Chapter 21 – Rosalyn
“The name of the song is ‘Carry You Home’ by Alex Warren.” I put the phone down and looked up at him. “And Hannah was right; it isn’t a country song. The singer dedicated it to his wife. How romantic.”
The corner of his lips made the smallest curve in a smirk, but he didn’t glance away from his phone. He kept tap, tap, tapping away. “You get a new phone, and that is the first thing you decide to check.”
I shrugged, folding my arms. “I guess.”
Dismissively, he scoffed, returning his full attention to whatever business he had to attend to, and pulled out his iPad from the messenger bag on the passenger seat beside him.
Shyly, I ogled him, sweeping my eyes from the snug fit of his bold Matcha green cashmere sweater to the black skinny jeans framing his lean, muscled thighs and then the suede glow of his black Timberlands. He looked delectable, and it almost hurt to look at how beautifully perfect this man was, so I looked out the window instead. Regardless, his image was permanently plastered in my mind, especially after last night.
The fitness of his sculpted body, like an Adonis. Chiseled torso, toned thighs, and a long stretch of ripped biceps and abs. Everywhere I’d touched was hard and male and aggressive.
My mind worked backward, recounting the memory in slow motion from the moment he’d kissed me, lifted me in his strong arms, and pinned my back on the bed. My senses came alive, and my body relaxed in his arms as if he were a second part of me.
Last night was almost as magical as the fairytales I’d read. He was gentle, gentler than I ever thought to give him credit for. His kisses were as sweet as grapes, and when he touched me, it stirred an awakening, like a deep hunger driving through my core. I was free from the haunting nightmares of the past. No thoughts about Ronan or plans to escape the daily tortures. All that was gone.
For one night, I had no cares or worries.
Just burning desire for the man who held me like he needed me.
Every thrust, every sigh and groan, every trickle of sweat down his back and my forehead brought us closer. I thought I’d seen more depths of him in that moment than I had in the months since we’d met.
He'd been slow, then fast. Flipping me on top to ride him with the speed of a cheetah. Legs spread. Nails dug into my thighs. Pleasure in his eyes. Heavy breaths and interwoven fingers. Midnight-blue butterflies and fireworks.
After the fourth round, and insisting that I couldn’t handle another, he’d curled up behind me, wrapping me in a spoon, and I’d asked him about the tattoo, an odd choice for a man with a cold heart and iron fist. And when he finally agreed to tell me, I wished I never asked.
“I was younger,” he’d said, planting a warm kiss on the back of my ear. “That was the first time I witnessed a kill.”
I’d tried really hard not to be distracted by his erection pressing into the base of my spine and focused on what he was saying.
“A kill?”
Another kiss to my neck. “Murder.”
I’d grown stiff as a stick in his hands. Not because hearing it was new—I mean, Ronan was my brother—but it was a reminder of the life we’d both been born into. The things he had to do, to go through to be a verified member of the Bratva. None of their dealings were ideal. Heck, their modus operandi would have never passed the test of morality. However, it didn’t make life sound any better.
His uncle, Timur’s father, had killed a teenage girl in front of them. In front of her parents.
I’d seen my father die in front of me. I was more than familiar with the unbearable grief that came with losing a loved one.
Niko said they were made to witness it, some form of passage for them. An early orientation of how to conduct their business. But every night after that, for a couple more years, he’d see midnight blue butterflies choking on dried thorns in a vast field. That was the inspiration for the design on his arm.
His voice has been hard, cold, and calculating.
He’d called it stupid, a reckless, childish display of misplaced emotion.
But I thought it meant he cared.
I’d never considered him a man of emotions, but last night, something lingered under his passiveness, and the weight of his words sat on my shoulders, pressing in like a silent burden until we both fell asleep.
This morning came with surprises heaped on surprises: a new phone, a car key, bags and bags of Haute Couture and ready-to-wear clothes, boxes of Christian Louboutin heels, and, of course, a plane ticket.
