by Lana Sky
This may not be a dream, after all.
“Morning.”
I moan at the sound of his voice, husky with sleep. “Morning,” I whisper in response.
So yes, this is real. Vadim, holding me against him, our bodies still slick with sweat, the bedsheets twisted around us. Pale dawn light bathes his skin in a soft glow, making him seem more ethereal than ever. My beautiful, tormented angel so convinced he doesn’t deserve happiness.
He has to take it.
All of last night comes crashing back in one go. My ultimatum. His sensual, torturous response. Something in my expression must change because he stiffens, betraying breathtaking concern. Horror, even.
And I do nothing to reassure him. Slowly, I brace my hand against his chest and push back, wincing as my body throbs with a mixture of lingering lust and bone-shattering exhaustion.
“I’ll never forgive you,” I tell him, my voice breaking. “Never.”
His throat constricts as he reaches for me, stroking my cheek. “I’m sorry. Are you in pain?”
I snatch his hand, wrenching it from my face. Then I manipulate the digits until the longest finger is extended, and I eagerly brush it with my lips, stroking my tongue across the tip. He looks horribly confused, this beautiful man, torn between arousal and alarm.
I deign to put him out of his misery and suck on the very tip of his finger just once.
“How dare you keep that toy all to yourself,” I scold him, still too weak to put real effort into my mocking tone. “I’m starting to think I should demand you come clean about all of your new custom goodies.”
He chuckles and gingerly slips his finger from my lips, drawing me closer. “I plan to keep you well satisfied on the real thing,” he says, and sure enough, I sense him hardening against my belly. “That substitute shall only be deployed in emergencies.”
“You see my potential leaving as an emergency?” I question, my voice soft.
He brushes my jaw, his lips firmly closed. “You’re shaking,” he finally declares, eyeing the length of me with a frown. “It seems another round of pampering is in order.”
He shrugs the sheets from his body and stands. A heartbeat later, I’m in his arms as he heads for the bathroom. When we pass the window, I eye the morning sky and remember our unofficial deadline.
“Today is the last day before she comes,” I declare. “I guess my playground will have to go under lock and key.”
If he hears me, he doesn’t respond. Instead, he drapes me carefully over the bench in the shower and proceeds to clean me off with more care than should be possible. After my few relationships—mainly with Jim—it blows my mind that someone can treat another person with such reverence. I feel like an idol worshipped by him. Revered by him.
And for a second, I can forget my rules—just for a second.
Determined, he bathes every inch of me with utmost gentleness. I’m riveted just watching him inspect me, awed by every part of me.
“You make me feel so beautiful,” I murmur as he wipes the lather from my limbs and bundles me in a towel. “I love the way you—”
“My beauty, so full of compliments,” he says while carrying me back into the bedroom. “You’re inflating my ego. I’ve spent years fighting to keep it in check.”
Rebelliously, I reach up, brushing my fingers along his jaw. “You deserve praise,” I say, meaning every word. Perhaps that suspicion is what drives him to doubt the motives of those around him, even if they obviously care. “I give you permission to be as cocky as you want.”
He makes a thoughtful sound in his throat as he settles me on the bed. He switched out the sheets, I realize, replacing them with a fresh set. “Cocky enough to think I can claim you?” he counters.
I sway as our gazes connect. It should be illegal for someone to look so…ravenous. And yet in the same breath, utterly restrained—all that tension tethered to a hair-trigger.
“Tell me you want me,” I whisper, toying with that dangerous, fragile line.
With a feral expression, he snaps it. “I crave you.”
To prove it, he leans down, making me feel so small in his massive shadow. Our lips meet, teeth gnashing with the ferocity. It isn’t long before I’m beneath him, writhing for the pleasure only he can provide.
“Vadim, please—”
He slams into me before I can even finish voicing the plea. I hum in ecstasy, grasping for any part of him I can reach. My nails pierce the flesh of his forearms, but he moves, capturing both my wrists and pinning them flat to the bed.
