Page 21 of A Bride for the Bratva Boss
I laugh, surprised at the lightness of the sound. “Let’s eat,” I say, pressing a kiss to her temple.
She hesitates, and then hugs me tight, her arms locked behind neck. “Okay,” she says and steps away.
I miss the heat or her body immediately, and although the view of the sway of her wide hips as she walks toward the stove is delicious, it’s not enough to squelch my hunger for her.
Not even close.
6
LIZA
After our late lunch, Danyl says he has to do some work.
I’m disappointed but also a little relieved. Things got very heated in the kitchen and I haven’t quite processed the unfamiliar feelings that arose in my body. Or more accurately, the unfamiliar way in which my libido rose.
Holy hot hormones.
I’ve never reacted that way to a man before. Is it because he’s older? Or because of how safe he makes me feel?
Do I have daddy issues? I snort. Of course I do. With a father like mine, who wouldn’t?
I head up to the bedroom to continue pack away my clothes. But someone has already organized them all in Danyl’s drawers and closet. They must have done it while we were in the gym. I didn’t even notice that someone else was in the apartment.
My new husband is right. People get used to having staff really quick.
Husband. I giggle over how insane it is that I married someone the same night I met him. The same night I killed a man.
Nope.Shaking my head, I refuse to go down that path. There lies madness.
A familiar chirp interrupts my thoughts and I look around for my phone. It’s charging on one of the nightstands. I grab it and hop onto the giant bed. Whoever unpacked for me also made the bed.
The chirp announced a text message from my dad.
Call me.
Cryptic as always. I frown as I scroll through my contacts to his name. We haven’t spoken for almost two months. He called to tell me he had a hot tip on some new scheme. I tuned out when he went into details. It’s always the same story. This time it’s a sure thing. This time he’ll make so much money he’ll never have to work again. At least he no longer asks me “to invest” in his grifter shit. He learned after I said I wouldn’t talk to him if he asked again.
But I do remember he said the latest opportunity meant he’d be out of town for a while.
“Dad,” I say when he answers on the first ring. “What’s up?”
“Hey, how’s my baby girl?” He sounds suspiciously cheerful, like he’s drunk.
“You’ve never called me that before.”
“Can’t a father give his only daughter a nickname?” he slurs. Yup definitely drunk. I sigh inwardly. At least he sounds like he’shappy drunk. Often it’s argumentative drunk dad that calls. I hang up on him when that happens.
“Sure,” I say, playing along to keep him happy. “Are you still out of town?”
“No, no. I’m back now.” Something loud bangs in the background.
“Where are you?”
“Just with some friends,” he says. “They’re renovating.”
Weird. I didn’t know he knew people who owned their homes. Most of his social circle are small-time crooks like himself. They usually rent. “Okay. What did you want to talk about?”
“Nothing really. I just wondered how you are.” The words surprise me into silence. He’s never wondered how I am. We always talk about how he is. Usually how someone’s wronged him, or doesn’t appreciate him.
