Page 48 of Fatal Bonds

Stepping out of my heels, I quickly stoop to grab them and pad down the hall, the hard marble cold and unforgiving on my bare feet. When I reach the bedroom, I close the doors and lean back against the sturdy wood, taking a moment to process. Now that I’m alone, the reality of my situation comes tumbling down around me, the consequences of my actions suddenly a daunting weight. I’m married. To Maksim Yashkov. Goosebumps ripple across my skin, and I close my eyes as I wrap my mind around that strange new reality. I never should have slept with him. But when I think about our first night together, the way he turned me on and set my soul on fire as he bent me over his desk, fresh heat pools in my belly. His touch is irresistible, addictive even, and that’s what got me into this mess.

If we hadn’t had sex, I wouldn’t have snuck out for a pregnancy test—I wouldn’t be pregnant at all—and Lucian never would have found out about me. Resting a palm on my stomach, I think about the life I’ll be bringing into this world. It’s not a question of if I want to keep my baby—only how I’m going to protect it. I’m terrified of failing at that task, and Maks’s words keep ringing in my ears, the stories about his mother, his sister, his niece.What if I have a girl?I don’t want her to grow up in a world like that—and neither does Maks, which is why he never intended to get married in the first place. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to solve the problem.

Sighing, I let my hand drop and push off the door to head to the closet. It takes some effort to unzip the dress on my own, but I don’t want to ask for help. I need time alone with my thoughts. I change from the beautiful silk dress into stretchy leggings and a soft, oversized blue knit sweater, adding a pair of cozy socks to the casual look. Then I head back out to face the uncomfortable silence.

“Dinner’s ready for you,” Lenka says from the kitchen sink, tipping her head in the direction of the dining table.

Maks is already sitting there, his jacket and tie removed and his collar unbuttoned. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing his tattooed forearms and making him look more comfortable but no less attractive. Maks in a tux might be the single sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and it makes my conflicting emotions all the more challenging to sort through.

“You want some wine?” he asks as I sink into the seat across from him.

“No, thank you.”

“Something harder?”

There’s an edge to his tone, like hard alcohol is the only way he’s going to get through what we did today, and a lump forms in my throat. A drink would be nice right about now. It might help the stiffness between us feel less awkward, but I can’t.

“No, I—I think I’ll just stick with water tonight. My stomach’s a bit unsettled.”

Maks’s eyebrows lift slightly, and my pulse jumps. I hope he doesn’t read into the symptom.

“Probably just raw from coffee without much food. I’m sure I’ll be fine after dinner.”

He nods and gestures to my plate, where a perfectly cooked steak sits nestled on a bed of mashed potatoes. The flash fried green beans beside it look mouthwatering, and I pick up my silverware, suddenly ravenous. A moan of pleasure rushes from me as I bite into the flavorful and tender cut of filet mignon. It’s rich and garlicky, making me think Lenka must have pan seared it in herbed butter. Resting my hands on the table, I take a minute to appreciate the art of her cooking as I chew.

Maks’s lips twitch in the ghost of a smile as he lifts a forkful to his mouth.

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head, glancing down at his plate as if he’s not going to answer. And when he looks at me again, his eyes are intense. “You make a particular sound when you eat good food,” he notes. “It’s—well, I can tell you get pleasure from eating a nice meal.”

The heat in Maks’s gaze sets my skin on fire, and warmth crawls up my neck, pooling in my cheeks as I catch his underlying meaning. I must make the same sound in the bedroom—and it’s clearly turning him on. Heart thundering against my ribs, I focus on my plate of food, cutting another bite of steak and putting it in my mouth to buy more time to come up with an adequate response. But I don’t know what that would be. Just sitting near Maks, I feel drawn to him, but after what happened yesterday, I don’t know that I want to be with him. The hurt of how he treated me is like a dark shadow in the room, and as the silence stretches between us, the tension returns. The sound of silverware against the plates is all that breaks the quiet, and somehow, that makes it all the more obvious. It leaves the air feeling heavy, and I try to focus on enjoying the flavor of my food instead of the way Maks downs his drink in one smooth gulp.

“I’m heading out for the evening, sir,” Lenka says, glancing between us as she stands awkwardly in the doorway.

“Have a good night.”

She gives a last smile, and then Maks and I are truly alone for our wedding night. We manage to finish the meal in silence, neither of us trying to break it again.

“I’ll clean the dishes,” I suggest, standing to collect our empty plates.

“Thanks.” Maks stands as well, taking our glasses, and he leaves me at the kitchen sink as he takes his suit jacket and heads to the bedroom.

By the time I follow him, he’s already changed into a pair of gray joggers and a black T-shirt that clings to his shoulders and chest, showing off his muscular arms. Rather than put on one of his T-shirts I usually sleep in, I keep on my leggings and sweater as I brush my teeth. But I can’t stop glancing at the bed we’ve been sleeping in together for the past month. I’ve long since moved past putting up a pillow barrier, and though I could reestablish that line, I’m not sure I trust it will solve the tumultuous anxiety roiling inside me, the fear and anticipation of what Maks might expect on our wedding night—what I might do if I let my guard down. He never came to bed last night, so it didn’t become an issue, but now, it feels like the elephant in the room. Spitting my toothpaste into the sink, I finish rinsing my mouth and come to lean against the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom.

I watch him hang his suit jacket in the closet, and my pulse flutters as I find the nerve to speak my mind. “I think I would rather you chain me in the guest room tonight if you’re worried I might run,” I state.

Maks tenses, his shoulders bunching before he turns to look at me.

“I don’t want to sleep in the same bed,” I add, heat flooding my cheeks.

His blue eyes are surprisingly soft as he studies my face, then nods slowly. “I understand.” Releasing a heavy breath, he steps out of the closet, his movements careful as he approaches me. “I went too far yesterday. I let my frustration get the better of me—but it’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have pushed you that hard.”

It’s as close to an apology as I think I’ll ever get, and as I look up at him, I can see the sincerity of his regret. He didn’t mean to hurt me, but he did take things too far, and while I’m not trying to punish him over it, I can see the pain in his eyes. My heart skips a beat as he stops in front of me, his expression grave. For a second, I think he’s going to touch me, and my breath catches in anticipation. When he doesn’t make a move, my chest aches with an unexpected sense of rejection.

“I won’t chain you in the guest room,” he decides. “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor by the door.”

His tone is gentle, his words understanding, but clearly he still doesn’t trust me if he intends to sleep on the floor to make sure I won’t escape, and that stings. I have to blink back tears as I nod, and I turn away quickly before he can notice. From the corner of my eye, I watch as Maks collects his pillow and several blankets from the armoire. Tossing them onto the floor, he settles in for what looks like an uncomfortable night of sleep, and I wonder if our relationship ever had a chance of being real when neither of us seems capable of trusting the other.

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