by Shandi Boyes
Noticing my irate gaze, Rico growls, “Goddamn it, Blaire, don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what? How am I looking at you? Like you’re a monster? Because that's what you are!”
Overlooking the way my callous words caused a brutal pain to hit the middle of my chest, I fling open our bedroom door and storm inside. I wait until I hear Rico enter before I spin around to face him. My fists are clenched at my side, my body poised to fight.
He attempts to speak, but I beat him to it. “What type of man are you if you allow your wife to be ridiculed directly in front of you?”
Anger lines his face. “When the time is right, they’ll suffer the consequences of their actions. Their stupidity will not go unrebuked. Their punishment alone will ensure no man will dare speak of you with such vulgarity again.”
His anger makes his words come out with a heavy Russian accent. They also have an edge of danger to them that sends a shiver through me.
“It isn’t about punishment, Rico. It’s about decency. They belittled me as if I were nothing but a worthless whore right in front of you. That means you agree with what they were saying. I thought I meant more to you than that?”
“You do!” His roar startles me.
My brows knit into a frown. “Well, you have a very funny way of showing it.” I cross my arms over my chest, my heart heavy, my pulse escalating. "I stupidly told myself that it wasn’t the drugs in my system last week that made me agree to marry you. But I was wrong, so very, very wrong.”
The expressionless mask Rico wore throughout brunch slips, momentarily revealing a blaze of emotions. Regret, sorrow, guilt, they are all radiating from his beautiful eyes. But the biggest one—the one that causes the most impact to my heart—is the look of hope.
“You were not wrong, Blaire.” He steps closer to me, his tone less heated, his eyes less pained. “It was not the drugs influencing your decisions. It was you. It was us. Together.”
The brief shake of my head forces a tear to tumble from my eye. I angrily swipe my hand across my cheek, loathing that my tears are making me look weak.
“That man out there…” I point to the door leading to the corridor, “I would have never agreed to marry that man.”
“You didn’t marry that man.” He pounds his fist on his heaving chest. “You married me, Blaire. You married Enrique.”
“It’s the same man!” I yell, my voice cracking with emotions.
Rico shakes his head. “No! They’re not the same. Rico is an act, a role I have to play. The man here, the one standing in front of you, this is Enrique, the man you married. Me. You married me!”
My pulse quickens when he pushes off his feet and spans the distance between us. “You know this, Blaire, you just need to remember.”
I shake my head, sending tears flying off my cheeks. “I don’t know you. You’re a stranger.”
My chin quivers from the torrent of pain surging through his beautiful eyes. “No, Kitten. You know me. The real me.”
I try to shake my head, to deny his claims, but no matter how hard I fight, my heart refuses to acknowledge the pleas of my logical brain. Even though I realize I've only known him for two short weeks, my heart disagrees.
“You know me,” he mutters again, staring me straight in the eyes. “You just need to remember.”
His hands curve the edge of my jaw, and he stares into my eyes as he painfully whispers, "Remember me."
The pain crippling my heart triples when his lips kiss away my tears. The sorrow in his eyes as he battles to clear away the evidence of my disappointment in him causes more tears to well in mine. These tears are sentimental ones, not anguished.
The reasoning behind my sudden change of heart becomes apparent when Rico drops his lips to the shell of my ear and mutters, “Remember, it's the darkness, Kitten, not me,” ever so quietly.
Just hearing the repentance in his voice tells me what he is saying is true. It doesn’t ease the sting my ego copped, nor soothe the ache tingling in the middle of my chest, but it silences the screaming protests of my brain telling me to run away from him before I lose all my scruples.
After his thumbs ensure his lips didn’t miss a tear, he pulls back and glances into my eyes. I return his benevolent stare in utter shock. I'm not surprised by his sudden shift in demeanor—he can switch from night to day in an instant—I’m surprised at myself. How is it possible I’ve gone from steaming with anger to riddled with guilt from just one glance into his dark and dangerous, yet innocent eyes?
