Page 107 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

When I get downstairs, I find Esme in the breakfast nook eating eggs on toast. She’s wearing a pair of denim cut-offs and a bright pink bikini top underneath a sheer white t-shirt.

“You’re up early,” I say, sitting opposite her as I help myself to hot coffee from the pot.

“You’re up late,” she counters without really looking at me.

I grind my teeth together as my patience wears thin. She’s already on her bullshit today.

I can’t handle that right now. I need to get out a little, feel the wind and the sun on my face. I need open ocean.

“I’m going sailing,” I tell her, getting up from my seat abruptly. “If you want to join me, be by the boat dock in fifteen minutes. Otherwise, I’ll see you when I see you.”

* * *

Exactly fourteen and a half minutes later, she steps onto the boat dock with a small tote bag slung over her shoulder. She’s got sunglasses on, but when she approaches the sailboat I’m on, she removes them and squints up at me.

“I was expecting a smaller boat,” she remarks.

I smirk. “Then you don’t know me very well.”

“Go big or go home, huh? Am I supposed to be impressed?”

I lean in and offer her my hand. She hesitates for only a moment before she takes it and lets me guide her on board.

The boat has a lower deck equipped with a bedroom, bathroom, a small storage compartment, and a refrigerator that’s been fully stocked.

I don’t bother with a tour, though. I figure she’s been on boats like this plenty in her life. After all, she was the daughter of a don.

I cast off and get us moving. The wind picks up, and soon, we’re sailing away from the dock towards open ocean.

She moves gingerly once we really get to cruising. That’s all it takes for me to realize that she doesn’t have much experience with boats.

“You’re not going to throw up, are you?” I ask.

“I just… need to get used to this,” she replies, sitting near the gunwale beside me.

Her hair whips chaotically around her face but she makes no move to tie it up. Instead, she closes her eyes and keeps them closed for several long minutes.

When she finally opens them, she’s smiling.

“Okay, I’m used to it. This is amazing.”

Her soft grin is genuine, glowing. And I find myself smiling back in exactly the same way.

Fuck me.

The woman has a strange, hypnotic hold on me—that is, when she isn’t trying to fight me at every turn.

We cruise along peacefully for almost an hour. I strip my shirt off and work on the sails. The simple physical labor is relaxing. Like meditation.

Pull this.

Tighten that.

Everything does what’s expected of it.

Unlike my new wife.

I catch Esme checking me out a couple of times. She tries to pretend like she isn’t, but the blush on her cheeks betrays her every time.

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