by Kresley Cole
"I need you all in, Natalie."
He had opened up to me tonight, and we could build from that. I smiled up at him. "I haven't ruled anything out, Siberian."
"I suppose that's good enough--for now." He rubbed the pad of his thumb over my cheek. "Do you want to see your painting again? We can go back."
Back? When the minute hand ground on once more, I didn't feel sadness. This time I felt a tiny bloom of optimism.
Maybe we were at last moving forward.
Chapter 39
"The plighted life's not treating you well?" Jess queried a couple of days later. "I thought you guys were lovey-dovey all the time after the museum."
"If possible, he's even more distant." This morning he was once again MIA. And, shocker, he'd left no note, belatedly texting me: in meeting
Gee, thanks. I'd thought talking about Paxan would be our common ground. Yet that story about my father had been the last I could coax from Sevastyan.
"He sounds like a downer to me," Jess observed.
"We're supposed to go to Russia in two days. He promises everything will be different there."
"And?"
"I'm leery. Jess, I'm not sure if I want to return with him." In some dark moments, I didn't know if I could--not without sacrificing some part of myself. "How can the sex be so good when other parts of our lives are so lacking? I know without a doubt that no other guy will fit me so well in bed. I found him on my first foray."
"You sound like you're in love with him, Nat."
"I am," I admitted. "But it's complicated. This love might have a razor's edge to it. And it's exhausting. I don't remember the last time I was so tired."
Perhaps I needed to get out from under his influence and process everything that had happened. His personality was larger than life, the things he'd shown me as well; it could be that I'd overloaded.
Sometimes I thought a break from his intensity might be welcome. Other times I shrank to think of parting from him.
"You've got to bring this to a head," Jess said. "If you want answers out of him, then demand them. Speak to him in the language he understands: Unicorn. Or Glock, or whatever. Dig until you get the splinter out of the lion's paw."
"And if I can't dig it out?"
"Then let him get fucking gangrene--alone. Put a cap on this, girl. Give it one more shot, but then you're done."
Maybe she was right. He expected me to do all the adjusting--while he stubbornly remained the same. Maybe I should stop compromising and making excuses for him.
"You know you're probably going to have to cut this one loose, Nat. I think you're hoping that I'll tell you to stick it out through thick and thin, through all his wank moppet damage. Wrong. Sometimes self-preservation means preservation of self."
"That's deep, Jess." And it was exactly where I was failing: keeping the Natalie in Natalie. "Where'd you hear that?"
"Read it in a twatting romance novel."
I gasped. "You can read ?"
"There's my Nat! I missed you. Lose the downer unicorn and come home."
I recalled his reaction the last time I'd suggested a break; he'd trashed the dresser. "Taking time off will be difficult with a guy like him."
"Then remember my advice. ABC, baby." Always be crazier.
After we hung up, I dressed, readying for battle. What I wouldn't give for a pair of jeans and clodhopper boots--or any garment at all from the bottom of my Nebraskan laundry basket.
I settled on a satin-weave blouse in cobalt blue and a black pencil skirt. I knotted my hair atop my head as I slipped into a pair of pointy-toe heels.
It wasn't until later that afternoon that he returned, making his way up to our room. Weariness emanated from him.
Not just weariness--distance. It was worse than it'd ever been. And I could swear I even saw resentment in his expression.
Resentment toward . . . me? What the hell did I do? "We need to talk."
He shucked off his gun holster, rolling his head on his shoulders. "I don't want to do this right now."
"You're not going to put me off any longer. I'm done whiling away here when you go out for your mysterious meetings--that you keep secret from me. I'm done being shut out of your life."
His eyes were full of warning. "You need to learn patience."
Patience? He was putting this back on me again? "When do you intend to let me in? When do I rate high enough to get to know your business? To actually discuss things with you? After we sleep together? Already did that! Once we're living together? We are." I tapped my chin. "Hmm? Maybe after you whip and screw me in front of an audience? How much more personal can things be than that? Yet you won't share what's going on in your life? In your thoughts?"
"Maybe it will never happen," he said, filling me with alarm. "Did you ever think about that, Natalie? How about never?"
