by Lana Sky
Fuck the list. With every passing second, I’m growing resigned to my fate—but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy every fucking minute.
I halfheartedly scan the rest of the room though I sense without having to check that he isn’t here. Sure enough, the doorway to the bathroom is empty, as is the rest of the room…
Or not. I bolt upright, clutching the sheet to my front as my eyes blink to bring the tiny figure watching me from the foot of the bed into focus.
“M-Magda?” I croak.
She’s fully dressed, her dark hair neatly brushed back behind a scarlet headband. Another black pinafore over a white shirt makes her look like some tiny, less demonic version of Wednesday Adams. At least until I spot the once decapitated bear dangling from her arm.
“Are we going shopping today?” she asks, unconcerned as I scramble to make sure I’m fully covered and that any silver toys are hidden from view.
“Um… Where is your fath—Mr. Vadim?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s six a.m.,” she adds. “I’ve been up since five.”
And Vadim’s been gone since then? Frowning, I try to pinpoint any time during the night when he could have left, but I can’t remember. Facing Magda, I’m left with no choice.
“Well, um, why don’t you go into the closet and find me something to wear, huh? My stuff is on the left-hand side.”
She frowns but obediently scuttles off, and I take the brief freedom from tiny eyes to race into the bathroom and jump into the shower. I wash off quickly and thank God that Vadim had the sense to stash a few robes here, hanging on a hook near the shower entrance. I select a black one that smells like him and shimmy into it. When I return to the bedroom, I find Magda sitting patiently on a leather chair by the window, nearly swallowed by a sea of hot pink faux fur perched on her lap.
“You actually wear this?” she asks, lifting what appears to be the sleeve of my favorite jacket between two fingers.
“Yeah.” I gently take the jacket from her grasp, discovering a purple, frothy dress underneath. Frowning, I eye them both, impressed by the potential. “Interesting color choice, Ms. Magda.”
Her expression doesn’t reveal either way if she picked the clothing on purpose or as a joke. When I pop into the bathroom to change, I’m stunned to find a flattering ensemble. Bold. Daring. Fluffy. The perfect outfit to tackle the challenge this day is shaping up to throw my way.
Magda, however, doesn’t seem very impressed. She crushes It to her chest while sweeping her gaze over me with abject disinterest. “I’m hungry.”
“Okay…” I exhale nervously. Don’t panic, Tiffy. If I’m lucky, Ena packed away some breakfast in one of his prepared meals. “Come on. I’ll make you something to eat.”
Downstairs, I quickly discover no luck in terms of the prepackaged breakfast department. Luckily, Ena seemed to have countered such a lack by stocking the pantry with more—relatively healthy and carb controlled—colorful cereal than I think I’ve ever seen stocked in a grocery store at one time. After Magda picks out her preference, I make her a bowl and watch her eat while chewing on a croissant. She has a pump I quickly discover as she slips it from the pocket of her pinafore and programs her dosage of insulin.
“You need any help?” I ask.
The humorless look she directs my way is all the answer I need.
Within a few minutes, it’s painfully clear that Vadim isn’t down here either. Neither is he in the study when I gather the nerve to creep down the hall and check. Again, I wrack my brain, trying to remember anything from last night that might give me a clue as to his whereabouts.
I remember…
Warmth. I can recall the sensation of soft lips nudging my throat in reverence and a husky voice murmuring praises, even while half asleep. “…beautiful. So beautiful. Mine.”
And then I remember a sudden chill as he pulled away. A noise in the distance. A phone call? He’d left the bed to take it, I think, speaking in a hushed tone.
How did I forget this before? My lust-drugged brain is sluggish with the details, and I rub at my temples until bit by bit more snippets return. He’d sounded…worried, I think. His tone had been gruffer than usual, deepening by the second. I think he’d been frantic afterward, moving through the dark, throwing on clothing.
How in the hell had I missed that?
