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I kick the feather duster back down the stairs at Polina. It lands at her feet. “And I think you’d do well to remember that the sofa doesn’t need dusting.”
Her lips twitch with irritation. She mumbles something in Russian that I can’t hear. I’m guessing she’s not singing my praises, though.
I spin around and storm up the stairs again. She shouts after me, “Go easy on her, Arsen! She’s going through a lot.”
She’sgoing through a lot? I’ve got the Italians on my ass, ghosts from my past appearing on my doorstep, and I’m the one shutting down aBuy, Buy, Babyso I can haul my pregnant wife out there to decorate a nursery.
And she can’t even be bothered to come out of her room.
Well, that changes now.
I know Laila’s door is still locked, which is why I go into my room and cut across to the secret access my grandfather had hidden beneath paneling. One flick of the wainscoting, and I’m storming through the wall and marching into Laila’s quarters.
She’s still in bed, wearing a silk dressing gown and reading a book like she has all the fucking time in the world.
But when the wall opens, she snaps up. “What the— Oh, for fuck’s sake, there’s another door?”
“Convenient, isn’t it?” I grab the comforter and yank it off the bed. “Get up. We’re leaving.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Put something decent on.”
She slides out of bed, the silk neckline dipping low across her chest, and plants both fists on her hips. “No.”
“No? Alright. That’s fine then.”
There’s a second where she can’t believe I’m agreeing so easily. Then I spin her around and shove her towards the closet.
“Let me go!” She tries to elbow me in the stomach, but the maneuver is clumsy and she only manages to brush past my ribs.
“Careful or you’ll hurt yourself.”
She screeches and flings her other elbow back. “It’ll be worth it to hit you, you, you…hoarder!”
“What?”
In my surprise, I loosen my grip, and Laila wriggles away from me. She spins around, her back pressed to the closet door, holding it closed. Her cheeks are flushed a deep red. “You’re a hoarder. That’s why we’re going to buy more baby stuff, right? As if we don’t have an entire diaper aisle stuffed into that nursery already.”
“I like to be prepared.”
“Well, there are enough diapers up there that an infant army could have a simultaneous poopsplosion, and we’d be fully covered. You’re prepared. So—” She waves me towards the secret door. “—go away. I’m staying here.”
“I’ll make that decision.”
Her eyes gleam, and she tries to dart around me. “Of course. Because you’re the one who always calls the shots. You’re Mr. Bossman telling everyone—” I block her path, and she shoves both hands against my chest. “You don’t own me! You paid for my uterus, not my soul.”
“Laila,” I growl, caging her against the closet.
“Don’t,” she snaps. “Don’t say my name like that. Don’t act like I’m being crazy. You’re the one forcing us to go shopping for our daughter like we’re normal. Like we aren’t fifty shades of fucked-up. But we are, and I don’t want to pretend with you today, so leave.”
Her breathing is ragged. Our bodies brush together, and she twists herself away from me.
“You need to calm down, Laila.”
“I’m calm. Now, move.”
I’d believe her if her breath didn’t hitch. If her eyes weren’t shimmering with tears I don’t understand.
