Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Catarina
I wake up in Matysh's bed with his arm around my waist, and I could fucking vomit.
Matysh and his stupid, demented sex—and the fact that I like it…
Gross.
I bet this isn’t how Mikhail and I would’ve done it. But then again, I don’t even know for sure. My mind can’t conjure up any of the fantasies I once had.
And the thought of it breaks my heart. I can suddenly feel my throat tightening and my eyes burning. I know I loved him. Mikhail meant the world to me, I wouldn't have wanted to marry him if it had been any other way.
But also… I just don't understand how I can start feeling this way for someone else. I’m positive it’s not love, and maybe it’s barely lust… But…
But it’s something.
Matysh shifts in bed, behind me, and sits up, brushing hair out of my face.
“Let's get some breakfast,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep. It’s surprising to have a nicety coming from him, especially after he fucked me senseless, and then passed out beside me, still leaving me partially restrained by one wrist.
“Catarina?” His voice sounds clearer, and I finally force my eyes open to meet his.
“What?” I mutter, my stomach rolling as I stare into the face of the man who might be the most infuriatingly sexy man I’ve ever met.
“Breakfast,” he grunts, reaching over and undoing the restraint on my wrist. “Let’s go.”
I don't argue and sit up before slipping into one of his oversized shirts. We make our way to the kitchen, where Leonidas is already preparing breakfast.
I chew the inside of my cheek as I take a seat across from him, trying to reconcile the crazy sex we had last night with the man who walked me through the Christmas lights display—and now the man eating his oatmeal.
God, he’s a complicated person. And I just can’t help but wonder what made him that way.
I tap my finger on the table as our coffees are set down in front of us. “What's on your agenda today?”
“I actually have plans for us,” he says, not even bothering to look up at me. “Why don't you get dressed after breakfast so we can head out? I have business to attend to when I get back.”
“More plans?” I question, unsure whether he means like the ball or like the Christmas lights… or something entirely different.
Regardless, after breakfast, I take a quick shower and put on a satin slip skirt with a pair of warm fleece lined tights. I grab a cardigan and a jacket from the closet before heading out to the living room.
Matysh is waiting for me, already dressed in his usual leather jacket and dark jeans. He leads me to the car, and then together, we drive in silence, Christmas music playing on the radio. It feels almost ironic to be listening to such joyous music with such a monster of a man.
“Do you even like this?” I ask him, making a face and stifling a laugh.
He side-eyes me. “I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”
“Right,” I mutter, relaxing back in the seat. “The most you talk is during sex.”
He actually chuckles at my words, shaking his head at me as we pull up outside of what appears to be the Christmas market in the park.
The one I go to every year with Irina.
“I love this Christmas market!” I practically start bouncing in my seat once I realize it. “This is like the one thing I actually got to do during the holidays!”
“You didn’t get out much,” he hums, his dark brows furrowing. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be surprised.” I shove the car door open. “I was a virgin, Matysh.” I don’t give him the chance to respond to that one, bailing out and toward the holiday fun.
“You know,” Matysh catches up to me, “Mikhail had told me about this, actually.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and glances at me for a second, then looks away.
“When he was planning your honeymoon, he wanted to make sure you guys got back before the market closed for the year because he knew how much you loved it.”
My throat tightens, and for a moment, I'm worried I might cry. Of course, Mikhail would have done that. He knew exactly what I liked. But also… Matysh paid attention. He remembered.
And I can’t ignore that either.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice cracking slightly.
He gestures for me to come along with him, and we both get a hot drink. As much as I want the coffee, he won't let me have it, so I settle for hot chocolate.
Matysh follows behind me as I walk through the stalls and tell him about all the ones I remember from previous years when I bought Christmas ornaments or gifts from them.
Every time I pick something up and comment about how I like it, Matysh pulls his black card from his wallet and hands it to the seller.
“You don't have to buy me everything I pick up,” I say as I'm handed a small bag with a tiny Nutcracker-themed Christmas ornament.
“Consider it one of the perks of being my wife,” Matysh says, clearing his throat as if this entire day is making him uncomfortable.
And honestly, it’s kind of endearing. In some way or another, I guess.
I glance over to him, and he’s scanning the crowd. I wonder why we’re really here, and why Matysh cares about taking me to do nice things.
There has to be something else at play here.
It can't be this easy. He can’t just decide he likes me. That’s impossible.
“Back again,” a vendor says with a kind smile.
I smile back, wrinkling my eyes at him, surprised that he remembers me after a year.
He's probably in his fifties, with a kind face who sells homemade wood cut picture frames. I’ve bought things from him nearly every year, though I never learned his name.
“You remember me,” I say, beaming a smile at him before looking over at Matysh.
Matysh seems unfazed, paying more attention to the items in the stand than anything else.
“Of course I remember you,” the man says, blushing slightly. “I always remember a face as pretty as yours.”
“Well, thank you,” I say, blushing at the comment.
I just brush it off and pick up a picture frame and look at it, choosing not to say anything else.
But out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Matysh isn't doing the same. His fists are clenched at his side and he's staring at the man as if he could slit his throat.
As I feel fear rising in my body, I reach out to grab Matysh's arm and drag him away from the stall before we get a replay of what happened last night at the ball.
I'm too late, though.
He shrugs away from my touch with eyes as cold as ice. My heart beats rapidly in my chest thinking about what could go wrong here.
To my surprise, Matysh just sticks his hand out for him. “I’m Matysh.”
Oh god, please don’t do something stupid.
“I’m Bill, it's nice to meet ya,” he says with a friendly smile, extending his hand out to shake.
I watch in horror as Matysh clamps his hands around the man's, squeezing it so tight the man winces. “This is my wife. I would appreciate it if you'd never fucking speak to her again.”
“Of course, Sir.” He nods quickly, tugging his hand free from Matysh.
“Good,” Matysh smiles, and I see the depravity written all over his face. “Have a very merry fucking Christmas, Bill. I’ll remember you much better than you remembered my wife.”
I see the fear written all over the man’s face, and my heart sinks to my stomach. The poor, innocent man is being tortured for no good reason.
I should’ve known we can’t be fucking normal. Not when one of us is a complete and total freaking monster.