Two plane tickets.
I’d dropped every other thing, snatched one of the tickets from his grasp, and gaped.
Paris?
Now, reeling back to the present, we sat in an uncomfortable, awkward silence, facing each other in one of his private jets.
“You’re staring.”
I blinked, playing with my fingers and bouncing my sneakers on the beige cabin rug. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
He turned off the iPad, slid it to the messenger bag, and folded his arms across his waist, looking up at me. Mirth lingered in his gaze, and he shrugged a shoulder.
“Yes, you are.”
I shifted my foot, crossing one leg over the other, and faced him squarely. The jet jerked under a wave of mild turbulence, and I glanced at the roof, calming my racing heart before responding. That quick scare somehow made me even more nervous.
“How would you know?”
“Easy. I could feel your eyes on me.”
“I was looking out the window.”
“Then, I guess, I’m the window.”
A small smile tugged on my mouth. He was just so full of himself, wasn’t he? “You’re just proud. You think you’re the center of attention.”
Mimicking me, he crossed his legs and knitted his fingers over his knees. The conversation might have been a spacey thread of a continuous back-and-forth baseless argument, but it was the most we’d had since we’d gotten in the jet three hours ago.
“I don’t think . I am. I am the center of attention. Literally.”
Literally, he was.
It was just the two of us in the spacy jet. No Anatoly. No Hannah. No Timur. Just us two in the cabin, with privacy offering us many opportunities to do whatever we wanted. Or maybe just talk . Like we were doing now.
“You know, I can assure you that it is not an abomination to find your husband attractive.”
In a heartbeat, I responded, “But I don’t.”
His brow hit his hairline. “You don’t?”
“I don’t find you attractive.”
Nikolai burst out laughing. It was so sudden, so abrupt. No warning signs to brace myself for impact. So, when it came, the thick, hearty sound of his voice left first-degree damage. I felt myself melting under his charm.
When I didn’t react— because I couldn’t— he comported himself, shaking his head. He swiped a thumb over his lips, giving me a look that put me on the defensive.
“That was not what you said last night.”
I almost bit my tongue.
Another quick trip down memory lane?
Yes , I did say that, and in these exact words:
“Why are you so handsome, Niko?”
The rich mountain-brown sea in his eyes sparkled when he crooked his neck to the side. “Surprised?”
Yet again.
But in my defense, I thought he was asleep when I stroked his jaw and kissed his eyebrows.
A heatwave settled on both of my cheeks, and I knew trying to defend myself would only make them even redder, so I changed the topic.
“I’m sorry, but why are we even doing this?”
“Our honeymoon?”
Hearing him say it out loud again caused a flutter in my stomach. I readjusted on my seat to kill the tingles and squared my chin. “Yes, I am referring to your decision to go on a honeymoon the night after our wedding.”
He brushed a lint off his sweater, surprised at my naivety. “Now, I know that I have never been married before, but newlyweds going on a honeymoon is basically tradition.”
“Not that part,” I huffed. I wasn’t stupid. I knew we were expected to go on a honeymoon. “I meant, why Paris?”
Clearing his throat, Nikolai fiddled with his phone again. His cheeky grin faltered, and the light in his eyes dimmed considerably. “I have some good memories there.”
The flutter in my tummy faded, morphing into a strong emotion accompanied by bitterness. I leaned backward and pressed myself deeper into the seat. What other good memories did kingpins make in La Ville de l’Amour, the City of Love?
Drugs. Business deals. Sex. Women.
Secretly, I wondered just how many he’d taken there.
For seven hours more, I chose silence over having another baseless back-and-forth argument with a man I knew I would probably never call mine.
***
We stepped into the Grand Hotel room, and my jaw dropped in awe.
The porters dropped our boxes and shut the doors behind us, and like seven-year-old Rosalyn, who had a full life and hope in her, I squealed in delight.
