Page 47 of The Bratva's Christmas Bump
After a few calming breaths, I open the door and step out into the hall. My nose is immediately enticed by the creamy, smoky scents drifting down from the kitchen and I follow them as my stomach gurgles softly, alerting me to how hungry I am after a day of running around.
Maxim’s in the kitchen with his back to me. Barefoot, he shuffles back and forth in time to some soft classical music rising from his phone next to him on the counter. His soft jogging pants strain around the thick muscles of his thighs and the T-shirt he wears strains at the seams as he dishes up two plates of food.
“Good shower?” he doesn’t look at me, but his voice sends a wave of tension through me.
Is this a trick? Does he know what I did? “Yeah,” I reply softly. “It was good.”
“I hope you’re hungry.” Maxim turns to me with both plates in his hand. “I might have made more than we need.”
“I’m starving.” To his credit, the food looks amazing, chicken and gnocchi in a creamy pink sauce served with some fresh spinach mixed in at the last minute, judging by the life still in the leaves.
Maxim walks past me to the lounge, sets the plates down on the table, and then turns to me, motioning to the couch. “Sit. What do you want to drink?”
This all feels normal. Too normal. I keep expecting something to snap, or Maxim to accuse me of running, but he does no such thing. He gets me ice water at my request and sits next to me on the couch, but far enough away that his presence isn’t overwhelming. Then he turns on the TV and picks an animated movie.
“Was it nice seeing your mom today?” he asks.
My heart jumps, but I can’t detect any threat in his questions. He’s shoveling food into his mouth, relaxed against the couchand occasionally huffing out amusement at the movie he’s chosen.
He seems… normal.
Is this all in my head? I’ve scared myself with expectations rather than Maxim’s actions, but that doesn’t make me lower my guard completely. “It was, yeah. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“She, uhm… she’s looking forward to us helping with the house.”
Maxim glances at me with a bead of sauce caught on the corner of his mouth. “I don’t need to be creative, do I? Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly known for my decorating.”
Considering his last penthouse and this one both look like they’ve stepped out from a catalog, I’m not surprised. “It’ll be fine. She likes to be in control, so just do what she asks.”
Maxim nods.
And that’s it.
He doesn’t accuse me of anything. He doesn’t threaten me. He doesn’t even pry into what I talked to Mom about. He just eats and laughs at his movie like he’s an everyday, normal guy.
This might be the most attractive he’s looked since we met.
I tuck into the meal and after several creamy, slightly spicy mouthfuls of dinner where the paprika ignites my tongue and the creamy sauce soothes it, I start to feel better. Low blood sugar must have amplified the panic running rampant in my mind, and by the time I finish my meal, I feel a little guilty.
Is it wrong for me to expect the worst from Maxim when, so far, he’s done more to protect me than harm me?
I watch him slouch on the couch as tiredness weighs down his eyes, his attention locked on the movie, and the guilt within me grows.
No. It’s not wrong of me.
No matter how he treats me, I can’t forget what he did.
He’s a cold-blooded killer, and at the drop of a hat, I could be next.
17
MAXIM
“You ready?” Hollie stands in front of me with a wide smile on her face, nervously smoothing her hands down her blouse.
Ever since her lunch with her mother yesterday, she’s seemed on edge. None of the security team I stationed outside the cafe reported anything unusual, and I didn’t want to press her too hard about what they talked about because I’m choosing to trust her. It’s the only way something like this is going to work out long-term.