“Did you hear me?” I blink and refocus on the source of the soft, irritated voice. Magda watches me frowning with her hands neatly folded beside her now-empty cereal bowl. “Now are we going shopping?”
“I…” I glance around, unsure of where Vadim even keeps his car keys, let alone any necessary numbers or emergency information in case we need them. “We should probably wait for your fath—Mr. Vadim to come back—”
“Mr. Vadim no come back.” The stern grunt comes from Ena, who appears at the mouth of the kitchen, his arms crossed over the front of his battered leather jacket. “He busy. I take.”
“You’ll take us shopping?” Magda stands and smooths her hands down the front of her crisp pinafore. Taking It by his mangled head, she warily approaches Ena. As haughty as a little queen’s, her voice reaches back to me, “Can we go now?”
“I guess…” Though I’m tempted to prod Ena for more details. Maybe I would if he didn’t deliberately seem to avoid eye contact with me. As I approach him, he sticks out his hand, grudgingly offering me a single, small object.
“Mr. Vadim said to give you this.”
This being his fancy, smanshy credit card. Only when I scan the name printed on the front, I nearly faint. It’s mine. Or a version of mine, at least: Tiffany Gorgoshev.
“We go now,” Ena says, snapping me from my shock. He waddles to the front door with Magda prancing in tow.
And I wonder if I’m already in far too deep.
Once we reach the downtown shopping district, I fight to push all concerns for Vadim out of my head. It’s surprisingly easy once I enter the first boutique, and it becomes readily apparent that, for all of her reserved surliness, Ms. Magda may harbor a secret love for fashion.
More than once, I catch her gazing longingly at the smaller versions of the adult designs adorning various mannequins. After our personal saleswoman shows us to a private dressing room, I decide to put my suspicions to the test.
“Well?” I sit casually on a leather chaise and sip from a glass of customary wine—I’d argue with Vadim about the credit card later, but being married to a billionaire at least on paper certainly has its perks. “Show me your favorite outfits?” I dare her.
And for once, Magda squirms, her lips pursed with unease. I catch her gaze dart to an outfit near the back of the boutique that draws even my interest—a turquoise sweater dress with a bold, black collar and a matching headband.
Shopping for a little girl is a different animal from what I’m used to. Everything is too damn adorable, screaming to adorn tiny limbs. My brain skips ahead, picturing her any one of several designer fashions, complete with a cute hairstyle to match.
Reign it in, Tiffy, I scold myself.
“What kinds of clothing do you like?” I ask, desperate for a distraction.
She shrugs, crossing her arms. “The Robinsons never took me shopping,” she says, her nose wrinkling. “I just got the old clothes.”
I picture the smug Mrs. Robinson with a renewed rage.
“Well, we have the time.” God only knows where Vadim’s gone. “Let’s see what you’ve got in terms of style, kid.”
When the saleswoman returns to our corner, however, I take the lead and point her to the turquoise outfit, much to Magda’s shock. “We’ll try that one first.”
Magda stares on in silence as the woman brings her the garments in the correct size. Her frown remains stubbornly in place as she creeps into a dressing room. But as she reappears minutes later, I clap my hands, pleased.
“You look beautiful! Turn around.” Much like her father, blue is so her color. The hue enhances her eyes and alights the small, fleet
ing smile that shapes her mouth before she realizes it and frowns in earnest.
“It’s…decent,” she says crisply. “Just okay.”
“Okay,” I parrot with a knowing wink. “We’ll take that one,” I tell the saleswoman without bothering to hear the price.
“Now, what about that one?” I point to a red ensemble hanging across the showroom with an adult set to match. “We can both try it.”
Magda says nothing, but when the saleswoman returns with the chosen clothing, she enters the dressing room beside the one I claim.
And I start to hope that this may not end in flames.
It isn’t until well after nightfall that we return to the house. By the time Ena and I approach the backseat and fish through the mound of shopping bags gathered there, Magda is fast asleep. She’s small enough that I can easily carry her inside while Ena extends our tense truce by gathering up our combined purchases.