Will he shackle me again? My heartbeat picks up at the prospect, but he merely entwines our fingers as our gazes reconnect. Somehow this tethering is more intimate. I feel even more helpless, rendered with no protection from the emotions spilling between us with every thrust. I grip him in return so tightly my hands shake.
My eyes threaten to roll as he rocks into me, taking me with a skill that dissolves every coherent thought, leaving only heat behind. Desire.
Panting, he brings his mouth near my ear, rasping, “You are mine.”
I come around him, gasping his name.
And I let myself toy with the idea that his ownership may not be such a bad thing…
My list be damned.
Chapter Eight
We spend most of the morning in bed before finally venturing downstairs to eat one of Ena’s frozen meals. Afterward, we put the finishing touches on Magda’s room, hanging the final remaining pictures and arranging her blankets.
Just after midnight, we wind up in bed, our limbs entwined. I drift off cocooned in his arms, but the second I wake up, I know that everything has changed.
It’s as if the air has become tinged with some unfamiliar scent, shifting the careful dynamic between us. Vadim rises from the bed without a word, his back to me, his fingers tearing through his hair. I roll onto my side and watch him, my heart swelling with too many emotions to decipher.
Today is the day everything between us changes. For better or for worse?
“We should get dressed,” he says, his tone too neutral to give me an inkling either way.
He enters the closet and begins rummaging through the hanging clothing.
“The blue one,” I tell him. “With the tie your brother brought you.”
He shoots me an odd look, but as I crane my neck and sit upright, I see that he’s complied, tugging on the navy suit with a black dress shirt.
I stand and follow him, stretching my sore limbs.
“The emerald dress,” he tells me as I start to appraise my options. “With the cream jacket.”
“An interesting color profile, Mr. Gorgoshev,” I remark while I pick out the items in question. Once fully dressed, I eye myself and sigh in resignation.
Not only is the man sexy as hell, but he has an eye for fashion to match.
“I look like a very respectable fake wife,” I say, surprised by the overall effect.
He comes to stand beside me, his expression approving. “Thank you for doing this for me,” he says, leaning in to press his lips against my forehead. “I promise to find a safe place to reassemble your playground so that you may enjoy it fully.”
I practically melt, and only the faint reminder at the back of my skull keeps me from trying to strip him naked—Magda.
Together, we enter the hallway, but as Vadim ventures downstairs, I take a detour to the next door over and peek inside. Sure enough, all of my charming apparatuses have vanished, leaving the room starkly bare. Surprisingly, I’m not too heartbroken as I descend the steps and enter the kitchen.
While we wait, I force feed Vadim a croissant, and I’m in the middle of goading him into drinking a glass of orange juice when a knock sounds at the front door.
He doesn’t move. I’m the one who has to stand first and take his hand, leading the way to the front door. My heart pounds as I reach for the doorknob, only to have Vadim beat me to it. Gradually, he pulls the door open, revealing a smiling Ms. Anderson.
And
beside her, is a little girl who looks as though she’d rather be anywhere else.
“Good morning!” Ms. Anderson beams and ushers the girl beside her inside. “I hope we aren’t too early.”
“N-No.” Vadim shakes his head. Then he turns his attention to a small gray suitcase resting on the paved walkway. “Is that all of your things?”
Magda meets his gaze without flinching, her blue gaze electric. “The decent things,” she says in that lilting voice. She steps forward, examining the foyer with an unreadable expression. God, the parallels between her and the man beside her mount up by the second.
The intensity of their gaze. The way they move, holding themselves with utmost confidence. Even their distaste, visible in how they purse their lips, their eyes narrowing.
“This is where I’m going to live now?” she asks.
“Of course, honey.” Ms. Anderson chuckles nervously while Vadim grabs the suitcase, bringing it inside. “We…we talked about this, remember? Mr. Vadim and Ms. Tiffany are your new placement.”
