Page 295 of Ruins
Four months later
Therenovationsonourestate are finally complete, but my wife prefers the penthouse now.
I’ve spoiled her—andmyself—far too much, taking her to work at NovaRael every day. Having Vasilisa there has slowed my work and wrecked her grades, though I can’t bring myself to care when she’s sprawled out for me on my desk, moaning my name. I’ve taken every opportunity to have her—against bookshelves, over conference tables mere minutes before a meeting, and my personal favorite, in the elevator.
Vasilisa used to tremble with nerves every time we stepped inside one. Now, she trembles for entirely different reasons. One morning before work, I dropped to my knees, tasted her until she begged, and now? Now she gets wet the second those doors close.
When we aren’t at work, we indulge. Dinners at the freshly restored La Serenata, lunches at the Russian bistro she loves. But no matter where we go, she always ends up in my lap, my hands under her skirt, my mouth pressed to her ear, reminding herexactlywho she belongs to.
Romeo and Luca have taken to different sectors of our family business since Vasilisa has been with me full time, choosing to continue online classes instead of in person.
They still steal her away for the occasional poker game.
My father is doing well in rehabilitative therapy, for an old man he’s well on his way to healing, his next venture is to retire in Italy.
As for my brother, I have yet to speak to him, it’s the longest we’ve gone and the fact that he hasn’tdemandedI speak to him, further proves my suspicions that he has been hiding something.
At the penthouse, I watch Vasilisa paint as I go over details about Artemis and Athena for Zeus. Wesley Beaumont has a flagship on all things AI, and combining WesTech with NovaRael on this new endeavor is proving more difficult than we previously anticipated. I grab my notepad and flip the page where I sketch the design for my next gadget when the soft swish of her brush against the canvas pulls my attention.
She hums softly, lost in her own world, the sunlight catching in her hair as she tilts her head. There’s a small crease between her brows—the same one she gets when she’s focused, the one that makes her impossibly beautiful. I steal a glance before returning to my notes, but I don’t miss the moment when she turns to me, her hands on her hips.
“You’re not listening to me,” she complains.
I set my pen down, letting my gaze drift over her. That yellow sundress, the one that makes her look like the first day of spring, only makes her pout more devastating.
Gorgeous.
“Yes, Dea. What do you need, my love?”
“Someone is requesting access,” she says, hesitation flickering in her eyes.
Her fingers twitch slightly, a small tell I’ve come to recognize. Concern, but not fear. Still, I take her hand in mine, my thumb brushing over the faint streak of blue paint near her wrist before bringing it to my lips.
“I’m expecting someone,” I reassure her, pressing a kiss to her skin. “It’s okay, Dea. Why don’t you let them up?”
She huffs, clearly unimpressed with my calm demeanor. Pulling her hand away, she tugs off the smock she’s been wearing over that gorgeous sundress and tosses it into my lap, her lips pressed together in that way that tells me she’s trying not to smile.
I watch as she strides to the elevator, her movements full of reluctant curiosity. I hear her push the button and wait, anticipating the gasp or squeal of joy that will more than likely follow.
Vasilisa
I know Santo wants me answering doors to boost the confidence I lost when our home was destroyed. He thinks this will help me feel in control again, but I’ve told him time and time again—I’mnotglass. Still, I sigh, pressing the access button on the elevator, waiting for it to arrive.
When the doors slide open, I expect Luca or Romeo, but instead, a woman stands there, her brown hair pulled into two playful space buns. She’s wearing a crop top and ripped jeans, a grin already tugging at her lips.
It takes a second for my brain to catch up. I blink, my mind struggling to place her in this moment—then it clicks.
“Luna!” I squeal, throwing my arms around her.
We jump in unison like two kids reunited after a long summer apart. I can hear Santo chuckling behind me, his deep voice a warm reminder of his constant presence.
When we part, Luna’s bright smile feels like a burst of sunshine on a cloudy day. “I’ve missed you so much,” I say, squeezing her once more.
“I missed you too,” she replies, her eyes sweeping across the penthouse. Her jaw drops slightly. “Damn, that husband of yours doesn’tmiss. This place is gorgeous!”
I giggle, taking her hand and leading her toward the living room where Santo stands with his notepad in hand. “I know,” I reply, glancing back at her with a grin.
“Welcome, Luna,” Santo says kindly, striding toward me. He presses a chaste kiss to my lips, his hand lingering briefly on my waist before stepping back. “Why don’t you take her to the kitchen? If you need me, I’ll be in the study.”