"If I'm not your partner in this, then I'm no better than a doll, a toy you bring out and store away whenever it suits you." Like I'd done with my arsenal. "How do you think that makes me feel?" To him, I was merely a belonging--which he'd told me.
Should've listened to him, honey.
He scrubbed his palm over his mouth. "Maybe you expect things from me that I do not know how to give."
"You know how. You just refuse!"
"So I'm to shoulder all the blame? Why should I tell you anything when I can sense you're pulling away from me?"
"Oh, no, no, no, Siberian. I'm not pulling away--you're shoving me out of the fucking door! You keep this up, and I will bolt. Do you understand me?"
Though I sensed a weird kind of panic in him, his demeanor was all confidence. "There's no leaving, sweet. You're as addicted to me as I am to you."
Under the influence. I couldn't deny this. Not to mention that I was stupidly in love with him. Yet if he wasn't good for me, to me . . . "It's true, I am addicted to you. But maybe it's time to kick the habit--"
A commotion sounded downstairs. Sevastyan lunged for his holster, had his gun out in an instant. "Stay here. Lock the door behind me."
My heart slammed. "Who's here? Is it another vor's men?"
He cocked his head. After a moment, he said, "No, and that's a problem."
"How? Why??"
"Because I can kill an enemy's men."
Chapter 40
As I locked the door behind him, I wondered why Sevastyan hadn't told me to go to the safe room.
But didn't I know? He didn't want me to watch the camera feeds. Which meant I had to.
At the desk, I scanned screen after screen as he made his way downstairs. My eyes widened when I saw the monitor that covered the parking area. Our guard was laid out on the ground. At least he looked like he was still breathing.
In the kitchen, I spied a black-haired man as tall as Sevastyan, flexing the fingers of his right hand. One guy had knocked out that big guard with a fist?
Could he be the mysterious Maksim? He dressed as well as Sevastyan did, maybe even more conservatively. Despite decking somebody, he'd managed to keep his dark suit crisp and flawless.
In the color screen, I could see that his eyes were a piercing blue. And for some reason, this stranger looked familiar to me.
He helped himself to a bottle of vodka and snagged shot glasses, as if he was just waiting for Sevastyan to join him. Yet he set out three glasses. So where was the third guy?
Sevastyan entered the room. Despite looking like he was about to blow, he'd stowed his gun, tucking it into his waistband at the small of his back.
Amazingly, the other man had no fear of him. He smirked as he made some comment, his bearing aggressive.
Could he not see how close Sevastyan was to violence? It was simmering right beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.
After another exchange--were they speaking Russian?--Sevastyan inhaled and exhaled, as if for control.
I had to hear what they were saying! I took off my pointy heels, carrying them with me as I sneaked out of the room. I crept down the steps, then paused outside t
he kitchen doorway. Now I was a peek-freak--and an eavesdropper?
If he would have talked to me, I wouldn't be forced to stoop to this!
"Answer me!" Sevastyan demanded in Russian. "What the hell are you doing here?"
The man replied in the same, "This is the welcome I get? After all the work I've done to help your fiancee, you won't even let me meet her?"
Fiancee? Why would Sevastyan have told him we were engaged? And what had this man been working on for me?
"You haven't been helping because you're honorable, Maksim. You only wanted something to occupy your disturbed mind."
A puff of breath escaped me. Maksim. In the flesh.
"A game maker at rest is a dangerous man," Maksim said in a tone of agreement. "As the old bastard always told us, 'Life grows long without schemes.' In any case, you're one to talk--you're playing a treacherous game right now."
What game? Was he talking about sorting out syndicate business? Outside looking in.
"When I asked for your assistance," Sevastyan said, "I told you not to view this as an opportunity for more. You agreed."
"You assume we want more from you, Roman?" Roman?? "Don't flatter yourself. I merely want to meet the woman who's at long last brought my big brother to his knees."
I sagged against the wall. Maksim was Sevastyan's brother?