“Hmph.” Magda turns her gaze to me, her arms crossed. She’s carrying something crushed to her chest. White. Small. It isn’t until she turns that I recognize the object from a different angle—an ivory teddy bear. Only…
“That’s an interesting toy,” I croak. No wonder the Robinsons were so disturbed.
Magda looks down while Ms. Anderson’s cheeks promptly turn ten shades redder.
“His name is It,” the girl declares, brandishing the bear by its head. A head that looks as though it’s been ripped off at one point, only to be crudely sewn back on with a series of stitches in garishly red thread. “I don’t really like him.”
“Yes, well, Magda is very creative,” Ms. Anderson explains with a nervous laugh. “Especially when it comes to her toys.”
“Ah… Creative.” I swallow hard and cut my gaze to Vadim. His expression is more guarded than ever.
“Well, I have my morning free,” Ms. Anderson says quickly. “I would love to stay and help Magda get settled. I—” Frowning, she reaches into her briefcase as a musical sound begins to chime. A cell phone apparently. Pressing it to her ear, she says, “This is Angela. Oh, really? Now? But… No, I can be there—” she hangs up, frowning. “I’m so sorry. I planned on staying, but I just received an emergency call to attend to another case. Do you think you’ll be fine if…”
“Yes,” Vadim says hoarsely. “We’ll be fine.”
If she’s convinced by his tone, Ms. Anderson’s wary grin doesn’t reveal much either way. With a small smile shaping her lips, she stoops down beside Magda and shakes her hand. “Be good. You all have my number if you need it. Even you, Mags.”
“I won’t be needing it,” Magda says with steely confidence. Her eyes continue to skim around the room as if taking stock of every single tile in the flooring and divot in the wallpaper.
“Well, goodbye.” Ms. Anderson leaves, and it’s as if she takes some of the air in the room with her.
The absence of a third party makes this all way too surreal. A mini female Vadim is prancing around haughtily while the original, older Vadim stands rigid in the corner, watching her.
And then there’s me, ogling them both with an increasing sense of panic. More than ever, I’m starting to sense what I was afraid of all along, that niggling suspicion that I don’t belong here. I don’t deserve to belong here.
Navigating awkward social situations in the past has taught me that the only way to banish such an emotion is to force some small talk and hope for the best.
“I… Um, why don’t we show you to your room?” I croak, to break the silence.
Magda cocks her head at me, her gaze skeptical. “My own room?” she prods in that eerily charming yet cold cadence. “I don’t have to share it?”
“No.” I force out a strangled laugh. “Who would you share it with, sweetie?”
She eyes me directly and blinks once. “You. Aren’t you the other guest in the house?”
I grit my teeth in shock. My gaze cuts to Vadim, who hasn’t budged from his spot. He shakes his head, raking his hands through his hair.
“No,” he croaks. “She’s not—”
“Let’s show you around,” I say, jutting my chin with what I hope passes for poise. I start for the stairs. Within seconds, Vadim is by my side and, in our wake, resonate tiny, hesitant footsteps that trail behind during the entire ascent upstairs.
When we reach her room, Magda toes the threshold, eyeing everything with barely any expression. “It’s okay, I guess,” she declares after a few weighty seconds of silence. “I just wish…”
“What?” Vadim steps forward, suddenly animated, his jaw clenched. It’s as if the prospect of disappointing her does something to him internally. Shatters him.
Magda sighs and tosses It onto the bed, unconcerned as his floppy head rebounds off the headboard. “I just wish it was yellow,” she says, folding her arms over her black pinafore. “I hate blue.”
“You do?” Vadim’s expression further constricts. “But, Ms. Anderson—”
“She must have lied.” Dismissively, she shrugs her shoulders and moves to stand before her window. Her fingers ruthlessly clutch at her forearms, but I don’t miss how they twitch. Like someone aching to jump onto the window seat and peer through the glass in awe of the view. Or run their fingers through the fully stocked bookshelf. The more I watch her, the more I’m convinced. She’s Vadim’s through and through.