“This is… magnifique. ”
I laughed at my poor French and allowed the room's aura to sink in. Behind me, I could feel him watching me, drinking me in with a heated sweep of his eyes, but I ignored him.
The lavish suite unfolded before me like something from a mid-century novel. Soft, golden light spilled from the crystal chandelier above. The plush carpet, a rich shade of burgundy, cushioned my feet as I pulled off my sneakers. My eyes wandered to the intricately carved mahogany furniture adorned with delicate gilded accents. The room’s centerpiece, a majestic four-poster bed, drew me with its inviting canopy and crisp, snowy linens.
To the left, floor-to-ceiling windows framed the City of Love’s breathtaking panorama, and in the distance, the Eiffel Tower’s iconic silhouette rose majestically, its iron latticework glinting in the fading sunlight.
Nikolai’s deep voice broke the spell.
“Change, Rosa. We have reservations for dinner.”
My gaze returned to him, standing by the marble-topped dresser with a spark of humor in his eyes.
He’s laughing at me.
I swallowed the rest of my enthusiasm, blushing that I’d lost my guard before him. With a quiet nod, I glided toward the closet, and made sure to shut the door behind me with a loud thud.
I walked into the spacious walk-in closet, surrounded by the finest designer labels. Then, I slipped off my travel-worn clothes and slipped into a black mini-halter dress, feeling the cool fabric glide over my skin.
The fitted bodice showcased the soft blades of my shoulders, and the short flare hem highlighted my legs. Simple yet striking, it was perfect for a night out in Paris.
Next, I rolled up a pair of black pantyhose and went over to the center dresser to select a pair of accessories. Delicate earrings and minimalist heels, and I was good to go. My hair fell in loose waves down my back, and a subtle swipe of red lipstick completed my look.
As I finished strapping the rose-gold quartz watch on my wrist, I heard the shower turn off. I walked out from the closet, and, at the same time, Nikolai emerged from the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, his hair tousled and dripping wet. His gaze locked onto mine, and his eyes roamed over me, taking in every detail.
A sly smirk spread across his face as he took my dress, his eyes lingering on my legs.
“That dress was made for you,” he said, his voice dangerously low and husky.
A flush rose to my cheeks as he approached me, his eyes never leaving mine. He reached out and gently adjusted the strap of my dress, and his cool fingers brushed my shoulders, his touch sending shivers down my spine.
He smelled like soap and aftershave, and I wanted to bury my face in his neck.
After a brief count of fifteen minutes, he was dressed in a plain black dress shirt, matching pants, and chestnut brown Italian leather soles. Then, he walked up to me. Undeniably handsome and drool-worthy.
He offered his arm.
“Shall we?”
****
We were both laughing until a teardrop slipped from my eyes.
An hour since we’d arrived at the famous La Coeur de la Vie , and we were already having a most splendid time. I couldn’t remember the reason for our laughter. The memory was vague, but I recalled pieces.
It started from the menu. I didn’t know what to order, couldn’t even pronounce the words, but of course, Nikolai was fluent. He was fluent in English, Russian, French, Spanish, and Mandarin. So, he painstakingly helped me, patiently waiting while we went through the specials, and that ended with me insisting on ordering a cuisine I’d never tasted in my life.
To cut that short, I couldn’t eat through a quarter of the onion soup and foie gras when it came.
Then, Niko said something that scared off one of the waiters, and while he was eating, he nearly choked on a bitten chunk of buttered croissant. I didn’t expect a man as strong as him to turn beet red in the face, but he did.
I was scared while we handled the situation, but afterward, a laugh worked its way out of my mouth.
A series of small chats followed right up, one after the after, each one more lively than the mild banter we’d had on the jet. And when I found out that he’d owned a garage full of superbikes, the Timberlands made more sense.
I enjoyed my meal and his company, and he admitted that the feeling was mutual.
He asked me my favorite color, my favorite meal, what I liked, and what I didn’t like. He ventured into topics that didn’t remind me of home, and I knew it was deliberate.
