Page 31 of The Russian's Revenge Bride

“I didn’t know,” I said quietly.

“Now you do. So maybe find another way to piss him off that doesn’t involve innocent people.”

She walked away, leaving me standing in the hallway feeling like the worst kind of fool. I’d been so focused on my own anger, my own need for control, that I’d forgotten these were real people with real lives.

I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

***

The next few days passed in a strange sort of limbo. Maxim disappeared for hours at a time, handling whatever Bratva business required his attention. I explored the mansion, read books from his extensive library, and tried to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with my life now.

My phone buzzed constantly with calls from reporters, competitors, and industry contacts who’d heard about my marriage. I ignored them all except for Zara, who was working overtime on damage control.

“The story we’re going with is a whirlwind romance,” she told me during one of our calls. “Love at first sight, couldn’t wait to be married. Very romantic, very impulsive.”

“And people are buying that?”

“People love a good love story. Especially when it involves a successful young designer and a mysterious, wealthy man. The fact that no one knows much about your husband just adds to the intrigue.”

If only she knew how mysterious he really was.

By the end of the week, I was going stir-crazy. I’d built my business from nothing, worked eighteen-hour days, lived and breathed fashion. Now I was rattling around this mansion like a ghost, with nothing to do but think about how completely fucked my life had become.

I found Maxim in his office late one evening, surrounded by papers and looking like he’d been there for hours. The room was all dark wood and leather, with a massive desk that probably cost more than most people’s cars.

“I need to work,” I said without preamble.

He looked up from whatever document he’d been reading. “Excuse me?”

“Work. You know, that thing people do to make money and feel useful? I lost two hundred thousand dollars because of your little kidnapping stunt. My fall collection launch was supposed to be next week, and now it’s completely fucked. I can’t just sit around this house doing nothing while my business dies.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me. “What exactly are you proposing?”

“Let me salvage what I can. Zara’s been fielding calls, but I need to be hands-on. I need to contact my suppliers, figure out which orders can still be filled, start planning for spring.”

“And you want to do this from here?”

“Unless you’re planning to let me go back to my old life, yes.”

Something shifted in his expression, too quick to identify. “Fine. Mrs. Kowalski can set up an office for you. Whatever you need.”

I blinked, surprised by how easy that had been. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

I turned to leave, then paused at the door. “About the guards….”

“What about them?”

“I won’t use them as props anymore.”

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Why, Eleanor. Are you developing a conscience?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t want innocent blood on my hands.”

“No promises, though?”

I grinned, feeling more like myself than I had in days. “No promises.”