Chapter 9
Nine
JULIAN
I can’t look away from my wife.
My fucking wife.
We’re in the back of my armored SUV, headed to the mansion, and she’s buckled in next to me but hasn’t said a word since I do.
Her parents didn’t congratulate her before we got in the car to leave.
In fact, aside from shaking my hand before the ceremony, Sergei didn’t say much to me at all. He didn’t even balk at the fact that it was me marrying her instead of Elliott.
Not one word was said about it, and I don’t trust that.
When Natasha got down the aisle and looked up at me, her blue eyes were wide and . . . relieved. Shocked, certainly, but I could almost touch the relief that surrounded her, and I knew that I was doing the right thing.
Of course, this is just a business arrangement.
When I said those words to Rome, Carson, and Mateo earlier, they all laughed in my face, and I almost pulled my gun on them.
Assholes.
Natasha clears her throat next to me, and I turn to her, then reach for her hand. She doesn’t flinch or shy away, and I take that as a good sign.
“You look absolutely gorgeous, Angel.”
Her eyelashes flutter, and then she glances over at me. “Thank you.”
“We’re going to the mansion. You’ve been there before.”
“Once,” she says with a nod. “Briefly.”
“It’s your new home. I want you to be comfortable there, Natasha.”
She bites her lip and then nods timidly, and I keep her hand in mine for the rest of the drive. When my driver pulls up to the house, I turn to her.
“Wait for me here.”
“Okay.”
I climb out and fasten the button on my suit, then walk around the vehicle to open her door. Reaching across her, I unclip the belt and offer her my hand, helping her out and onto the pavement.
Before she can pull away, I sweep her up into my arms, and she lets out the cutest little yelp.
“What are you doing?” She wraps her arms around my neck, holding on.
“Carrying you over the threshold. It’s tradition.” I smile at her, and then open the door and walk through and set her back on her feet in the foyer. “Welcome home, Mrs. Stavros.”
She mouths the words Mrs. Stavros, as if she’s giving them a try, and I take her hand again.
Natasha doesn’t pull away. Another win.
“Like I said, this is your home. You can change anything you don’t like. I got you your own credit card, but it isn’t here yet.”
“I get money?” she asks in surprise.
“Yes, you’ll have my card, and you can spend whatever you want.
There’s no limit.” I keep my stride short so she doesn’t fall behind in the heels she’s wearing under that incredible dress, and lead her past the formal living room, dining room, and farther to my favorite parts of the house. “I don’t think you’ve been back here.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head, her eyes wide as she takes it all in.
“I spend most of my time back here. It’s more casual and comfortable.”
There’s a less formal living area with expansive windows that look out at the gardens and the pool. Yes, we live in the desert, but I wanted gardens, so I pay a shit ton to have them maintained.
The furniture is comfortable, and the room looks into the gourmet kitchen.
But Natasha only has eyes for my Steinway.
She drops my hand and makes a beeline for the baby grand piano, and immediately runs her fingers over the keys.
“This is incredible,” she breathes.
“Do you play?”
She nods and then bites her lip. “Can I use it?”
“Any time you want. Come, I’ll show you the rest, and then you can get settled.”
Reluctantly, she leaves the piano, and then to my surprise, she slips her hand in mine again, as if it’s the most natural thing, and I smile in response.
“Help yourself in the kitchen.” I gesture to the fridge. “It’s well stocked, but if you want or need anything specific, just tell me, and I’ll make sure it’s brought in.”
“Thank you,” she whispers softly.
Leading her to the stairs, we then climb to the second floor, and I gesture to the doors that line the hallway.
“These are guest rooms,” I tell her. “They rarely get used. The primary suite is at the end of the hall, and you’re always welcome there. You don’t have to knock.”
She glances up at me and frowns. “Where is my room, then?”
Opening the door next to mine, I gesture inside, and she walks in.
“This is your private space. Your things were brought over this morning and have been put away. I also hired Lulu’s personal shoppers to fill the closet with anything you could want. If you don’t like anything, we can send it back.”
