Page 41 of Caught By the Bratva Beast

Laughing, I shake his hand before letting it go. “It’s nice to meet you too. Maxim took me to your childhood home in Krasnodar Krai. It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you got to go there. He took it over when our father died. I wouldn’t have known what to do with the place, but he seems to love it.”

“Don't listen to him,” Maxim says, his smile good-natured. “Nikita would've figured out something to do with the place, but it probably would've involved tearing it down, building up a ski resort, maybe taking foreigners hunting.”

The last sentence is nothing but a callback to the day and night we shared. I don't want to think about the time we spent in Russia and how the best time I've spent with him was overseas.

It seems like that's all he's thinking about right now too.

It seems ridiculous to think that our marriage is already falling apart when we just said our vows. Maybe I could convince him to get a divorce. I’d fulfill whatever end of the deal I have to uphold, and then we could end it before I have a chance to get my heart broken.

Although there's a part of me that doesn't want to divorce—this part of me that seems to grow each day, thinking about what it would be like to be with Maxim, to be his wife in every aspect of the word, to grow a family with him, maybe live in Russia for a little bit.

Those thoughts disappear, the second I close my eyes at night, head on the pillow, and images of my father's death flashback play across my mind instead.

There's no world in which I'd stay with Maxim for the rest of my life. I know that. And yet we step out of the church to the car waiting to drive us to our home.

All I can think about is what would happen if I threw myself out of the car right now.

We drive out of the city, heading toward Long Island, the houses growing few and far between, stretching larger and grander, looking out over the harbor.

The house we stop in front of is a piece of modern architecture, all red-toned wood with black plaster. Large windows all around to let in light. We get out of the car and set foot on a stone driveway. My heels click against each one as I walk toward the house. I climb the steps as Maxim jogs up them, pulling open the door and with one quick movement picks me up and I squeal.

“What are you doing?”

“Carrying you over the threshold. Isn’t that what your husband should be doing.” He laughs.

I must admit that this was kind of cute and a surprise that a man like him knows also how to be a romantic. The only other time he has given me a glimpse of this softer side was back in Russia when we watched the stars.

“This is going to be your home for the time being–our home.” Maxim nods to the maid who appears in the hallway, smoothing down the pair of slacks she wears, making sure there's not a wrinkle in her blouse as she stands at attention in front of us. “This is Laura. If there's anything you need, speak to her. She's been with my family since I was eleven.”

Laura gives a soft smile, the white of her teeth contrasting sharply with her dark hair. The longer I look at her, the more I see the grey strands flowing through her hair, feeding into the bun at the nape of her neck.

“Hi,” I say, my voice soft as I walk forward, holding out my hand. “I'm Pearl.”

“Well, Miss Pearl, come with me. We'll get you settled into your room. I know it's been a long day. And I suspect it will be an even longer night.”

My cheeks flame as I try to figure out what she means. Of course, I know what traditionally happens on the wedding night, but that's not the kind of relationship Maxim and I have.

Eventually, there will be no avoiding sex with him, but for tonight, I don't want it.

Except, the fire glowing low in my belly tells me otherwise, especially when I look at him as he unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt showing the dark smattering of hair on his chest. Pressing my thighs together, I follow the maid toward the winding staircase. The railing is much the same as that of Maxim’s Russian home, hand-carved and polished perfection.

Laura shows me to a room at the top of the staircase, down the hall, and on the right-hand side. She pushes open the frosted glass doors. “This is going to be your room; Mr. Maxim has a room just across the hall from yours.”

At least he doesn’t expect us to sleep in the same room.

“Thank you, Laura. Would you mind helping me get out of this dress? I'm afraid I can't undo the corset on my own.”

She gives me a warm smile as she follows me into the room. Her fingers easily work through the knot at the base of my spine before unlacing me completely.

“There you are,” she says. “If there's anything else you need, there's a button by the door, just press it and it'll buzz me, okay?”

“Thank you.”

Laura leaves the room, closing the door behind her, leaving me standing in the middle of a white-painted room with dark wood floors. Everything about the room is cold and impersonal, from the silver metals to the white fabrics.

I slide out of the dress, letting the heavy fabric fall to the floor. It feels like I've shed a second skin today, the weight of it pushing from my shoulders as I roll them back, turning my head from side to side to ease the stiffness in my neck.

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