Page 50 of Shattered Crown

I stare at Maxim, waiting for him to say more, but he reaches across me to fasten my seatbelt as if I’m not capable of doing it on my own.

“You smell like coffee,” he murmurs, inhaling my neck. “I like it.”

His close proximity, the way he buries his nose in my neck, sets off a flurry of goosebumps up and down my arm. It deeply irritates me. I scowl at him, and he grins at me.

I’m vaguely aware of the subtle jolt of landing, the wheels kissing the tarmac. When the cabin door opens, it breaks our trance—Maxim and I both pull away, looking everywhere but at each other.

Svetlana strides purposefully down the aisle, her face a cold mask of fury. Her carry-on rattles along behind her, its wheels clicking against the floor. She pauses beside us, her eyes narrowing on me with disgust. "Slumming it with fat girls.”

Maxim growls as his hand darts out to collar her wrist in an unyielding grip. “You’ve already lost your job with me. Do you want to lose your life?”

She rakes her eyes accusingly over Maxim before ripping her arm from his grasp. Stupid woman.

“I give your marriage another month before you’re crawling back to me," she bites, an ugly twist to her full lips, and then she's gone.

I keep my eyes on the now vacant doorway. “What is going on?”

“We’re dropping off the trash.”

“Because of me?”

“She should have never been here in the first place. I’m serious, lastochka, no one will ever disrespect you like that.”

Before I can push for him to explain, someone else boards the plane, entering through the door that Svetlana just exited. Warmth rushes through me as I note that this flight attendant is male.

He stows his small carry-on bag in a cabinet near the front of the plane and makes his way towards us. "Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Belov. My apologies for any disruption. I’m Gleb, and I'll be attending to you for the remainder of our journey."

“Thank you. I’ll let you know if we require anything.” Maxim nods, and taking the hint, Gleb continues on towards the back galley.

Minutes later, the plane begins to accelerate for takeoff. The pilot wasn’t kidding when he announced a brief stop.

I glance over at Maxim—he’s pulled out his phone, and it’s pressed to his ear.

“Why was she working this flight?” he barks out in place of a greeting. Someone responds on the other end of the line, but he’s impatient. “You know better, Nadya,” he admonishes. “I’ll take your word for it that having Svetlana on this flight was an oversight. In the future, no more mistakes like this. Offer Svetlana up to the mayor—she’s no longer an employee of mine.” When he hangs up, he doesn’t look at me. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, focused on the seat in front of him.

A million questions run through my head, like what the hell the call was about. It certainly wouldn’t surprise me if Nadya purposefully scheduled Svetlana on this flight.Jesus.

Maxim may not trust me, but he’s damn possessive of me. If he has developed feelings for me, can I use it to my advantage?

“To be clear,” Maxim’s voice breaks the silence between us. “There is no mistress. When I go off at night, I’m fighting, not fucking. Have you noticed the state of my hands since we started sharing a bed?” He holds up his knuckles for me to see. They are as raw and bruised as any professional fighter’s.

There are few moments in my life when I genuinely don’t know what to say, but this is one of them. I could ask who he’s fighting and why, but honestly, right now I’m not even sure I want to know.

“Okay,” I tell him.

“Okay,” he echoes. A small smile grows on his face, and he goes back to typing on his phone.

I close my eyes, and within moments, I’m teetering on the brink of sleep. Just before I drift off, I’m enveloped in warmth, Maxim’s rich scent. He’s draped his jacket over me, and it’s the closest thing to comfort I’ve felt in a long time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

KIRA

New York.New York fucking city.

The city stretches beneath me, all manic, frenetic energy, discernible even from the fortieth floor of the hotel terrace. It’s a bird’s-eye view of untamed Manhattan, a city I once called home. A place I still miss so much my chest hurts.

It’s the last place I expected Maxim to take me on a honeymoon. I was expecting Tahiti or the Maldives—somewhere hot, exotic, and lavish. This is not a honeymoon, despite what he called it. This is business.

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