She’s so beautiful, I’m mesmerized with every step it takes to enter the house. She has Vadim’s long eyelashes that ghost her delicate cheekbones. Her glossy hair is freshly blown out into soft waves—courtesy of a trip to the salon after shopping—and her newly painted nails cling to It even in sleep. Something tightens in my chest the more I watch her while gingerly stepping over the threshold.
A day spent with a seven-year-old should sound horrifying in theory—had it been with most of my Sunday school class it would have been. But she’s such a strange, unusual creature. I’m afraid I may be as intrigued by her as I am by the figure pacing anxiously in the foyer, his expression constricted.
“Thank God,” he says, advancing toward me. “You’re back.”
I can’t get a read on his expression as he leans in to press his lips to mine. Then he turns his attention to Magda and cradles her head gently while lifting her from my arms.
They make a breathtaking picture together. Him, in a dark navy suit, his hair slightly mussed as if he’d spent most of the day raking his fingers through it. Bundled in his arms, she looks like a doll wearing an ebony faux fur jacket and one of her new dresses—a gray slip with white applique flowers decorating the hem.
“You can kiss your billions goodbye in about ten years,” I inform him softly. “I’m afraid to inform you that your daughter has all the signs of a budding shopaholic. Trained by yours truly, she’s going to spend you out of house and home if you aren’t careful.”
His upper lip quirks into a pained smile as he smooths the wayward curls from Magda’s face. “I’ll just have to work harder then,” he murmurs. “If I am to support both of your habits.”
Both. I don’t argue with that as he heads upstairs, entering Magda’s room. He sets her gingerly on the bed while I scour her closet for a worn pair of pajamas. Something she said earlier makes my heart ache, and her few meager belongings take on a new significance. I don’t say anything to Vadim though as we gently undress her and ease her into a nightdress. He tucks her beneath the blankets afterward, smoothing them over her with heartbreaking care. After ensuring that It is tucked in as well, we escape her room and instinctively head downstairs, putting as much distance between her and us. It’s only when we’re in the kitchen that I feel safe to talk again.
“She told me her foster family only gave her hand-me-downs,” I say as we settle in at the island counter.
Vadim frowns, stroking his jaw. “That can’t be right... I gave them access to an account specifically for her—with more than enough funds. Under the guise of a donation, of course. They’ve been making regular withdrawals.”
“Well, they haven’t been spoiling her, at least,” I say halfheartedly. Inside, I’m more than happy to permanently vilify the Robinsons. Good riddance. “She was like a kid in a candy store today. Where were you?” I try to phrase the question as innocently as I can—but his reaction catches me off guard. He stiffens, his gaze distant.
“You took care of her,” he says thickly. “Thank you.”
I shiver as he reaches out, brushing my cheek in a gentle caress. His nearness is almost enough to make me bite back more questions. Something is bothering him. I can sense it in his eyes and what he doesn’t say. His hands shake, and his paleness betrays that he hasn’t eaten recently, if at all today.
“Let me make you some dinner,” I say, turning to the freezer in search of one of Ena’s meals. “Magda and I already ate. I made sure to check her sugars, and I took her to a restaurant with low carb options.”
Though the latter part is entirely due to Ena, who seemed to know a list of suitable options by heart.
Vadim watches me as I select a chicken and veggie dish and heat it up for him. Minutes later, we trade places as I watch him dig in.
“She’s a weird little girl, your kid,” I tell him wryly. “She loves fashion, though I think she didn’t want me to notice. She loves turquoise, especially. And black. I hope you don’t mind, but we got our nails done, and that’s the color she picked—”
“Thank you.” He looks at me with such an expression. It steals my breath away and makes my skin catch fire in a strange, inexplicable way. Like I’m burning alive from the inside out, but it’s a fire I wouldn’t extinguish for the whole world.
“You say that like it was hard,” I counter. “Being around her. Being around you.”
