Chapter 38

KSENIA

Grisha allows me to get down, clean up, and put on some new pants when his phone rings and we’re informed that dinner is waiting for us in the lobby. I’m surprised that he leaves me alone long enough to go down and get the food, but I take the time to stare at my reflection in the mirror.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask my reflection.

There is no answer.

Closing my eyes, I tilt my head down and let out a sigh. I should have known that I would have slept with him within hours of seeing him again. There is a pull and he’s the only man that has ever satisfied me—ever. I can’t stay away from him, never could, and all it did was mentally kill me— every time.

Pulling on another pair of leggings, I turn the bathroom light off and walk into the living room at the same time he opens the door and slips inside of the house. I watch as he locks the door behind him, then holds up a delivery bag.

“Dinner,” he says, his voice deep and raspy.

His dark-blond hair is all mussed up, his clothes a little crinklier than they were not long ago. He looks like he just fucked someone hard against a glass window… because he did. I can feel the heat in my cheeks, and I know that they’re turning red.

Grisha chuckles before he turns away from me and heads into the kitchen. Following behind him, I help him search for plates and silverware. I glance to the counter and see his vodka still on the counter. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I flick my gaze back up to him.

“I know it’s against the law, but do you want some ice in a glass with your vodka?” I ask.

He pauses, then looks over at me, arching a brow. He shakes his head once. “Just put it in the freezer, yeah? I’ll find some wine.” Wine?

Never have I seen Grisha drink wine before. I don’t even know if there is wine here. I didn’t see him get any at the grocery store, and I don’t know if I’m comfortable drinking these people’s wine.

“I don’t need wine,” I say. “Water is fine.”

He is plating food, another thing that I don’t think I’ve ever seen in my life. Grisha was all about being a man, and men don’t touch anything to do with food unless it’s used in sex. But he’s opening containers and putting food on plates, he’s putting salads in bowls, and I can’t do anything but stare at him.

“You need wine, dusha moya. It’s been a day.” He’s absolutely correct.

It has been a damn day.

Grisha broke into my house, he announced my father is out of Black Dolphin and no doubt on the hunt for me, he dragged me three hours from my old home. Then he put me up in this fancy-as-shit apartment, condo, whatever, in Santa Monica.

Then we had sex.

The best sex I’ve had in a decade, but I have no doubt that it was also a huge mistake because now he’s claiming ownership over me. Maybe he thinks that he still owns me, just because my father gave me to him all those years ago, but he must realize I was never his wife.

I was never anything other than the girl he fucked when he felt like it. That’s not enough for me, not then and definitely not now.

I need more.

I deserve more.

Don’t I?

Sometimes I wonder, maybe I don’t. Maybe my life is exactly what I deserve. My father is a horrible person, my mother was some whore he kept then discarded after she birthed me and my brother. She’d served her purpose. He never married, not that any woman would willingly take his last name anyway.

Maybe my life isn’t meant to be anything good due to the blood that flows through my veins. I should be grateful that it isn’t worse than it is. I should be happy and content with the freedoms that I have.

“Ksenia?” Grisha calls out.

Looking over to him, I try to blink back the tears that burn my eyes. Giving him a shaky smile, I clear my throat.

“Yeah?”

“Come and eat, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

GRISHA

I WATCH HER EAT.

There’s never been a woman that I want to watch eat more than Ksenia. Everything about her is gorgeous and I missed it all. I don’t want to miss another minute of anything again. Shit is going to be different this time. I’m a hardened man now, more than I was in the past, but I also know what is worth fighting for and she is just that.

“Good?” I ask when she moans.

She nods, chewing her food, then her gaze finds mine. “Amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever had better.”

Chuckling, I take a drink of red wine and wonder how people drink this shit on a daily basis. It’s fine with food, but I shiver at the idea of having it alone to relax. No fucking thank you. Stabbing the food in front of me, I bring it to my lips and flick my gaze to meet hers.

“You’re thinking awfully hard. Talk to me,” I demand.

She shakes her head, giving me a fake as fuck smile, then clears her throat and shifts her gaze to the side, breaking the contact when I don’t.

“Not really,” she whispers the lie.

I hum, then call out her name. When her eyes find mine again, I arch a brow and lean forward slightly. “I may not know the woman you are in this exact moment, but I know the girl you once were. I watched you grow, and I know when you’re thinking about something, Ksenia. Talk to me.”

“The blood that runs through my body is my penance, and I’ll never be happy because I don’t deserve it. There, is that what you wanted to hear?”

Dropping my fork to the bowl, I ignore the clatter of the silverware hitting the china. Shaking my head once, I clear my throat. Then I press my lips together and lean back in my chair. I’m not sure exactly how I’m going to approach her words and I don’t want to fuck this up.

Not yet at least.

“Did I ever treat you badly simply because of Makar?” I ask.

She closes her eyes and inhales a deep breath, then slowly lets it out and opens them again, her gaze finding mine. She shakes her head slowly.

“You didn’t treat me like a princess,” she says, her words soft and pained.

“You’re right. I didn’t. Your father gave you to me and I could do whatever I wished to you, Ksenia. There were no stipulations, no rules, nothing. You were mine to do with as I pleased. Do you think I treated you in this way, as if you were nothing?”

“Why did he give me to you?” she asks.

It’s the first time she’s ever actually voiced that question, though I know without a doubt that it’s been rolling around in her head for years. I have to admit, though I’ll only do it to myself, that I’m proud of her for asking. She’s braver than she used to be, and I like that a hell of a lot.

“Do you wish to know, truly? You may not like it so much if you do. You’ll no doubt think less of me.”

“Do you think I’ll like it any less than all of the knowledge I already possess about him?”

She is tough and I’m glad for that, she will need to be if she is to be my wife. I wasn’t ready to make a commitment a decade ago, but I know what life is like without her and how much better it is when she is at my side.

So, marriage is on the table, real marriage. Though, she is not ready for that announcement yet. She needs a bit more time. I can give her that, at least for a few weeks or so, maybe a month or two at the most.

Letting out a sigh, I shake my head, then clear my throat. “Okay, dusha moya,” I sigh.

She is my soul too. I know it makes me sound weak, thinking of her as my soul, but that is just who she is. There is no other in this world that was made for me. Just her.

“Makar sold you to me for a job.”

It’s not what she wants to hear, none of it is, but I’m going to tell her. Because while it may not be what she wants to hear, it’s what she deserves to hear.