Page 29 of The Arrangement

We're soon cruising through a part of Chicago that looks like it leapt straight out of a "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" episode. Each house we pass is more eye-popping than the last, making my quaint shop apartment feel more like a cardboard box by comparison.

His house is big and classy, with all the quiet confidence of a Broadway star knowing they're about to nail their performance. The kind of house that doesn't need to brag, because one look at its tasteful architecture and perfectly manicured lawns does all the talking.

Maksim stops the car, and I'm just staring out the window, thinking, Girl, what have you gotten yourself into? Marching into Maksim's lair feels a bit like willingly walking into a beautifully decorated trap.

"Seriously? You live in this palace?" I ask, unable to keep the awe out of my voice.

Maksim cracks a smile, clearly amused by my reaction. "Welcome to my home.”

Following him to the door, I shake my head in disbelief. Stepping into his world, even just for a bit, feels like crossing into uncharted territory. Here I am, about to dive headfirst into the opulence, fully aware that I'm out of my element.

Chapter 16

Maksim

As we stride through the grandiose halls of my home, I catch glimpses of surprise and admiration in Tory's eyes. Her curiosity piques as we move deeper into the house.

"So all this room for just you and your daughter?" she inquires, scanning the surroundings that likely seem worlds apart from what she's accustomed to.

"Not exactly," I reply, a trace of warmth seeping into my voice. "Irina, our live-in nanny, lives here as well, though they are both out at the moment."

The mention of my daughter and a nanny sparks a reaction in Tory. She hesitates, then ventures, "It's kind of hard to picture you as a dad." She hurries to clarify, her gaze dropping to my hands—hands that have known violence. "I mean no offense. It's just that..."

I understand the unspoken words hanging between us. The hands she's looking at have protected, fought, and done what was necessary to keep my world intact. But they're also the hands that hold my daughter close, wipe away her tears, and carry her when she's too tired to walk.

"No offense taken," I assure her, catching her gaze with my own. "There's more to me than meets the eye, Tory. Being a father is the most important part of who I am."

The moment feels significant, a bridge of understanding being cautiously constructed between us. It's clear that Tory's view of me is evolving, grappling with the complexities of a man who operates in the shadows yet shines brightest in the light of his daughter's love.

As we continue the tour, I'm acutely aware of the shift in the air, the subtle dance of revelations and realizations playing out between us. Tory's presence in the heart of my home feels like a step into uncharted territory—a blending of worlds that until now I kept meticulously separate.

Once we're settled in the expansive confines of my study, a room that's seen many a late night and early morning, I offer Tory a drink.

"Water okay?" I ask, already heading towards the decanter to pour two glasses.

"Water's fine," she confirms, her voice steady, betraying none of the whirlwind I suspect is tearing through her thoughts. I nod, mirroring her choice, and hand her a glass before taking my seat opposite her.

The wingback chairs, usually reserved for solitary reflections or intense discussions, now frame this unexpected dialogue between us.

I'm well aware of what needs to be said, the assurances I must give to quell the storm I've unwittingly drawn her into. But finding the right words feels like navigating a minefield, especially with Tory sitting there, an image of casual allure in her tight jeans and form-fitting top. The seriousness of our conversation wars with the distraction she presents.

Part of me wants to take her, to ravage her once again but fully this time, to bite her neck, to claim her. But I quell the animal urges raging in me. I might be in the mood, but no doubt she’s still scared after what happened to her.

"I want you to know," I begin, steeling myself for the conversation ahead, "you won't have to deal with Igor or Aleksey again. They'll stay out of your life."

Tory listens, her expression a duality of skepticism and hope. The silence stretches between us before she voices a concern that's clearly been weighing on her. "Maksim, I'm not sure I can live in your world. It's too much."

"You don't have to live my life to be with me," I reply, earnestness coloring my tone. "All I ask is for a chance to show you that what we could have can stand apart from the chaos."

The silence is thick with Tory's doubts—about me, my life, and what it means for her. But deep down, I know she's the one, even if it's too soon to say it out loud. That certainty is like a pulse inside me, strong and undeniable.

She shifts in her seat, her eyes flicking toward the fire. She wrings her hands, and I can sense there is much on her mind, much she doesn’t know how to even begin to say.

I lean over and take her hand. The sensation of her skin against mine is electrifying, as always. My heart beats faster as I hold her small palm in mine.

God, the things I want to do to her.

“Tell me what’s on your mind.”

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