Mayday, Tiffy, a part of me warns.
But his façade slips again. Whatever kept him away today is still haunting him. Distracting him. He looks so…tormented. The same, closed-off man I met in a hotel bar with his invisible wall firmly up.
When he clears his plate, we wash the dishes and eventually migrate into his study, where he claims the chair behind his desk. The second the door closes behind us, I sidle to him before I can stop myself and climb directly onto his lap, toying with the end of his tie. He sucks in a breath, his gaze cutting up to mine. Those dark eyes of his are endless—soul-sucking. One look and I’m captured, a slave to his whims.
“Tell me something sexy,” I command, eager to distract him.
“You will stay,” he says on cue. His hands encircle my waist possessively, tethering me to him. Trapping me with no hope of escape. “I will keep you here, beauty. You are mine.”
I don’t argue. Instead, I press my lips against his jaw and slide my hands down his chest, resting them over where I know his heart to be. “Be honest with me, and I won’t be able to leave. So… Where were you?”
“Business,” he says, brushing his lips over my forehead. “Though that’s not everything. I…” He sighs, pulling back to face me directly. “This time of year is difficult for me.”
“Oh?” Driven by the raw emotion in his voice, I force the lust to the back of my mind. “Tell me?”
He frowns. Then he stands, lifting me onto his desk. Stepping between my legs, he keeps me pinned in place, his captive audience.
“It’s nearing the anniversary of…” Something in how his expression constricts makes me able to guess the answer.
“Your escape?” I say hesitantly when he doesn’t explain.
He nods. “One day, I will tell you more. I swear to you. But…”
“I understand,” I whisper, even though inside I’m torn. Could the mysterious Irina play a role in the pain of this anniversary? God, it’s too selfish to consider, let alone mention out loud.
Instead, I settle against him, resting my mouth against the crook of his neck. Soon enough, I’m kissing my way down his collar bone, feeding off his startled—yet encouraging—grunt.
He claimed to have never had a relationship with a woman—but that’s the scary part. Relationships could be categorized and forgotten. But true, rare connections went deeper than such a word. They were insidious, everlasting, even after the recipient of such feelings vanished.
They lingered, never disappearing.
And no one else could ever fill that void.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, my wakeup call comes in the form of a contented sigh that fans across my shoulder in a burst of heat.
I open my eyes to the man lying beside me, so beautiful in half-wakefulness that it hurts. Overnight, whatever had been bothering him seems to have vanished. His devious grin makes a triumphant return as I snuggle into him with a matching peaceful sigh.
“Morning,” I murmur.
He strokes his fingers through my hair, marveling at the reddish strands. “Morning. A very good morning.” He shifts, revealing a hardening erection that strains against my hip. I murmur in sympathy and slither beneath the covers to test just how rested he is.
Minutes later, he’s fully awake, sitting on the side of the bed with a reluctant frown. “Early start today,” he says before standing and heading into the bathroom. “I have some deliveries coming.”
“Oh?” Though the logical part of my brain warns me against getting too excited, I can’t help it. I sit up, licking my lips at the possibilities.
Until he rains on my parade with a stern frown. “None for you. Well, maybe one is for you, but please don’t try to fuck it.”
I laugh at his serious tone and scramble from the sheets to join him, standing naked before the shower as he washes down. I don’t know who, between the two of us, is enjoying their view more. He groans like a man at his whit’s end when he finally leaves the shower to find me leaning against the countertop, fondling my breasts.
“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispers, eyeing me from head to toe. Then he shakes his head, and I sense him struggle to contain at least some of his lust. Enough for him to escape into the bedroom without lunging for me. “I can’t afford a delay today,” he insists while scrambling into the closet. “Some of these deliveries are time-sensitive…”
He seems to lose his train of thought as I prance toward him, my hips swaying. I manage to steal a five second’s detour worth of a kiss before he breaks away, cursing and snatches a shirt from a hanger as if it’s armor against my charms.