Page 79 of Charmingly Obsessed
He says it quietly, without a trace of arrogance or condescension.Thank God.No one here, I think, especially not Nadya, needs a lecture on the fleeting, ephemeral natureof wealth – particularly not from a man who probably uses hundred-dollar bills as kindling.
“Exactly!” Nadya grumbles, draining her glass.
Hippolyt’s voice turns defensive as he puffs out his chest. “I plan to earn significantly more, and I don’t need a wife to do it.”
Mykola leans in, his voice deceptively innocent. “Really? And why is that, Hippolyt? Do tell.”
Serafima lets out a hyena-esque cackle that makes the wine glasses tremble. “You have clearly forgotten what it is to be young and full of vigor,” she laughs.
I need to escape. Now. Before this brewing battle of egos, and Serafima’s increasingly inappropriate commentary, escalates any further.
I murmur a vague excuse about checking on the… something… in the kitchen, and flee.
My plan works. Mykola joins me a few minutes later, closing the kitchen door softly behind him.
We kiss. Briefly, hungrily, maybe a hundred. We just… look at each other, as if speaking with our eyes, a silent, desperate conversation. He came because he missed me. Because he couldn’t stay away. And I… I want him to stay. Until morning. Until forever.
“When will you move in with me, wife?”
“After Paris, probably,” I manage, my voice shaky. “Just… please, Kolya, let’s keep visiting her. Serafima. She’s… she’s all alone now…”
For a moment, he closes his eyes, a flicker of something unreadable – pain? regret? – crossing his face. Then he nods. “We’ll visit, sunshine. Often. But…” He tilts his head upward, that familiar gesture he always makes when he’s pondering something unpleasant, something… complicated. “This whole situation… it’s ridiculous. But she’llforgetall about these… suitors… once we return from Paris.”
“She will,” I echo slowly, my thoughts trailing, my fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw.
Then he kisses my fingertips, one by one, and I laugh. A soft, helpless, ridiculously happy sound. Like a complete and utterlunatic, honestly.
“The most important thing is that she kicks that clueless Hippolyt out on his ass,” Frez mutters as we walk back to the living room, his eyes glinting with feral satisfaction. “Soon.”
But our guest figures out he’s out of his depth on his own. Nearby, Nadya is already passed out on the velvet couch, her tinsel crown askew.
Unfortunately, Hippolyt, in a last-ditch effort to prove his… something… decides to have one final drink, thus breaking his supposedly ironclad, Spartan-worthy dietary regimen.
“Dear me, but it’s so dreadfully cold outside tonight! Where are you going in such a hurry, Hippolyt?” Serafima Pylypivna clucks with exaggerated, insincere concern as he fumbles with his coat.
“He’ll manage,” Mykola mutters under his breath, loud enough for everyone, including a now distinctly green-around-the-gills Hippolyt, to hear.
I give his leg a sharp, warning pat, feeling the coiled tension in his thigh even through the expensive wool.
Frez actually looks sheepish for about three minutes, until we all gather in the hallway to say goodbye to a swaying, glassy-eyed Hippolyt.
At the last fateful moment, whether from courage or terminal confusion, Hippolyt pulls me into a lingering, surprisingly enthusiastic, and entirely unwelcome farewell hug.
30
Chapter 30 Diana
Iswear, he barely even touches me. His arms are clumsy, his embrace awkward. He probably confused me with our hostess. Or maybe a particularly friendly coat rack.
And then, suddenly, I don’t even comprehend what’s happening. And more importantly – how it’s happening so fast.
Frez has been so… composed. For most of the evening. Annoyingly smug, yes. Possessive, definitely. But relatively… civilized. And he never actually gets physically violent. Well, except for that one time, when he slammed his forehead into Papa’s head out in that goddamn field.
Just like now.
He moves like a striking cobra. Charging straight into a bewildered, still-hugging Hippolyt with the full, explosive force of his powerful body. Colliding headfirst with the poor bastard’sskull on the cramped landing. A sickening, hollow thud echoes in the sudden silence.
I don’t know who to run to. What to do. I just freeze, rooted to the spot, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a horrified gasp.
