Page 13

Damn it, damn it, damn it. For a little while there, I believed I was on some fantasy honeymoon, or at the very least, a dream vacation. I was surrounded by the most beautiful scenery I’d ever witnessed; the small town was quaint, and its residents were friendly and welcoming.

Most of all, Dima was utterly charming and trying to spoil me rotten by buying up everything I even glanced at, even though I had been flatly refusing everything I didn’t need. I was in my element, making lists and getting everything in order, actually in the first good mood since Papa confessed his latest debts.

Dima started acting like we were on a date, like a real, ordinary couple who was wildly in love, and I was on the verge of going along with it. Worse, I was getting way too close to wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders and climbing up his hard body, right in the middle of the village.

Now, this sudden, earth-shattering kiss. And the look in Dima’s eyes when I shoved away. I was flustered, confused, agonizing for more of his masterful lips on mine, and he seemed just as shaken by the electricity that crackled between us.

I was getting dangerously lost and letting the relief that I wasn’t on the run with my rotten father sway me. After all, it wasn’t like I could stroll away from him and get on the next plane home—a home that no longer existed because I would have rather died than ever see my father again after he sold me off like property.

That’s all I was to Dima, property he thought he could claim whenever he wanted.

And once again I was melting against him, giving as good as I got. And oh my God, I wanted so much more as my back was pressed against the rough brick wall, his hands sliding up and down my waist, his tongue in my mouth. How did I get here, like this, clinging to his shoulders, grabbing at his hair, trying to get closer to him?

And in the middle of this village where we were outsiders, no less.

The first time had been a sneak attack, this second round was all on me. Disgusted with myself, I pushed back and ducked away from him to scurry onto the sidewalk of the main street. Smoothing my dress, I gave him a prim and proper look, knowing he wouldn’t pick a fight surrounded by curious locals, even if they were in his pocket.

“We’re being disrespectful,” I said. Did I actually want him to start a fight, or, worse, drag me back into that alley?

He only laughed and calmly agreed, which kicked my ire into high gear again. This wasn’t anything like a real, normal relationship. This was a freaking roller coaster, and I needed to get off.

The way he could be so stoic and calm when I felt like I was boiling over had been something I used to admire about him, once upon a time. Now, I wished I could make him feel even a fraction of the anger bubbling inside me. Maybe then he’d let me go.

He pointed to a restaurant about a block away and I only shrugged and fell in beside him as he headed that way. The little hole in the wall was already packed when we arrived despite the early hour, but we were quickly shown to a cozy table for two in the back.

Since I’d grown up in Southern California, I’d taken high school Spanish classes, but only a few familiar words jumped out at me from the worn paper menus. I recognized pollo and agua fresca, and that was about it, so I let Dima order for me. When the food arrived, it was golden, crispy chicken in a delicious, dark sauce, with rice and corn on the side. I had to give him a begrudging smile for knowing exactly what I’d like, and he returned it as he held up his beer bottle in a toast.

I wasn’t quite ready to get that friendly, but I couldn’t leave him hanging, so tapped my soda glass against the edge, rolling my eyes as I took a sip. Even though we were surrounded by people, no one spoke English so it felt like it was just us.

“Why did you never tell anyone what your father was really like?” he asked halfway through the meal. “You never even told Brooke?”

I set down my fork, the mere mention of my father making me lose my appetite for what was left on my plate. Shrugging, I glanced up at him to see his brows were furrowed. He seemed upset.

“You didn’t even think you could trust Max?” he asked when I remained silent. I’d been silent about my family situation for so long it was just second nature. “You could have trusted us with something like that. We might have been able to help you.”

“Max is—was my boss,” I said. “I’d never bother him with my personal problems. And having the job was already a huge help. Once we moved to San Diego, I considered myself out of it. And I don’t like when people feel sorry for me.”

He gave me a long, hard look. “I don’t feel sorry for you. Maybe pissed off on your behalf.”

“You’re certainly the hero of this story, aren’t you,” I said bitterly, then I slumped. “I really don’t understand what you’re getting out of this.”

His eyes never left mine, and I couldn’t look away. “I’ve wanted you for a long time,” he told me. “I couldn’t exactly make a move while you were working for Max, could I? But when you lit out like the devil was on your trail, I thought it might be too late, so of course I jumped into action.”