“Trust me, Blaire. I was trying to protect you,” he says with his sorrow-filled eyes boring into mine. “If they discovered you were my weakness, they would have used it to their advantage, which would have put you in harm’s way. By them believing you were nothing more than a drunken mistake, I could have protected you better.” The darkness in his eyes deepens. “But it's too late now; our cards have been shown."
"They're your family, Rico; why would they want to hurt either of us?"
His eyes grow wider. “They’re not my family. This may be the life I was born into, but that does not make them my family.”
He runs the back of his hand down the side of my face, removing a rogue tear that spilled from his statement. My heart is pained, hating that Rico had to grow up in such an unloved environment. The children in my class are so young—they are only babies. Rico was younger than them when his mother died, leaving him no other choice than to be raised by a monster in a house of horrors.
“I couldn’t promise you a life of sunshine, Blaire, but I promised to always protect you.” He quotes part of the vows we recited to each other two weeks ago. "That was what I was trying to do today. I wanted to protect you."
I stare into his forthright eyes, seeking any untruth in them. I fail to find any.
My lips quiver when I begin to speak. “I understand, but just like you promised to protect me, I promised to always be your light in a life full of darkness. I can’t do that if you shut me out.”
The muscles in my cheeks twitch when he runs his thumbs over them. “I know, Kitten.” His tone is less distressed. “I’m not purposely trying to shut you out. There are just… aspects of my life I can’t disclose to you.”
My brow arches. “Can’t or don’t want to?”
He takes his time configuring a response before he mutters, “Both.”
Not letting me reply, he presses his lips against mine and slides his tongue along the ridge of my gaped mouth. I stand muted for several seconds, knowing he is exploiting my sexual attraction to him, but unable to fight it. I’ll never be strong enough to deny his advances.
I’m not the only one helpless in this relationship, though. From the memories I’ve unearthed, and the past five days we’ve spent together, I know Rico is just as smitten as I am in this tumultuous relationship we’ve created. I’ve never used to believe in love at first sight, but truly, when you look deeply, we are surrounded by it every day. You fall instantly in love with a child when he is born; who's to say the same thing can't happen with a stranger? It may seem instant and extreme, but ultimately, it could be a long-lasting attraction that spans a lifetime. Should I ignore what could be the greatest love of my life just because it’s happening in the blink of an eye?
Giving in to my heart’s desire, I return Rico’s kiss with just as much passion as he's bestowing. I rake my fingers through his hair and stroke my tongue into his decadent mouth. His kiss sparks a carnal desire in me I’ve never felt before. A desire I’m willing to do anything to unleash. Heart, body, and soul.
My hands are all over him: stroking the girth growing in his trousers, running along the bumps of his six pack, and fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. Rico’s hands are just as adventurous. One of his hands cups my breast, squeezing it until they’re both aching with desire, while the other one places feathery touches to numerous erogenous zones in my body.
In no time at all, I'm panting, wet and more than eager. When my hands wander down to the
belt of his trousers, Rico abruptly pulls away. I stare at him, wide-eyed and confused. It's only when I see a black cloud filter over his shimmering eyes do I realize why he has reacted so fiercely.
We’re not alone.
Vladimir is standing in the doorway of our room with his evil eyes fixed on me and a mean, unapproachable demeanor. A sick feeling twists into my stomach, like something awful is about to happen. It intensifies when Rico snatches my wrists and pulls me behind his big, protective body. He must also feel the change in the air. A callous smile carves onto Vladimir’s face as the evil gleam in his eyes brightens, thrilled he forced Rico to respond.
While Rico and Vladimir speak to each other in Russian, I send a prayer to God, praying that the consequences of my actions during brunch aren’t too severe. Rico only warned me hours ago about the inequality of women in this compound, and I went and stupidly struck him in front of the very man who sanctions the formidable rules.
Any hope I'm holding for a reduced penalty vanishes when Vladimir leaves the room, and Rico drops his dark gaze to me. His eyes are crammed with uncertainty, and his normal confidence is subdued.
