Page 55 of Mafia King's Bride

I shrug. “I went to see my father, then I went to see my mom, and I didn’t want to come back here because I hate this place. So, I went to a bar. And I drank.” My lips stretch into a lopsided grin. “It was so much fun.”

Dmitri runs his fingers through his hair. “How did you get home, then?”

How did I get home?

I scratch my head, trying to remember the details, but all I feel is this warm, fuzzy feeling in my head. Like I’m floating on clouds but not quite.

“Where’s your car?” he prompts.

“Ah!” I smack my temple as I remember. “I drove. Slowly,” I drag out the last word, “because I didn’t want to get into an accident. Yeah. I drove here.”

Panic rushes into Dmitri’s eyes for a split second, then he races past me. Seconds later, I hear the door open and slam shut.

I pout.What’s his problem?

He’s sure acting strange tonight.

You’re my wife. No other reason.

Who says something like that? I scoff as he rushes back into the living room, taking me by surprise when he grabs my shoulders.

“Why did you drive after drinking? You could’ve gotten yourself into an accident, or worse, killed.”

My chin juts out defiantly as I reply, “And why do you care? You’ll be free of me if I’m gone, won’t you? After all, I’m just yourwife. AnastasiaOrlov,” I spit out.

Dmitri falters at my words, and his grip on my shoulders loosens. “Where do you get that from? ‘I’ll be free of you’?”

“Am I making this up?” I ask. “You sent me flowers and sent someone to take me shopping. When I sat down and asked why you did all that, what did you say?”

His Adam’s apple bobs.

“What did you say, Dmitri?” I prompt, growing angrier by the minute.

He sighs. “I said that you’re my wife.”

“No other reason,” I spit. “That’s what you said. If you did that out of duty, why should you care if I drink and drive?”

A heartbeat of silence passes between us. Then two. Then four. Dmitri doesn’t respond. My heart sinks. I don’t know what I was expecting. He’s the same Orlov I married, after all.

“Ana,” he starts, then stops.

“I’m not mad,” I respond, as my emotions have faded to disappointment already. “It’s just the way it is. I’m tired,” I add, pulling away from him. “I’ll head tomyroom now.”

As I walk past him, his hand holds my wrist. I stop, but I don’t turn.

“Ana,” he says with a little force, like if he doesn’t hold it together, the dam would break. “Look at me.”

I turn my head and throw him a glance, unwilling to open my heart again. “They’re just words, Dmitri. It’s not hard to string a few together to form a better sentence. I’m tired, please let me go.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he pulls me into his arms, and I find myself staring at his face mere inches from mine. My breath hitches, and my eyelids flutter.

He leans in and gently brushes his lips against mine.

It’s not the kiss that comforted me when I mourned my mother. Or the one we shared when we were naked.

When his mouth claims mine, it’s with certainty. His hands cup my face firmly as he angles his head, taking it further and sending a shiver of desire down my spine. My bag falls on the floor as I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to his firm, muscular frame.

---