Page 107 of Charmingly Obsessed
“In the world of big money,” he whispers against my hair in a hypnotic rumble, “there’s only one thing everyone—and I meaneveryone—truly wants to buy. But it’s not for sale. No one can sell youtime.”
“And yet everyone tries,” I murmur, my gaze drifting around the opulent, unfamiliar room as if searching for an escape route. “I think I’m sobering up… and falling asleep.”
His strong hands tighten around my wrists. I look at him one last time with half-closed eyes, unable to miss the tension in his clenched jaw.
“I’d give away everything to buy just one more hour right now,” he says, his voice a low, rough whisper against my skin. “Just one more hour of you like this.”
“I’m right here,” I mumble, my eyelids growing heavy. “Not going anywhere, Mykola. I…”
42
Chapter 42 Diana
In the morning, unfortunately, I feel… wonderful. Physically, at least. It would be so much easier if I had pounding, champagne-induced headache that matched the unmitigated mess inside my head.
I can already guess that I don’t remember half of what I did yesterday. And, more importantly, what I said. But I definitely remember telling him I love him. Over and over.
Strange that I didn’t also draw a little heart on his ridiculously sculpted chest with my lipstick while I was at it. Well, I guess I’m forever a pathetic, love-struck schoolgirl when it comes to relationships. And it looks like I won’t live long enough to ever graduate.
Mykola seems amused by the grim expression I wear when I finally, reluctantly, wake up. He really can’t resist a challenge, can he?
He even mercilessly tickles me the moment the unsuspecting hotel porter turns away to load our mountain of suitcases.
That porter deserves a hefty bonus—and possibly combat pay—for pretending not to hear the high-pitched squealing behind him. I imagine I sound like a small, rabid animal being tortured.
The general manager hovers anxiously as we check out. During our goodbyes, he covers my hand with his and peers into my eyes as if we’ve all just tragically lost the Battle of Waterloo. I have to reassure him with a smile that feels like a grimace that yes, of course, we’ll stay here again next time we’re in Paris.
As soon as we step into the foyer of the new hotel, I immediately prefer its smaller, more intimate feel. The moment the suite door closes behind us, I can’t help but blurt out, “Mykola. About last night… I just…”
“So, you’re about to start apologizing again?” he cuts in, his voice bristling with a sudden, palpable irritation. He starts pacing the room like a restless, caged predator. “All right, then. Let’s hear the full list. What exactly are you so desperately sorry for this time, Diana?”
“I’m not apologizing,” I say, even as I’m obviously doing just that. “To be honest, I’m glad I was able to say some things last night. Even if I don’t remember exactly what they were.”
“Old habits die hard, don’t they?” he mutters with a sharp nod, but he doesn’t return to the seating area where I’m perched nervously on a velvet armchair. “You need a tangible incentive to get rid of them. You need to be properly… motivated.”
“Are you implying I’m not trying?” I ask, my voice surprisingly cool.
Frez wasn’t expecting that tone. He drops the pretense, his frustration now completely open. “You know what? I’m going downstairs to the bar. I need to double-check something with the concierge.”
Maybe this is our first real fight as a married couple.
After stewing in my own miserable anxiety for ten minutes, I head down to the first floor myself. The heavy, soundproofed doors to the hotel’s chic, dimly lit bar are slightly ajar. I try to spot Mykola from the hallway but don’t see him anywhere.
A small, enclosed courtyard garden sits just off the bar, decorated with a lush arrangement of evergreen and exotic plants. I shiver as I walk the winding, crushed-stone path, having only thrown on a thin blazer.
Oddly, a few other guests are sitting at wrought-iron café tables, wrapped in expensive overcoats and sipping cocktails. The elegant, all-weather furniture has clearly been pulled from its winter covers just for them.
A man sitting alone at a secluded corner table shows something on his phone to a passing staff member. Then, he turns around.
Malasenco.
He doesn’t notice me at first. I stand frozen, my blood turning to ice, willing myself to retreat.Just one step back, Diana. Turn around and run.
I notice with a strange, detached clarity that his gray hair has thinned considerably. His cheeks are flushed an unhealthy, purplish red. He smirks crookedly when he finally sees me, his cold eyes raking over me with open dismissal.
He’s surprised to see me here. And I am terrified to see him.
I would genuinely rather run into the manipulative Kozar again. But this man…this is all Malasenco’s fault.Everything started with his greed, with his cruelty.
