.

The act of slicing and peeling and following the steps in the recipe was calming, and the sense of accomplishment was something I missed after being out of college and without a job for months.

“This is good,” he accused, shoveling in a second, larger bite after the tentative first.

I tasted it and was shocked that it was good. He asked me if I had gone anywhere, and while I told him no, I let him know I was grateful for the opportunity.

He scowled. “No need for thanks. Just enjoy yourself.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say I’d enjoy having my job, but I wanted to keep the peace. When I asked where Masha was, since I rarely saw her even though she lived with us, he laughed.

“Off being Masha,” he said.

“You don’t worry about her?” I asked. He knew what I meant. He was extremely overprotective, especially of the females in his life. You didn’t have to observe him for five minutes before noticing it.

“Of course I do, but she’s well trained and very… I don’t know the word. Savvy?”

I shrugged. “She can kill a man ten ways,” I said.

He didn’t get that I was joking. “Surely more than that.”

Then I had to laugh. Seeing that I found his bizarre life amusing, he regaled me with stories of his youth.

He would say, ‘When I was your age…’ like he was so much older than me.

I guess he was. Certainly closer to my dad’s age than mine.

But I didn’t see him that way. People always told me I had an old soul when they were being kind.

When they were being bitchy, they said I was as intractable as a crotchety old lady.

Maybe that’s why I had that strange attraction to him. He was certainly intractable.

“I can’t keep track of them,” I interrupted as he was telling me about a summer visit from his American cousins. “Who is Aleks again?”

He described one of the men at the wedding, the eldest of the American crew. I remembered the sweet little girl they had with them and smiled, telling him that most of my friends were also only children, or at most, had one sibling.

“What about cousins?” he asked. “No aunts or uncles?”

I shook my head. I never felt the absence until he made growing up surrounded by so many loved ones sound so magical. Even with the side quests of torture and assassinations, he skated over.

“Not a single cousin. It’s just me.”

“It’s a crime,” he said. “I would hate for a child of mine to grow up alone.”

My mouth dropped open, and I let that one lie there, not about to touch it with a ten-foot pole. Have Mat’s children? It was too much to think about.

I urged him to tell me more about the Bratva. “What’s the worst you’ve ever seen?”

He paled, then tried to cover it with a forced laugh. “Is my wife suddenly bloodthirsty?” Reaching over, he squeezed my hand. “It’s not for you to know or worry about. I’ll keep that part of my life far away from you.”

It was sweet and annoying at the same time. It felt like he didn’t think I was capable of handling whatever he did, shielding me when I didn’t need to be shielded.

His phone rang, and he said it was Masha, jumping up to answer it out of my earshot. So much for him not being worried about her. When he ended the call, he didn’t return to the table, but looked at me with a dark gleam in his eyes.

“I have to take care of something,” he said.

I slumped with disappointment, having worked so hard with the cook to create a cream-filled Russian dessert for him. Now it looked like the evening I was enjoying so much was about to be over.

“If you’re so interested in what I do, why not come with me?” he asked.

It was one thing listening to harrowing tales, like scary stories at a slumber party when you’re perfectly safe. Did I really want to see firsthand what he did?

I had already gotten a pretty good look at how ruthless he could be when he dealt with my father, and I hadn’t been in the room for the worst of it. He held out his hand, an inscrutable look in his eyes.

I reached for it and let him pull me out of my chair, not sure I wanted in on the dangerous secrets of his life, but not sure I could say no.