Meaning that every word and action is calculated and intentional. And right now, for whatever reason, she wants to see his guilt-ridden expression reflected off the window glass. In response to the sight, her small chin lowers, and her fingers grip her arms tighter in triumph.
“We’ll let you get settled in,” I suggest, reaching for Vadim’s hand. His is shaking though his expression reveals nothing but cold, careful blankness.
“What would you like for dinner?” he asks, his tone level. “You can ask for anything. You may have it—”
“I’m not hungry.” Whirling on her heel, Magda marches over and snatches her suitcase right from his grasp. She starts to place it down beside the bed only to notice something that makes her eyes widen as she pauses mid-act. “I have my own bathroom?”
My ears perk up. For a second, that haughty chirp cracked, revealing a hint of true excitement. As if aware of her failing façade, she kicks the suitcase over and sighs with the utmost nonchalance.
“Yes,” Vadim says, though I don’t think he noticed. He’s too busy watching her. Gaping at her. If I’m stunned by the similarities in them both, I can’t imagine what he must be feeling. “All of this is yours. Everything. And we can have the color changed tomorrow—”
“I’m tired.” Magda crosses over to the door and grasps the handle. “Can I take a nap?”
Vadim blinks. “Of course.”
“Okay.” She proceeds to close the door, forcing us to scramble out into the hall. The resulting slam resonates through the walls.
I look at Vadim. His expression is more controlled than ever, crafted to avoid displaying a hint of real emotion. But he can’t hide from me—not anymore. Confusion haunts his eyes as they meet mine, alluding to a pain he desperately scrambles to hide.
“Let’s go see about lunch,” he says.
I follow him into the kitchen, where I’m surprised to find the fridge and cupboards magically stocked with food fit for a child and not just enough sustenance to keep a reclusive billionaire alive. Ena’s even made a series of new meals to fill the freezer, it seems. Color coded, to boot—blue lids contain the usual meat and vegetable entre that Vadim appears to prefer. Yellow, on the other hand, looks to be an array of child-friendly fare from chicken nuggets and fries to vegetables cut in all sorts of appealing shapes.
“I have got to get myself a henchman,” I say as I examine another carefully crafted meal.
Vadim eyes me with the hint of a smile threatening his serious frown. “I have a feeling you’d be a lot more de
manding than I am. Ena would love you as an employer.”
“Maybe I’ll rethink keeping my distance from him,” I propose. “That is, if he can forgive me for forgetting to feed you before your standoff with your brother.”
Vadim’s grin falls flat, and a sudden thought makes me reach for his hand, stroking the back of it.
“Does he know?” I ask. “Maxim. About…”
“No,” Vadim says, his teeth bared, eyes cold. “And as far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t need to.”
“He is her uncle,” I say, but I’m not sure if I mean it as a question or a statement. I know firsthand that relationships, no matter how close, can dissipate overnight. Titles mean nothing. You can go from someone’s wife one second, to a stranger the next—and vice versa apparently.
In search of a distraction, I turn my attention back to the freezer and rummage through the prepackaged meals. “I think I want chicken,” I declare, deciding for us both.
Dutifully, Vadim places the platter in the oven while I stand on tiptoe to rummage through the cupboards above his head.
“I also think this occasion calls for a little daytime wine. Yes?”
He shoots me an amused look that makes my breath catch.
“I think I should buy shares in this company,” he says while reading the label of my cherished vintage. “You must singlehandedly keep them afloat.”
I simper. “What can I say? It’s in my blood—” I break off as I spot a small figure watching us from the doorway, her arms crossed.
“There is a pool,” she says carefully. Her tiny frown and stern gaze take on a harder edge, as if she’s fighting to seem as disinterested as possible.
“Oh, that’s right,” I say, recalling the list Vadim and I had poured over. “You like to swim. Right?”
Magda says nothing, turning her attention to Vadim, who cautiously meets her gaze. It’s like something unspoken passes between them, and they both promptly turn away, their jaws clenched.
