Page 96 of Charmingly Obsessed
Especially when he takes another, deliberate, menacing step closer.
Mykola is staring at me, at the half-empty suitcase, at the messy pile of clothes in the closet, with an expression of utter, bewildered fury.
His hands are clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists at his sides.
I… I’ll fix this. I’ll explain. Right now.
But, God, how stupid, how utterly, damningly guilty, this looks.
What am I supposed to do with the goddamn suitcase now?
That acceptance letter from Hogwarts definitely missed its thirty-year delivery deadline. Because I desperately, desperately need a magic wand right now.
“What the hell are you doing, Diana?” he repeats, his voice low now, dangerously quiet. “What are you packing?”
He’s gripping the handle of my battered suitcase so tightly I’m afraid he’ll snap the cheap plastic right off. But I don’t dare stop him.
He rolls it back, away from the closet, and leaves it sitting, a stark, ugly monument to my panic, in the very middle of the room.
He runs a hand through his artfully tousled, still-damp hair. Once. Twice. Three times. A gesture of pure frustration.
Mykola… just look at me… please…
“I-I… I got mixed up,” I babble, the words tumbling out, weak and unconvincing even to my own ears. “Confused. I put everything back. See? I was just… rearranging things. In the closet. This isn’t what it looks like.”
In a split second, he shoves the suitcase hard against the far wall with his foot and turns fully towards me.
One side of his impeccably tailored, ridiculously expensive blazer lifts slightly with the aggressive motion of his arm, almost like a dark, angry wing.
“I have no fucking idea what this looks like anymore, Diana,” he says, his voice ragged with an emotion I can’t quite decipher. Anger, yes. But something else, too. Something that sounds almost like… hurt. “It’s enough to drive a man insane. Were you packing to leave me?”
He stops. Shifts his stance. Reins himself in. “No. Listen to me. You’re going to sit down. On that bed. And you’re going to talk. With words, Diana. The ones you’re usually so damn good at using. The ones you use to build those pretty, impenetrable walls of yours.”
I nod. And nod again. Mutely. Like a bobblehead doll.
I really will say everything. I will. Right now. I even take a tentative step towards the bed, towards the rumpled, inviting sea of white duvet.
Mykola suddenly exhales, a harsh, guttural sound, almost a growl. And he backs away from me.
“At first, I thought… maybe you had scars,” he says, his voice strained, his gaze fixed on some point over my shoulder. “Something you were hiding. Something from your past. But I saw… there was nothing. Then I thought… I thought maybe I waspushing too hard. Too fast. So, I gave you time. I gave you all the goddamn time in the world.”
He exhales sharply again, another ragged breath. “But… you… Diana, I don’t even know how to explain this. I’m on the fucking edge,snijynka. I want to see you! A naked woman is still a naked woman in a man’s eyes, Diana! And a naked woman he desperately, obsessively wants…” His breath shudders, hitches. “That’s… that’s twice as g-great. Twice as hard to… to resist.”
I will sit down on the bed. And everything will be fine. I’ll explain it all.
Except… except there’s nothing to explain, is there? This is all so ridiculous. So… pathetic. My pathetic, irrational fears.
“I, Mykola… I just need to step out for a bit,” I say suddenly, the words surprising even me. “I’ll be right back. I just… I need to go downstairs. To the hotel bar. For a drink.”
I move swiftly then, my bare feet gliding across the smooth, cool parquet floor, the plush, hand-knotted silk carpets soft beneath my steps. Even the hallways of this gilded cage are warm and well-lit.
I decide, on a whim, to take the grand, sweeping marble staircase instead of the silent, claustrophobic elevator.
I barely pass two ornate, gilded doors before he catches up to me. He lifts me clean off the ground as if I weigh nothing.
Before I can even register what’s happening, before I can even let out a surprised squeak, he’s carrying me back towards our suite. His hand, large and firm, clamped securely over my mouth.
I let out a muffled, indignant protest, kicking once, feebly, in defiance. This is absurd. Why is he dragging me back like this? Like a goddamn caveman.