I could see it. Both men had coal-black hair and towering, muscular frames. Though Maksim's eyes were a piercing blue to Sevastyan's gold, and Sevastyan's nose had been broken, the rest of their features bore a resemblance.
But that wasn't why he looked so familiar. Finally I remembered. I'd seen his picture online, when reading about another Sevastyan family--the mega-rich, connected Sevastyans.
This man was Maksimilian Sevastyan, the politician.
Hadn't I read about three brothers? I cast my mind back to that article. I believed the youngest one was named Dmitri and was a CEO of some company. There'd been no information on the eldest, other than his name. Roman Sevastyan.
The same name that was on his fake passport. Except it wasn't fake. His real name was Roman. And he'd been born into wealth and privilege.
No wonder his manners were impeccable. No wonder he'd seemed like a born rider.
What else hadn't he told me about? I gazed up at the ceiling. The better question: What had he told me about?
And the meager crumbs of information that I'd worked so hard to get weren't even true! When I'd asked him if he had any family--and specifically any siblings--he'd answered none. He didn't have just one; he had two.
Somehow he'd gone from an affluent, respected family to the slums. If he'd been on the streets, it hadn't been for long before Paxan found him.
Unless that was all a lie. Maybe he'd scammed Paxan. Who the hell knew?
Remembering my boasts, I felt my cheeks burn. My instincts with men are untouchable. I can figure out men easily--
"Get the fuck out, Maks. I won't ask you again."
"You took her to the club last week, but won't even schedule a dinner with me?"
I put my hand over my mouth. Sevastyan's brother knew about Le Libertin? Had he seen me?
And why in the hell would Sevastyan take me to a sex club his brother also frequented? How . . . ick!
"Don't look so surprised," Maksim told him. "I know everything you do. You forget--I'm in the business of information. Now, call my sister-in-law down to meet me, or I'll force my way up."
Sister-in-law! I needed to put a stop to this insanity. I slipped on my shoes, smoothed my hair, then entered the kitchen.
Sevastyan shot forward, inserting himself between Maksim and me. "Natalie, go upstairs. Now."
My feet were rooted to the spot. "You told me you didn't have any family left. And no siblings."
Maksim tsked, sidling around Sevastyan. "Roman has two brothers. I am Maksim, the more handsome one. And you, Natalie Porter, are even lovelier than I expected. Evidently I need to schedule a trip to Nebraska." He held out his hand, so I offered mine. He turned my hand to place a startling kiss on the pulse point at my wrist, glancing up with his penetrating blue eyes. "It's a pleasure."
Sevastyan didn't like that at all. So joke him. I smiled back at Maksim. "Very nice to meet you."
Sevastyan snatched my hand, using it to drag me back. "You will wait for me in our room."
Dismissing me? He wasn't even going to act guilty about the fact that he'd lied to me and been busted?
"No, Natalie will remain for drinks," Maksim said, pouring shots. I supposed he didn't have the same hang-ups over alcohol as his brother. "We'll order in." He was just as domineering as Sevastyan! "I refuse to leave until I get to know my sister-in-law."
"I am not married to Sevastyan."
"Details. You will be soon. Roman considers you engaged."
"You mean plighted?"
"Oh, no, I mean on the cusp of a legal, binding marriage."
Did Sevastyan just assume I would? The asshole hadn't even proposed! I felt my fists balling.
I'd asked him when I would get to know his business. He'd considered us engaged and still hadn't deemed me worthy of his trust?
How much more twisted could this "relationship" get? "I wouldn't put money on a wedding."
Sevastyan ground his teeth until his jaw muscles twitched.
I turned to Maksim. "I heard you say you've been helping me. How?"
"I'm a politician in Russia. A powerful one." He grinned, buffing his nails charmingly. Still, I sensed pain lurking inside him. Did he use his charm as a concealment, his own mask? "At present, a few of us politicians share the same resources as the vory in the mafiya--and even tactics. Roman knew I had men on hand to secure Berezka for you."
"Then, in that case, spasibo." Thank you.
