Page 46 of The Russian's Forced Bride
Hours later, Rafael left for work, as he usually did. I was disappointed in myself when I realized I had missed the chance to get him to talk. As he cuddled me after we had sex, I found myself opening up and telling him everything about Brandon.
He surprisingly didn’t seem angry as he let me speak while gently stroking my hair. But even though I poured my heart out to him, expecting him to reciprocate, he simply promised to meet with Brandon just to get to know him—and said nothing until I fell asleep on the sofa, only waking up moments later to find that he had washed me, wrapped me in my robe, and laid me back on the bed.
To say I was disappointed was an understatement.
I was heartbroken.
The constant ringing of the doorbell pulled me out of my sinking thoughts as I sat upright, resting my head against the headboard.
If it were Rafael, I reckoned he wouldn’t need to ring the doorbell to his own home.
Grudgingly, I made my way down the stairs, wondering if it was Brandon. Though Brandon was never one to pop out of the blue—he always let me know prior. In his words, he didn’t want to get punched in the face by my broodingly devilish husband.
My brows furrowed when I approached the tinted glass doors of the house to find Rafael’s assistant standing outside of it.
Thanks to the tinted glass, she couldn’t see me and kept ringing the doorbell. I watched her for a moment as a pang of jealousy hit my gut again.
She was strikingly beautiful and always managed to look sharp in the black suit skirts she wore, which accentuated her curves.
And though glasses obscured her cerulean blue eyes, they couldn’t hide their intensity. I wondered what she wanted. It was the first time she had come over, and it annoyed me to know she even knew where Rafael lived.
With a sigh, I entered the passcode, and the door slid open, giving me a clearer view of her features.
A polite smile spread across her face as she now clasped her hands behind her back, tendrils of bleached blonde hair wisping from her sleek bun.
“Mrs. Kamarov,” she addressed me, “I’ve got a message to pass across from your husband.”
I raised a brow. If Rafael had a message for me, calling or texting wouldn’t have been hard. But it really didn’t matter anymore.
My feelings for that man were consuming me, and it was becoming unbearable.
“Okay?” I shrugged, trying not to seem impolite. “What is it?”
“He sent me to let you know that he wouldn’t be making it home tonight. He has work at the office and didn’t want you to be worried in the case he didn’t send a text or call.”
I swallowed a heavy lump, feeling my heart clench.
“And you?” I asked, my voice breaking slightly.
She tilted her head slightly, confusion gracing her features before the intent behind my question dawned on her, and her blue eyes softened.
“I’ll be right at the office too, Mrs. Kamarov. But rest assured—Mr. Kamarov isn’t spending a night away from home for any reason you might be suspicious of.”
She then paused, drawing in a sharp breath. “I understand that it may be tough being married to someone like him, but trust me when I say this, Arlette. Mr. Kamarov isn’t the same man you knew before your wedding. In fact, I believe he started changing right from the moment your paths crossed.”
My breath hitched in my throat at her words. She wasn’t lying, and that fact was obvious. I knew Rafael wasn’t cheating on me or anything like that.
I was just envious that she got to work by his side, knowing everything that I didn’t.
And because she was his assistant, I knew she couldn’t give me the answers I needed.
“Thank you,” I told her sincerely. “Thank you for all your hard work.”
She beamed at me, reaching out her hand for a shake, which I accepted, a smile forming on my face at our supposed newfound alliance.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Kamarov. Just be a bit more patient,” she advised. “He’s doing this all for you.”
And with that, she pulled her hand away from mine and turned to leave, waving at me with a bright smile on her face.