"I need to go and sort some things out.”
Unable to speak for fear of sobbing, I shake my head and tighten my grip on his hand. My eyes plead with him, expressing all the things my mouth can't.
“I don’t have a choice,” he murmurs, his voice growing raspier.
Acting like he can’t smell the fear permeating from my pores, he loosens my grip on his hand and ambles to the walk-in closet. I hold my breath for several terrifying seconds when he emerges not even two seconds later with a suit bag in one hand and a semi-automatic pistol in the other. Fear consumes me, adding to the swirling of my stomach. Not trusting my legs to keep me upright, I sit on the edge of the bed and lower my eyes to the ground. I refuse to watch Rico’s evolution from day to night, especially since I'm the reason he's transitioning. I’ve told myself numerous times that Rico has a double-sided façade, so why did I foolishly forget about it during the most imperative moment?
Once he's dressed, he crouches down in front of me and lifts my downcast head. Fear holds me captive when I notice the darkness of his narrowed gaze. His eyes are as black as his tailored suit, and they relay his every intention. Bile swarms the back of my throat. I did this. I caused him to switch back to his cloak and dagger lifestyle.
“Lock the door behind me, Kitten, and don’t open it for anyone but Maya,” he commands, his low tone ensuring I understand this is not a request.
“Please,” I barely whisper, falling onto my knees so I can meet him eye to eye. “This isn’t you, Enrique. My heart knows this isn’t you—”
My pleas fall on deaf ears when his impenetrable mask slips over his face. “I don’t have a choice. It's the only way I can keep you safe,” he replies, his tone a mix of remorse and anger.
Tears pool in my eyes when he stands from his crouched position and exits the room without a backward glance.
Chapter 22
Wrapping a towel around my body, I exit the steam-filled bathroom. My steps are slow, weighed down by the guilt hanging heavily on my shoulders. I’ve been sick out of my mind with worry all day. I paced the floors for hours, ate more chocolate than I’ve consumed my entire childhood, and begged Maya to disclose if she knew of Rico’s whereabouts. Nothing worked to calm the uncertainty twisting my stomach. Not even the world’s hottest shower.
My breath catches halfway between my lungs and my throat when I step out of the bathroom. Rico is sitting in the same high-backed chair he's always waiting for me in. A potent rush of yearning slams into me just from the sight of him, and the desire to cry overwhelms me, but I manage to respectfully hold it in. Just barely. When he lifts his eyes from the tube of moisturizer in his hand to me, my feet push off the ground and rush to him before he has the chance to nod his head.
My frantic speed slows when the quickest flash of a devilish smirk has me stumbling over my own feet. Rico's smile enlarges over my clumsiness, which only makes my movements falter even more. As I slowly saunter towards him—hips swinging, heart rate surging—my eyes run over him, seeking any indication of the repercussions of my foolish actions. Thankfully, none are found. He appears like he did before he left. The only difference is his suit jacket has been removed and slung over the back of the dressing table chair; his gold watch has been placed on a crystal dish on the antique dresser. . . and the smell of cheap floral perfume is permeating off him. The scent is so strong it causes my stomach to swirl.
My speed slows even more, closely followed by the beat of my heart. The twisting my stomach has been doing all day winds up to my throat. When I stop in front of him, Rico’s hands move to my towel to pry it open, whereas my eyes scan every inch of him. I'm no longer searching for evidence of my stupidity; I’m seeking signs of betrayal.
My switch from panicked to enraged is quick, completed in under a second, when my eyes zoom on a red smear on the collar of his dress shirt. If I'm not mistaken, a vibrant red smear of lipstick. Blood roars to my ears, and my back molars smash together.
“What?” I stammer when Rico’s deep voice breaks me out of the jealous trance the red mark on his shirt forced me into.
He lifts his eyes from my tattoo to me. “It’s looking much better today. Is it still itchy?”
