Page 115 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

I wanted to ask about his last doctor’s appointment but I know how that conversation would go. He’d just get impatient with me for asking, avoid my questions, and then change the subject.

I’m not in the mood for that song and dance.

In fact, I’m not in the mood for this call at all.

“Why did you call, Father? I’m assuming it’s not to provide marital counseling.”

He hesitates. “There is something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

“If it’s about work, I’d rather wait until I get back to discuss it,” I snap at him. “One fucking week off shouldn’t be such a big ask.”

I feel like I’ve been rung dry after that encounter with Esme. I don’t have space in my head for anything else.

“This is important, Artem,” Stanislav replies.

“Everything is important in your eyes. Is it urgent?” I ask.

There is a prickly silence. He’s frustrated with me.

Well, the feeling is fucking mutual.

“Very well,” he answers. “We will discuss this when you get back.”

“Don’t wait up for me.”

The line goes dead.

I discard my phone with relief.

I feel a pang of guilt. I shouldn’t have been so curt with him. As gruff as he is, he’s still my father. He helped mold me into the man I am today. I’m grateful for that.

But Esme has worn my patience thin. And yet, now that Father has agreed to leave me alone for the rest of this trip, where does my mind turn to?

Right back to her.

I can practically still feel her beneath my hands. Her body as soft as silk but firm with those runner’s muscles. Her eyes like beacons drawing me closer.

And the scent of her—that sweet, floral smell that draws me close and tempts me to stay there forever…

Fuck.

Before I can finish reliving the memory, my phone rings again. Cursing under my breath, I pick up without checking who’s calling.

But it’s not Stanislav phoning back like I expect.

Instead, it’s a bright, cheery voice that makes me roll my eyes.

“Hey, buddy, miss me?” Cillian chirps.

“Not even a little bit,” I say, though I’m grinning just a little.

“How’s the honeymoon going?” he asks, getting right to the chase. “Have you consummated your marriage yet?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“That’s a negative, ghostrider,” Cillian fills in for me. I can picture that stupid, lopsided grin on his face that makes him look like a human golden retriever. “How tragic. I should have given you some tips before you left. Practice unrolling a condom on a banana, that kind of thing. Pull up the Wikipedia page on female anatomy so you know where to put your dick.”

“I’ll come to you next time I need tips on how to leave a woman dry and unsatisfied.”

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