Page 26 of Baby for the Bratva King

Fleur and I sit next to Jude, and I want the world to swallow me whole. This misery has to end soon before I get stuck in the endless cycle of trying to be good enough for him.

Chasing the receding tide will never make me happy.

I finish the rest of my coffee, my break over with.

I switch off the TV and get back to work, heading upstairs. The intoxicating scent of honeysuckle flowers fills the corridor. I glance at the vase.

“Sweet with a dark undertone.”

Just how long has Felix been fantasizing about me for?

I lock that question behind a door in my mind, moving on. I refuse to dwell, to believe I might actually mean something to this man. Delusion is a disease, and it takes years to recover.

I enter Felix’s bedroom, seeing the bed already made. The burgundy sheets capture my attention—the same color as the gown I wore for Jude Swindon’s party.

No more chasing the receding tide.

I open the draping curtains, letting some light into the room. I wheel the trolley inside, restocking the mini wine fridge next to the bed. I take the empty glass from the nightstand, my fingertips sliding over the fragile glass as I carefully place it on the trolley. The glass looks expensive, and so does the wine. Vintage Syrah, made in Bordeaux, France. The temperature of this fridge must be kept at fifty-four degrees, not one degree over. Serious stuff for a very serious man.

I slot red wine into the fridge and shut the door, moving swiftly on.

I refuse to drink red wine. It holds too many negative connotations. I have been desperately trying to escape the era of exclusive parties, of revealing dresses and objectification, and for a while, I succeeded.

Having money troubles is a blessing in disguise, since you have other, more life-threatening issues to deal with. For the last two years, bills have kept me distracted. I’m too busy managing my finances, working overtime, to worry about other stuff.

But now that my money issues have been resolved, other thoughts are creeping in.

I examine a wine bottle, analyzing the consistency, the dark red color.

I had my father to blame before, but who do I blame when I’m reducing myself down to an object?

I set the wine down, averting my gaze from the burgundy sheets. But I continue to avoid the universe’s warning when I catch something interesting behind the nightstand. A blindfold.

I bend down, picking it up, my fingers brushing over soft leather.

“What the hell?” I mutter, staring at the blindfold.

Felix doesn’t need to sleep with a blindfold. He has blackout curtains.

Perhaps this fell out of his carry-on when he was unpacking from London.

I’m about to tuck the blindfold into the drawer when I see Felix standing behind me, the light playing on his face. His starburst eyes turn the most magnificent shade of silver, and suddenly I’m falling, on the verge of objectifying myself, just to mean something special to him.

“Helping yourself to my toys?”

6

FELIX

I shot myself in the foot when I designed Saskia’s uniform. Her breasts spill out of the pinafore, thighs on display.

I could slot a finger under her skirt, but I restrain myself. Saskia will be coming to me all on her own soon, and I’d quite like to hear her beg a second time.

“You’re back already.”

“I stopped by to check on you,” I say. “The green juice was nice.”

“The green juice was a one-time thing. Hire a personal chef if you want someone to make you weird drinks.”