Voice deep, he murmured, "Vsegda pozhaluista." You're quite welcome. This man's charisma was off the charts. He gave me another grin that revealed white teeth. I recalled the one time I'd seen Sevastyan truly smile, and realized the two men looked even more similar than I'd thought. "You still call my brother by his surname?"
"That's what he told me to call him."
Maksim turned to him. "You're no longer a mere enforcer. Your fiancee should call you something more personal."
"I'm not his . . ." Oh, forget it. Neither man was listening to me.
The two stared each other down, Roman seeming on the verge of blows. Before the shit hit the fan, I might as well try to get answers out of one Sevastyan. I asked Maksim, "Why have you been meeting with him all week?"
"He's been using me to help extricate you from the mafiya--trading syndicate holdings for clean ones of equal value. Like a billion-dollar game of Monopoly. He has power of attorney, and I have the means to get these things done secretly and quickly. So I have--without even a single thanks, I might add." Maksim cast a pointed look at his brother, but there seemed to be an underlying amusement in him, as if he found this situation humorous.
I whirled around on Sevastyan. "You could have taken me to those meetings, or at the very least told me about them. They concerned my inheritance!"
"You've shown no interest in this money--"
"You're one to talk, brother," Maksim cut in. To me, he said, "Roman could have made himself a billionaire this week. But for reasons I don't follow, he refused to rob you, refused to break his word to your father. He's worked on your behalf to disentangle Kovalev's legacy from crime. And once that's complete, Roman will step in as vor in the territory."
My eyes narrowed on Sevastyan. "I asked you about this! Seems like that might've been a decision we made together." He'd signed on for a new position without even a mention to me. Because I wasn't a partner; I was a possession.
One didn't ask one's favorite toy to discuss potential career paths. Ugh!
Scowling down at me, he bit out the words, "Natalie, upstairs--now."
"You did not just bark another order at me." In front of his brother? Blood heated my cheeks. Did he think he could command me like this simply be
cause he did in bed?
Why wouldn't he believe that? Dear God, I hadn't made things better by trusting him sexually--I'd made them worse.
Weeks ago, I'd asked myself what I was prepared to do to get more from Sevastyan.
My definitive answer: not this.
I needed to accept that nothing I could do was going to move the needle with this man. He would always be closed off. And I deserved more than a satellite's orbit and a collection of lies.
I deserved preservation of self. Or I'd rather be alone.
It was as if a neon sign was slowly crackling, clicking, popping to life in my brain. The lights spelled: This relationship is doomed, dumbass!
I had steel in my backbone and fire in my belly. My time was valuable; I didn't reward shitty behavior with more of it. I can't fix him, Paxan.
Maksim told me, "Don't listen to him, dorogaya moya." My dear. "You need to teach him that orders--outside of some . . . situations--are unwelcome."
How much did this man know about my sex life? If they went to the same club, did the two brothers share similar interests?
You know what? That is none of my business.
"Roman is a handful, no?" Maksim continued. "A silent, brooding handful. If it's any consolation, he has always talked this little, sharing nothing of himself. When we were children, quiet was rewarded. The opposite was . . . not."
I didn't have time to puzzle at his words before Sevastyan growled, "Zatknis' na hui!" Shut the fuck up! Clearly about to go ballistic, he told me, "Leave now! Or I will carry you to our room."
When I told Maksim, "It was a pleasure to meet you," he flashed me a look of disappointment, as if he'd thought I would fight more. "I'll be upstairs," I said. A lie, to put with Sevastyan's.
I won't settle. I'm going to keep my eyes on the horizon.
In our room, I packed a messenger bag with my new passport, my cherished letter from Paxan, and some cash. I grabbed my wrap coat, my cell phone, and nothing else.
On my way out, I flipped off the bedroom camera. ABC, baby.
Do svidaniya, Siberian.
Chapter 41
"Your flight is about to board," a French security guard told me as he inspected my ticket and fake passport.
In a matching fake accent, I said, "I'm surprisingly quick." Especially if properly motivated.
An hour ago, I'd used the maid's entrance to slip out of the town house, sneaked past the groaning guard, then hailed a cab. On the way to the airport, I'd used my phone to buy an economy ticket to Nebraska.