Page 56 of Corrupt: XXX Vadim 2
Chapter Seventeen
Iwake up utterly content. Rolling onto my back, I open my eyes to a room filled with sunshine and the pleasant weight of Vadim’s arm over my waist. I nestle into him, so relaxed that I almost miss the tiny figure standing at the end of our bed, watching us.
Puzzled, I blink, but the intruder doesn’t disappear. In fact…
As my brain wakes up, more of her expression comes into painfully sharp focus.
“M-Magda!” I lurch upright, clutching the sheet over my front. Beside me, Vadim stirs, still asleep. “What is it, honey?”
She frowns, crossing her arms over her nightgown, her glare accusatory. “You didn’t wake me up.”
“Huh?” I glance at the clock, surprised to find that it’s nearly noon. Though, after last night, it honestly is no shock. Even Vadim’s still out. Turning to Magda, I can’t escape a wave of guilt as every real-world concern comes slamming back to the forefront. Her supposed mother. Her father’s demands. The fact that I’m naked.
“Did you eat breakfast yet?” I ask her, clutching the sheet even tighter.
She shakes her head, and I scramble to the edge of the mattress. “Let me get dressed, and I’ll make you something to eat.”
The second she leaves, I dart into the bathroom and change in record time. When I scramble into Magda’s room, she’s still wearing her pajamas. After muscling her into the bathroom, I lay out a fresh set of clothing on her bed. Only then do I stop to realize what I’m doing.
Coddling her? Or maybe there’s a worse word for it in this context…
Motheringher.
Mrs. Robinson eat your heart out. It seems the busybody was wrong about Magdalene in more ways than one. Though…shewasindependent her first few days here, dressing without prompting. I sense this new insistence on having me assist her has nothing to do with laziness. Oh God, I think it’s deeper than that. More terrifying than that.
Did the Robinsons ever attempt to do this for her? Did the mother even try to tuck her in and lay out her clothing? Something tells me no. Am I making a huge mistake by letting her get accustomed to this? To me?
“I can’t wear that without pants,” Magda says from the doorway of her bathroom, seemingly amused by the fact that I’ve only placed a yellow cashmere sweater on her bed and nothing else. She giggles—a sound so rare and fleeting that I promptly squash my doubts and force a grin.
“Right you are, smarty pants. But let’s try a skirt today instead?” I pick out a tan tweed one and a baby blue headband. Once dressed, she hops onto the end of the bed, and I heed my cue, settling in to brush and braid her hair, securing it with a length of yellow ribbon.
Downstairs, I make her a bowl of cereal and warm up a piece of toast for Vadim, who stumbles downstairs not long after. I can tell that he showered, throwing on a pair of sweats in lieu of a suit. Looking beautifully dazed, he rakes his fingers through his damp hair, and once again, his thoughts are easier to read than ever. Like the fact that he’s alarmed for one, unnerved at having slept for so long.
“Your food, good sir.” I place a plate in front of him and feel my toes curl at the gracious look he shoots me. Damn.Boundaries are important—if only he didn’t make domestic life so damn appealing to imitate.
But weddings can’t be faked as easily as marriages can.
“Tiffany,” Magda says after a bite of cereal. “Can we play Monopoly?”
“Yes, honey,” I reply absently as I return to the counter and grab myself a croissant from Ena’s customary breakfast basket.
“And can we go see my pony?”
“Yes, honey.”
“And can we go in the boat?”
I frown at the prospect. “Only if Mr. Ena agrees to take us.”
“I can take you,” Vadim pitches in, his tone cautious. I glance over my shoulder and discover that his wariness is for a good reason. Magda’s pleasant expression promptly sours.
“I don’t want to go on the boat anymore,” she declares, her tone an icy imitation of his cruelest drawl. Embodying his standoffish talent, she pushes back from the table and grabs It by his head, letting him dangle from her hand as she marches from the kitchen, presumably upstairs.
“Give her time,” I warn him. Sure enough, when I turn around, he’s frowning, his gaze distant.
“How could I be so foolish?”
“You were still worried about her,” I point out. “She’ll get over it. And…” I weigh my next words carefully and decide that they’re relevant. “If you let her play with Ainsley again, she’ll forgive you a lot faster.”
