Page 60 of Thorns of Love

She waved her hand, then winked. “You can watch but cannot touch.” She put her hands on her cheeks and her eyes turned hazy. “I cannot think about that right now.” My sister-in-law was funny when tipsy. “I’d have to ravish a man and that would be inappropriate.”

And apparently she was horny.

“Totally inappropriate,” I agreed, then lowered my eyes. “See what happens when you do inappropriate things.”

She giggled. “Get knocked up?” I nodded. “Two babies, huh?”

I grinned. “Two babies. I still can't believe it. I’ve wanted to have children for so long and now, it’s happening.”

“I bet you never thought it’d be with my brother when you met him all those years ago,” she remarked.

I let out a sardonic breath. There were many things I never thought would be with Illias Konstantin.

“Life works in mysterious ways.” I leaned conspiratorially across the table. “And I have a feeling, it’ll work that way with you and Marchetti.”

“Tatiana,” she scolded, but her giggle ruined it.

I groaned. “I’m dying here,” I admitted. “His luxury brand empire fascinates me.” His connection to the criminal world and Adrian’s death even more, but I left those words unsaid.

The cook came back through the kitchen door, muttering and glaring at our half-prepped meal.

“We don’t know how to cook,” I lied. “Come and make us Italian pasta. Gelato. Italian dick? Anything Italian, we’ll take it.”

He whirled around like a prima donna and left the room again with a string of Russian curses behind him. “He just has to curse in Italian, and there’d be nothing convincing me he’s not an Italian deep down.”

Isla giggled. “You’re incorrigible. Illias isn’t the type to like anyone with opinions. He must love you so much.”

Her comment momentarily stilled me. My heart tugged in an unnatural way, followed by a raw wave of warmth that flickered in my chest. It was different from anything I had felt before.

Love me?

Sardonic amusement mixed with a hint of bitterness filled me. I was getting ahead of myself. I loved Adrian, but he had never uttered those three little words to me. I had said the words plenty for both of us. Yet somehow it fed the resentment and bitterness.

Love and marriage were a two way street. At least I thought so. It seemed to be the case with Vasili and Isabella. It wasn’t as if I’d model my marriage to what little I heard of my own parents’ relationship.

So here I was. Married again and clueless on what I should and shouldn’t tolerate from a partner.

Pushing the ridiculous notion of love out of my head, I stood up. The feet of my chair dragged against the tiled floor, breaking the sounds of music with a loud screech.

“We need a better song,” I told her. I switched through the stations, my motion pausing. “No freaking way,” I muttered under my breath.

The very same song by Bruno Mars. “I love that song,” Isla chirped, jumping to her feet.

She shook her ass like Beyonce, or maybe even Shakira, and I shook my head amused. I’d wager all my money that Isla and her friends were wild, keeping their innocent, sweet expressions in front of their families.

“Want me to tap your ass like your girlfriends in the video?” I asked loudly when she bent over, twerking her ass.

For the next four hours, I saw a completely different side of Isla.

TWENTY

KONSTANTIN

Almost a week since I’d touched my wife. Fucked her. Heard her moans. And fuck if I’d go another day without her.

Each night without her was agony. Every day felt like a year without her. The Omertà could go to fucking hell. It got my vow but not my dick and certainly not my heart.

And here I was, meeting the goddamn Italian in Mongolia. Brussels Belgian Beer Cafe in Ulaanbaatar Mongolia. Leave it to the Italian to find a bar like this in Mongolia. I refused to meet him in Italy. It wasn’t on my way to Russia. So it was going to be Mongolia or nothing.