Our dinner, an exquisite blend of French and Italian cuisine, seemed to fade into the background as the sunset’s beauty mesmerized me. The glass of champagne in my hand sparkled, reflecting the colors of the sky.
As we talked and shared fleeting memories, harmless ones from our past lives, time passed quickly. Fading sunlight danced across the Parisian skyline. Nikolai’s hand brushed mine multiple times, and I struggled to ignore the tingling signals it sent to my brain.
Soft pink and peach hues melted into deep blues and purples, casting a romantic glow, and lights began to twinkle like diamonds scattered across the city.
I set the champagne glass down and sat upright. “Okay, another one.”
“Another question?” He took the full fork to his mouth, smiling through a mouthful of Coq au Vin. “You’re not going to get tired, are you?”
“Nope.” I drew my lower lip between my teeth. “This is it: If you had the chance to be anything else but a criminal mastermind, what would you be?”
He chuckled, folded his napkin, and inclined backward on his chair with folded arms. He pointed at me and then himself. “You think I’m a criminal mastermind?”
I exhaled. He just wouldn’t let the pride go. “That’s not the question, but yes. Compared to my brother—even if I probably shouldn’t be talking about the dead—you are better at what you do.”
“Hm.” He nodded once, musing. “I’m impressed that you’re impressed. But I am not a criminal mastermind. That’s just fucking low. I am a very diligent businessman and a genius.”
“Is that what they call it these days?”
Again, we shared a laugh, and he cleared his throat, feigning seriousness. “To be honest, I haven’t exactly given it a thought, but now that I’m thinking about it, I believe…real estate. I have a knack for those types of things.”
“Real estate?”
“What, you thought I’d say a teacher? Fuck, no.”
“What? Teachers make pretty decent wages. Plus, they educate our future leaders. Being a teacher would be more of an achievement than a job.”
“Yeah.” He took a swift from his drink. “I’ll pass.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, but I couldn’t hold back the treacherous chuckles. Heck, he’d have made a good realtor.
“Even then, I still think I’d have ridden the competitors to the dust.”
“You sure would have.”
As the last rays of sunlight disappeared, the city’s evening magic took hold. Nikolai’s eyes locked onto mine, and I knew this moment, suspended in time, would forever be etched in my memory.
“What about you?”
The champagne in his glass swirled, and I looked at it before looking back at him. “What about me?”
An unfamiliar shadow grew his features, dark and hard, a brooding mask. “What if you didn’t have to marry me? What if you had all the privileges you needed, various options laid at your feet? What if you had a choice to go out there and explore this fucked up world the way you want?”
The question held me in a tight wrestle, keeping me locked in for the longest of seconds. I battled with a quick, sharp response because it finally dawned on me that, while I’d yearned for freedom, I wasn’t certain what I wanted it for.
I just knew I wanted to be away from Sean and Ronan. To be away from the guilt that I caused Father’s death. To be away from everything that drowned my life in wallows of sorrows.
And now that had been accomplished, I sat in front of this cold-blooded man, realizing the answer was birthed the minute our paths crossed.
No one else but him.
I’d tried to run away but couldn't. I tried to deny that senseless pull but failed.
There was nowhere else I wanted to be without him in the picture.
With a pounding heart and adrenaline running a marathon through my veins, still uncertain about whether or not to spill my guts, I opened my mouth to speak, but someone else beat me to it.
Someone in a black pair of Louboutin So Kate heels, a green shirt dress, and bob-styled dark hair.
“Nik!”
His head snapped in attention toward the voice, and to my utmost surprise, he blessed her with that charming smile, got up from the chair, and went over to her.
Judging by the way they smiled so much with each other, a gut feeling told me she was one of his old lovers, and she must have been a very close one at that. Probably one of his many favorites, like Katherine.
I wanted so badly for my assumption to be wrong.
But when Niko hugged her with reckless abandon, as if both their lives depended on it, I heard my heart shatter into a million pieces.