Page 46 of The Russian Pakhan's Forced Bride

“Aren’t we? We hardly know each other.”

It’s my turn to narrow my gaze in her direction. “We might get to know each other if you give me something to work with…it’s amazing how that works.”

She hardly looks impressed and crosses her arms. “Like you’d open up to me for even a second.”

“I would…but you won’t let that happen.”

Her jaw tightens, and she looks prepared to storm out at any moment. “No…because I’m protecting myself.”

“From me?”

She doesn’t waver. “Yes. From you.”

I hate to admit it to even myself, but her response hits me like a sucker punch.

She really thinks so lowly of me…

Trying to even myself out again, I take a slow breath. “You think I’d hurt you?”

“You already have.”

Everything in me wants to shout about how wrong she is. How every one of my goals serves to do the exact opposite, but I already know that won’t help.

Instead, I focus on the sincerity pulsing within me, hoping she’ll see the truth eventually.

There are so many things I could say…so many topics I could unearth, yet, my mind is only focused on one thing at the moment.

“You’ll sleep in the master bedroom. With me.”

Of course, she digs even deeper. “No.”

“Victoria…I’m not asking.”

“And I’m not agreeing,” she counters, just as guarded as usual. “Why does it matter anyway?”

“Because I want you near me…is that what you needed to hear?”

To my surprise, this makes her pause, and she even hesitates. Then, Victoria releases a breath that serves as a quiet surrender. Her agreement.

“Don’t assume this means anything…”

Biting back the urge to say anything else, I watch as she turns away again and continues out of the dining room.

Regardless of her irritation, it’s something, at least.

Time crawls by as I finish eating on my own, and while the food is better than I expected, it suddenly feels bland, regardless of whether I managed to win that little exchange.

After cleaning up the remnants of my attempt to connect with my wife, I head upstairs to find Victoria keeping her word.

She sleeps on the far side of the bed with her back facing the door. The sheets are pulled up high to cover her completely, and her body moves ever so slightly with each one of her slow, measured breaths.

Sliding in beside her, I keep to my side, and despite the temptation, I don’t touch her.

I stare up at the ceiling for a while, caught between subtle relief and the agonizing need for more.

I just want her to look past every preconceived notion she has of me…to see beyond the hard exterior.

Her iciness has me completely on edge, and despite myself, I don’t know how much more I can take.