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Good.
Doing my best sultry impression, I sway my hips as I walk over to him, running my fingers over my bare skin as I brush my hair over my shoulder. I stop when our bodies are only inches apart and peek up at him from under my lashes. When I run my tongue over my lower lip, he follows the movement.
Feeling smug, I turn my back towards him, pulling my hair away from the zipper at my back and looking at him over my shoulder. “Would you unzip me?”
Fingers brush my back at the top of my dress, and I feel the zipper slowly roll down to the base of my spine. His hands move to my hips and he pulls me back against him. When his lips touch my shoulder, I step forward out of his grasp and spin around, running my hand over his bicep and down his forearm. “Thank you. I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”
Before I can blink, Theo has a hand wrapped around my upper arm. “What makes you think you are going anywhere without me, wife?”
I pull my arm free and push on his chest with both hands. “What makes you think I want your hands on me, husband?”
Theo grinds his teeth, his jaw ticking. His gaze sweeps over my body again, and to my dismay, my heart rate kicks up. He steps forward and I get ready to remove his hands if he touches me again. But he doesn’t. He dips his head, his nose running up the side of my neck the same way it did the night we met. He brushes his knuckles gently down my arm, and despite my best efforts, goosebumps break out under his touch and a shiver works its way up my spine.
Theo chuckles. “Your body betrays you, princess.”
I push on his chest again, harder this time. “That does not mean I want your hands on me.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Give it time. Soon my hands will be the only thing you will be able to think about. But I won’t put them on you again until you are begging for it.”
With that he stalks off, leaving me alone in the middle of the honeymoon suite with mixed emotions I have no idea how to handle.
***
In the following weeks I try to get comfortable in the house I now have to call home. While I have a team of staff to see to my every need and it seems I will never want for anything, it also means I have no privacy. Every time I turn around, someone is there. It feels very similar to being back in my father’s house. The only difference is that instead of sharing the space with my father, I now share it with Theo.
To my surprise, he remains true to his word, not laying a hand on me. I still spend my nights alone in my own room—which I get to decorate however I want. During the day and early evenings, despite the large house, Theo and I still manage to be in each other’s space at regular intervals. I would be reading on the couch and look up to find him watching me when I didn’t even realize he was close by. Or when I rummage through the pantry for snacks, I’ll come out only to walk straight into his chest, almost like he had been waiting for me. On days when I spend time in the large pool outside, he makes little effort to disguise the fact that he watches me from the balcony. With each day that passes, and the longer I hold his attention, my emotions war in my chest.
Theo is always so close, close enough that I could easily break the silence between us. I could just walk over to him and ask him how his day has been, and how business is going. Some days he looks tired, like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Surprisingly, those days are the hardest for me. I find myself wondering how he is coping, and if there is anything I can do to make it better. For some reason I cannot explain, I want him to feel like he can share things with me, things I likely do not know about him. I am sure he knows everything there is to know about me, other than my feelings, of course. Despite how my feelings have started to change and morph into something I would rather not try to identify, I don’t breathe a word about it to Theo.
Like I was with my father, I refuse to show any form of weakness. I cannot afford for Theo to gain the upper hand. As much as I want him to feel like he can share things with me, I also do not want to feel anything deeper. I refuse to be the one who falls alone. As much as I want to believe that Theo might feel something for me, that his actions prove this partnership might be something more than just a business transaction, I can’t allow myself to fall into that trap. Wanting something to be true does not make it so. If I am being honest with myself and take note of how everything came to pass, there was no love involved in any of his decisions. Theo did not marry me because he felt something for me. He married me so he could have something that belongs to his enemy, and so he could continue his legacy. He did not even try to hide it; he told me as much. If this were a real marriage, he would treat me as an equal, wouldn’t he? I might not be making much of an effort to convince him to open up to me, but he also has not made any effort from his side. He could easily approach me one of the many times he has his attention on me, when he makes me aware of his presence. Instead, he chooses not to.
If his actions prove anything, it is that he does not see me as an equal. I am simply someone who shares his space—a space I still do not want to be in. It is very clear that there is no love lost between us. The only evidence of us being man and wife is the piece of paper we both signed the night of our wedding. And I am not sure if that will ever change.
Chapter 8 - Fyodor
I reread the page in front of me for the fifth time, still not taking any of it in. Running a hand through my already disheveled hair, I push up from the desk and pace over to the door. I berate myself once again before I peer through the entryway of my office. If I stand in just the right place, I have a clear line of sight into the large open-plan kitchen. The kitchen where Kat is currently making pancakes. Why she insists on doing that when we have a chef, only she would know.
I watch as she moves gracefully around the space, humming to herself. She does that sometimes when she thinks no one is looking. In the last few weeks, I have had enough time to pick up on her habits. To notice how she twirls the dark strands of her hair when she reads or bites her lip when she concentrates. To memorize the curve of her neck and the dip of her spine. Kat is a deep sleeper, meaning I have had the pleasure of observing her uninterrupted as she sleeps. She always looks so peaceful, the corners of her mouth pulled up in contentment. It’s a smile that’s a little different from the happy one she wears whenever she is opening cupboards and pulling out ingredients for whatever concoction she decides to whip up. Sometimes she looks uncomfortable and tense, but I have come to realize that seems to be when the morning sickness hits.
No look, however, comes close to the disgruntled one she bears when she sees me. No matter what she is busy with or how happy she seems to be, the second she lays eyes on me, her brows draw together and her lips press into a firm line. She juts her chin out and makes it painfully obvious that she is doing her best to ignore me.
It is as cute as it is infuriating. This woman has everything she could want in the home I all but gifted her, and she still seems to find a reason to despise me. Or at least that is what it looks to be.
When Kat gives a little spin in front of the counter, a smile touches my lips, and immediately my brow furrows. I should not be allowing myself to admire her. The idea of her feeling more at home in my house should not be something I permit myself to entertain. The situation I find myself in still feels a little off, as though someone else is pulling the strings, even if I was the one to put the whole thing into motion. Kat is easy on the eyes and bright, a seemingly deadly combination of brains and sultry beauty. I find it hard to believe she was incapable of figuring out who I was until I spelled it out for her.
Then there is the fact that she gave me all that information about her father. Sure, it was not a lot of detailed information, but she still gave me enough to figure out who she was. In fact, I am surprised it took me as long as it did, given that Paval seemed to know who she was. He did not mention it straight away, but Kiril later told me that Paval told him he recognized her almost immediately. Why I had to hear it from Kiril is anyone’s guess, but that appears to be what our relationship has boiled down to. Kiril and I have always been closer, and recently my and Paval’s relationship seems to be more strained than usual. Marrying Kat and bringing her here did not help matters.
My cell rings, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I move deeper into the office, pushing the door closed so I have some privacy. Kiril’s name flashes on the screen.
“Kiril,” I answer curtly.
“Fyodor, we have a problem.”
There is an urgency in my brother’s tone, probably the reason his greeting is so abrupt.
“What is it?”
“I just found out the shipment from this morning was ambushed.”
