Page 51 of Devil's Vows
She nods, and I walk out of the bathroom and take stock of her bedroom.
Fuck this shitpops up in my mind, in Dominic’s voice. I start tossing discarded clothes into a pile and rip off the dirty bedlinen.I keep half my attention on Milana, listening to the shower and for movement. Through the sound of water, I hear sobs, but I let her be. I can’t walk in there and hug her. She needs to cry and let go of all that tension—tension I feel building up in myself with every passing hour in this house.
It takes twenty minutes for her to finally turn off the faucet, and by that time, I’ve done my best to set the room straight. It will have to do. All I need is clean bedsheets to make up the bed.
As Milana comes to stand in the bathroom’s door, our gazes meet. We don’t know each other, but between us, silent words about the unspoken tragedy of being a woman flow unhindered. Something has broken this woman, and all she’s left with is exhaustion as she tries to find a means to forget. A means to carry on.
“Can I make your bed?” I ask, gently now. “Where can I find clean bedsheets?”
“Down the corridor,” she says, exhausted. “There’s a walk-in linen cupboard.”
I nod, and she nods back, authorizing me to leave her space and walk around unchaperoned. Once in the corridor, there’s more than one door, and I open one at random hoping to find the linen cupboard.
My breath stalls as my stomach plummets. Dimitri gone. Grandpa sick. That’s only half of it.
The once beautiful sitting room has been shredded, torn to pieces as if it has been bombed. An acrid scent still hangs in the space, probably from the gunshots, as nothing’s been done here since war happened. The walls are riddled with bullet holes, sometimes in a line that you’d make with a machine gun. In my mind, the shots fire, and I cower by instinct as every bang is followed by the thump of a body hitting the floor as full stop.
I close the door, hand trembling as panic floods my veins.
Not now, Gabriella, not now.
You have to take care of Milana. You have to take care of Irisha. And Katya. And cook dinner. For Ivan. For the family. This family who is barely holding it together.
Later.
You can have a meltdown later.
With a deep breath, I pull myself tall and get on with it.
26
IVAN
I might have a problem. I’ve never had stalker tendencies, but the past few days have shown me a side of myself I never knew existed.Why don’t you have a proper look, moya ptichka?My words to her, but here I am, looking more than I should. Having my ownproper look.
Let’s just say, watching your kids’ nanny to make sure she isn’t a total fucking psycho like your first wife could lead to weird obsessive-compulsive behavior. I have every camera’s feed open on my monitors in my office, ready to watch her whenever she’s on the screen with the girls, doing something cute, or motherly, or unconsciously beautiful that makes my heart seem to swell.
I can’t get enough, and it’s fucked up because this isn’tme. This isn’t my decreed life.
Even worse, ever since that night where I came out of the bathroom with only a towel and she walked in, it’s been like a brewing fantasy. Her dropping to her knees in prayer but letting me fuck her mouth instead. Imagining my cock being hugged between those sweet lips is so intoxicating, I sometimesgo back to recorded footage to watch her again and again. By the third night, I was sitting at my desk stroking my cock.
Yep. I’m that fucker.
I’ve mapped out every curve of her body, memorized every one of her small gestures—a flick of her ponytail, the way she bites her lip when she doesn’t want to laugh at something the girls said or did, the way she leans in to listen to them or goes down on her haunches to pull them in for a hug.
I’m not sure if it’s justher, the notion that our marriage is now a sure thing and I’ll bed her soon enough, or just my physical needs that haven’t been met for ages that have led to this non-existent impulse control. Whatever the fuck it is, I have to rein it in.
Maybe she’s a drug. Sunlight after so much dark that every bit of me wants to turn toward her and soak her up. Whatever this is, I’m fucked, and tonight is going to be interesting. Having watched her for four days, jerking off to a screen, seeing her in person might mess with my head.
I call out as I walk into the house, but when there’s no response, I head to the kitchen. It’s already six o’clock and dinner time. Something smells freaking delicious, but there’s no sign of Gabriella or my girls.
I hear their voices and walk over to the sink and spot them through the big picture window. Gabriella and Yuri each have a girl by the hand and are walking back to the house, probably having fed the rabbits and the chickens as they’re coming from that side of the garden.
Gabriella has stepped in as if she belongs. I pause and take a deep breath, soaking in the visual of this woman. She’s dressed in unpretentious jeans and a simple T-shirt, unaware of her female allure. Irisha smiles up at her as she tells her something. Gabriella nods and then looks up. Our gazes clash where I’m staring at her from the bright light inside the kitchen. She smiles at me, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Yeah, I get it.She dealt with things today that aren’t exactly in her job description. I respect her more for it.
“Come on, girls,” she says as they walk into the conservatory. “I see Papa is here, so let’s wash our hands and have dinner.”
“Papa!” the girls shriek in unison, and I lean in to catch them as they run up to me.