“You shopped for me?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. “Today?”
“Honestly, no. Lulu and the personal shoppers Rome hires for her did. You didn’t have much, and I thought you should have options.”
She peeks her head in the closet, and a smile tickles her lips. “There’s so much color.”
“I know you usually wear white, so if you don’t like color—”
“I do.” She swallows hard and glances back at me. “I wasn’t allowed to wear it before.”
She wasn’t allowed.
Christ.
“You can wear whatever you want here. And if what’s in your closet isn’t satisfactory, by all means, take my card and go shopping. I’m sure Lulu and Scarlett would love to join you.”
“Oh, that sounds like fun.”
I nod and shove my hands in my pockets, suddenly nervous that she hates this house and everything in it.
“What are the rules?” she asks, turning to face me. “I know what’s expected of me, but you must have household rules.”
I tip my head to the side, taking her in. Fuck, she’s beautiful. “If you leave the mansion, you take two guards with you. Jack, my number two, will assign a detail to you. I don’t want you leaving without them.”
“Of course,” she whispers, as if she’s disappointed.
“That’s for your safety, not because I feel the need to control you.”
She frowns. “No one cares about hurting me.”
“You’re my wife, and I’m the head of the Greek Mafia, one of the Kings of Vegas, and there are plenty of assholes out there who want to hurt me. The best and most expedient way for them to do that is to hurt you. So, you’ll always have the detail with you.”
She nods slowly. “I promise. What else?”
“That’s pretty much it.”
“So, this is a marriage in name only? We can—”
“No.” I close the gap between us and tip her face up so I can see her gorgeous eyes. “This isn’t in name only. If I find out that anyone else has touched you, I’ll cut off their dick and feed it to them before I slice their throat.”
She swallows thickly and narrows her eyes at me.
“Say what you want to say, Natasha.”
“No one else touches you either.”
With a smile, I lean into her. “I like that you’re possessive, Angel. And just so we understand each other, I take my vows seriously. I’m not interested in other women. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Okay.”
“I want to kiss you,” I murmur, staring down at her delectable lips.
“Okay,” she says again, and my eyes fly back to hers.
“You don’t like to be touched, and I’m respecting that boundary. Or trying to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Her brows pull together for just a heartbeat, and then she lifts her chin a half an inch more.
“You’re not making me uncomfortable.”
My thumb skims over that plump bottom lip, so soft and sweet and everything I’m aching for. I want to push my hands in her thick, gorgeous blond hair and kiss the fuck out of her until she can’t breathe.
Baby steps.
Instead, I lower my mouth to hers and sweep my lips back and forth before sinking in and kissing her chastely.
She moans in the back of her throat, encouraging me to deepen the kiss. I lick over the seam of her mouth, and she opens for me. Her hands settle on my chest, and I can’t resist tasting her, nipping that lip, brushing my tongue over hers.
When I back away, her eyes are glassy, and she glides her tongue over her bottom lip, as if she’s seeking the taste of me.
Oh, Angel, there’s much more where that came from.
“Get comfortable,” I tell her. “I’ll be in my office downstairs if you need anything.”
“Julian?”
Fuck, I love the sound of my name on her lips.
“Yes?”
“Can I have your phone number? I mean, I don’t have it, and if something happened and I needed you—”
“Of course. I’m sorry that I didn’t think of it. Where’s your phone?”
She frowns and looks around for her bag, finds it on the bed, and reaches for it. When she pulls the phone out, she passes it to me, and I open a new text field, type in my number, and send a message.
We both hear my phone ping in my pocket.
“There you go.”
“Thank you.” She takes the phone back and bites her lower lip. “For everything. Is, um, is Elliott alive?”
She’s staring at the floor, not even looking me in the face with the question.
“Yeah, Angel, he’s alive.”
She nods. “Okay. I’m going to change now.”
“I’ll be downstairs.”
My fingers itch to help her with her zipper, but instead, I walk out the door and close it behind me, then head into my own room to change my clothes before I go to the office.