He didn’t look like he wanted any high praise for this, which was good, because he wasn’t about to get it. “Why, though?” I asked, still not understanding. Did he want me to be grateful? To a certain extent, maybe. But not that damn much. “Why?” I repeated.

After a slow blink, a corner of his mouth lifted in a smile that had me remembering his kisses. “Because you’re mine,” he said. “And nobody takes what’s mine.”

The shock of those words in his deep, husky growl had a ripple coursing through me that was hard to ignore. But I was still so pissed I managed it somehow. I was not a possession he could do whatever he wanted with, force me into a marriage I was against, kiss me whenever he pleased… although I didn’t seem to mind that. Liked it way too much, in fact.

Before I could erupt in a rage and stalk out before dessert, Dima suddenly turned tender, his voice low and soft as he asked me how bad things had been.

Once again, I shrugged. “When my mother was alive it wasn’t bad at all. The last four years are another story.”

“Tell me if you want,” he said.

For some reason, I found that I did. I needed to get it off my chest and expunge it from my life. “I don’t think he wanted kids at all, and it was doubly bad that I was a useless girl. He always called me useless, even when Mama was still alive, just when she wasn’t around.”

“He’s an idiot,” Dima rumbled. “You know you aren’t useless.”

“Sure,” I said. “But it still hurts to hear it from your own father. The slaps started shortly after Mama was gone, then those turned to punches if he was really drunk. He locked me out if I came home past eight o’clock, so I got used to sleeping in the shed out back.”

“Fucking hell,” he said, his eyes flaring with anger.

Then he forced himself to calm down and reached for my hand. And I let him take it, because going back in time like that always made me shaky and lightheaded, like it was all still happening.

“I’m so sorry you had to live that way,” he said.

“Moving to San Diego was the best thing that ever happened to me, even though I still had to go home to visit. At least I didn’t have to live there anymore.”

“Never,” he said. “You never have to go back to him again. You’re out of it now.”

I was spent from speaking about something I’d kept bottled up for so long, and I didn’t want to get into a fight with him again, but the words spilled out anyway. “Now I’m just under the thumb of a different controlling man.”

I pulled my hand out from under his and looked away as pain welled up in his eyes. I stared at my plate until he paid the check, and we headed home. Back at the house, the groceries he’d arranged to have delivered had arrived. After Dima carried them in, I started unloading them and putting them away. I was conscious of him standing in the kitchen doorway watching me, but studiously ignored him until he let out a big sigh.

“Will you stop acting like an employee?” he snapped irritably.

I whirled around and planted my hands on my hips, staring him down. “How am I acting like an employee? Wouldn’t a normal wife put away groceries?” I countered. “Am I supposed to let the food go bad?”

Here I had let my guard down around him again, even just a little bit, and he was acting like an ass despite it. What did I expect? Good and pissed at both him and myself for forgetting exactly what he was, I decided the food could rot for all I cared. Keeping my glare locked on him, as if daring him to try to stop me, I stormed out of the kitchen and upstairs to my room.

My heart was pounding out of my chest, and it had nothing to do with my mad dash up the stairs. I fully expected him to come bursting in and demand… something.

Did I want him to do that?

Hot tears of frustration welled up in my eyes, but I swiped them away, refusing to let even one of them fall. Pacing for a while, nothing happened, and I lay down on the bed to stare at the door, wishing I’d had the foresight to grab the bag of clothes he’d bought me so I could change into something clean.

I would have worn that dress until it stank before I went down there and admitted I needed anything from him. A little bit later, there was a thump outside my door, and I sat straight up, waiting for him to burst in.

How would I react? All I knew was that I was shaking, and not with fear but anticipation. I wanted something to happen. But nothing did, and I finally got up and tiptoed over to the door, cracking it open a couple of inches to peer out. Sitting on the floor in the hall was the bag with my new clothes, a tray with some snacks, and a bottle of water.

Enraged by the sight, I warred with myself on whether or not to accept the olive branch. Deciding it was only hurting me if I didn’t, I slid the tray and the bag into the room and slammed the door shut, further infuriated by the sound of a soft chuckle from down the hall. By some miracle I managed not to scream and make him laugh even harder.

To hell with Dima Fokin. He could fuck right off.