Page 50 of Beautiful Secrets
Problem is, I’m starting to think Mika’s not like any woman I’ve ever met.
She seems to have no sense of her self—how beautiful she is, how strong she is, or how intelligent she is. Maybe it’s because she’s never had anyone around who appreciated those things about her. Or maybe everyone she’s ever met has only ever seen her as an asset.
Like I did.
“So tell me more about this arranged marriage thing,” I say, dragging a stool closer and perching on the edge.
Mika’s eyes pop open. She’d been alternating between inhaling the coffee’s steam and glancing around the penthouse between sips.
A true hedonist—and I’ve met a few. Fuck, if they ever formed a cult, I’d be the guy handing out blue Kool-Aid.
She shrugs, but doesn’t say anything.
“You said Dimitri did it to punish you? What did you do?”
Suddenly she’s not enjoying her coffee anymore. She sets the mug down, her bright blue eyes darkening. “Something I regret.”
I cock my head. “I have ways to make you talk.” And God, I suddenly wish she’ll play hardball.
But she purses her lips, drops her eyes, and mumbles, “I disrespected one of the Barisovas.” She lifts her hands, gestures. “Well, two of them, I guess.”
“How?”
She sighs, glances up, looks away. “My sister Vanya was engaged to one of—”
“Who?”
Her lips purse again. “Yuri. Yuri Barisova.”
“Aye, I know him.”
“You do?”
“In passing. Continue.”
She hesitates. “He was engaged to my Vanya. But she—Vanya—she in love with his brother, Aleksandr.” Her eyes narrow a little. “You know of him?”
I shake my head. Sip at my coffee. Gesture for her to carry on.
She looks away again, running her fingertip around the rim of her coffee cup. “I…helped them—they were fooling around.” Her cheeks catch a little color, and she keeps her eyes averted. “When Yuri find out…”
I let the silence lie between us for a short spell, working through the scant details she gave.
Fuck, I had no idea the Russians were so conservative. Or is it just the Bratva? All that shit about being pure on your wedding night and stuff? Thought we were done with that as a species when the world got its first female president.
“This a religious thing?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “It is Bratva thing.”
Aye, that makes more sense. Us criminals have our own moral code to make up for the fact that we break so many laws.
“And because you helped her, now you have to marry your sister’s lover?”
“They never—” she cuts off, cheeks bright red. “I do not think they…you know.”
“Had sex?” I supply helpfully, and she licks her lips.
Christ—I’d managed not to think about her mouth on my cock for all of what—a minute? Little temptress.