Catching my lower lip between my teeth, I shake my head. I've lost the ability to talk as our interaction this morning regarding the Popov mistresses runs through my blinded-with-jealousy mind. Rico neither denied or agreed that he had mistresses. He just skirted my questions like any real criminal mastermind would.
The room spins as the swirling of my stomach amplifies. Rico once again smiles at my wobbly composure. It doesn’t have the same effect on me as it did earlier.
“We’ll give it a few more treatments with the hydrocortisone cream before switching to a standard moisturizer.”
After closing my towel, he stands from his seat. Noticing the eccentric switch in my composure, he eyes me curiously, his eyelids growing heavy as he scans my face. I roll my shoulders and force an expressionless look to mask my furious appearance. Until I've had time to assess the situation properly, I can't jump to conclusions—no matter how much my brain cites my reasons to. Accuse now, ask questions later is the tactic it wants to use.
Not buying my attempts to veil my anger, but apparently not wanting to push the issue, Rico presses a kiss to my temple and ambles into the bathroom.
“I’ll be out in a few.”
His usual alluring composure is still beaming out of him in invisible waves, but his shoulders are slumped a little lower, and his cockiness isn't as paramount. But even with his demeanor askew, I go looking for trouble, unable to harness the voice in my head telling me it isn't just his composure that’s changed. I smell a rat from a mile away.
I wait until I hear the shower door opening before carefully prying open the bathroom door. Wanting to ensure it doesn’t unexpectedly announce my arrival, I embrace its closure, meaning it only gives out the slightest click when it shuts. With my heart walloping in my chest, I slant my head to the side and prick my ears. Happy I haven’t attracted Rico’s attention, I quickly span the distance between the door and the linen basket sitting at the side of the double vanity.
Just like every other time I’ve showered in this room, the mirrored wall is thick with steam… but it isn’t dense enough to fully conceal the visual of Rico in the shower. He's standing with his feet planted the width of his shoulders and his head hanging low. Water is pelting out of the shower head, squashing his normally tousled locks into smooth wisps of hair. With his palms flattened on the white marble tiles, he steps deeper into the spray, allowing the steaming hot water to run down the length of his spine. His posture looks defeated, but it doesn’t stop the vehement jealousy pumping through my body.
When I snatch his dress shirt out of the basket, fiery rage adds to the pink hue blemishing my cheeks. There's no doubt the red mark smeare
d across the cuff on his collar is lipstick. It's as obvious as the sun hanging in the sky. Pain twists my heart and swirls my stomach.
Dropping the shirt onto the floor, I stumble my way out of the bathroom, my steps wobbly and unsure. My brain is telling me not to be so dramatic; it's just a little bit of lipstick on the collar of a stranger's shirt. My heart… it's not even functioning right now to articulate a response to my soul-shattering discovery.
Fighting through an upwelling of tears pricking my eyes, I throw one of my short-sleeve shirts over my head and yank a pair of cotton panties up my quivering legs. Numerous scenarios explaining how the mark could have gotten on Rico’s shirt run through my mind as I'm dressing, but not one acceptable reason is found as to why there would be a pair of female lips sitting intimately close to his neck. Unless he was. . . I slap my hand over my mouth to stop my stomach's vicious heaves. I thought Rico was waiting for me to feel comfortable around him, and that was why he hadn’t put any moves on me the past five nights. Obviously, I was wrong.
When the creak of a door sounds through my ears, I rush my hand over my cheeks, ensuring no sneaky tears have trickled from my eyes before climbing into bed. I can hear Rico moving around the space, but since my stomach is so queasy, I refuse to look at him. I don't think I could stand the sight of him right now.
I stiffen like a board when he slips into the bed and curls his arms around my waist. Just like he has done every night we’ve been together, he draws me into his chest, surrounding me with his scent and warmth, a smell still doused in rich floral perfume. Incapable of battling the sting of jealousy, I push away from him and scamper to the furthest edge of the bed. I’m dangling so dangerously on the edge that one more inch would have me sleeping on the floor.
