Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Calina
When I decided to cook tonight, I wasn’t thinking about Maxim’s reaction at all.
I know my family loves my cooking. They always praised me, asked for seconds, teased me about opening a restaurant one day.
But as I watched Maxim take his first bite of the pelmeni across the table, I realized I was holding my breath, waiting.
When his eyes closed for a brief second and he gave a low, satisfied hum, something warm and unexpected fluttered in my chest.
He liked it. He really liked it. And for some stupid reason, that made me happy.
Now it’s time for dessert, a simple apple cinnamon crumble I threw together with what I could find. The moment I set it down, Maxim’s eyes light up in a way I’ve never seen before.
He has a sweet tooth. I realize it instantly when he barely lets Dmitri and Viktor touch it.
“Dinner was enough,” he says firmly, voice leaving no room for argument. “You two can retire for the night.”
Dmitri groans dramatically. “But she made it for us—”
“Out.”
Viktor just shrugs and stands up, clearly not caring either way. Once they’re gone, it’s just the two of us at the long dining table.
I watch him take a bite of the warm dessert. He closes his eyes again, savoring it, and I can’t help but ask, “Do you like it?”
He pauses, fork halfway to his mouth, and looks straight at me. “Yeah. I do.”
The simple honesty in his voice catches me off guard. I find myself telling him more than I planned.
“I’ve always loved cooking. It’s… therapy for me. An outlet. Back home I used to cook for everyone. I even took some online culinary courses. For a while I dreamed about opening my own restaurant one day.”
He listens quietly, watching me with that intense focus that makes my skin feel too tight. “So why didn’t you?”
I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “It felt like a pipe dream. In our world, daughters don’t usually get to chase things like that.”
He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t dismiss it. Instead, he says, “It’s not a pipe dream. If that’s what you want to do, you can.”
I stare at him, shocked. Most men in our world would have laughed or told me to be realistic. But Maxim… he doesn’t. He just looks at me like he means it.
I don't bother asking him what he means by that. We have the rest of the dessert in silence. When we finish eating, he surprises me again by helping clear the table.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“I know.” He stacks the plates without looking at me. “Leave the dishes. The staff will handle them in the morning.”
We head upstairs in silence. I’m painfully aware of Maxim walking a few steps behind me. Even without turning around, I can feel his eyes on my back.
As I open my bedroom door, a low rumble of thunder rolls in the distance. The wind picks up, rattling the windows.
I freeze, staring out into the darkening sky. Another flash of lightning cuts through the night, followed by a louder crack of thunder.
Then the power goes out. The hallway plunges into complete darkness.
I hate the dark. I hate storms.
A memory rushes in before I can stop it, my father drunk and raging on a rainy night, the power flickering out, him dragging me and Milana into a dark room and locking the door.
The sound of his belt. The he screamed at us while rain pounded against the windows. The terror of not knowing when the next blow would come.
Every time my father would go into those rages, I’d press Milana behind me, trying to shield her with my body, whispering that it would be over soon, even when I didn’t believe it.
“Calina?” Maxim’s voice is low behind me. “Are you alright?”
I realize I’ve been standing frozen in front of my door, not moving. My chest is tight, breathing shallow. Before I can think better of it, the words tumble out.
“I don’t like the dark,” I whisper. “I… I hate storms.”
I expect him to laugh. To mock me. To call me weak.
Instead, when I turn, there’s real concern on his face, visible even in the dim emergency lighting that just kicked in.
He studies me for a long moment. “If you want… you can wait it out in my room. We can leave the door open. The backup generator should come on soon.”
On any normal day, I would refuse. I would rather sit in the dark alone than accept anything from him.
But right now, the thought of being alone in that pitch-black room makes my stomach twist. Back home, Milana and I would bundle together under the covers until storms passed. Right now, I’ll take whatever safety I can get.
“Okay,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Maxim nods and leads the way to his bedroom, leaving the door wide open behind us.
“Don’t worry,” he says, voice low and almost teasing. “I’ll chase the monsters away tonight.”
A surprised laugh escapes me before I can stop it. He glances at me, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s pleased he got that reaction.
There’s a sitting area with two large leather armchairs facing each other, a sofa and a low table between them. It feels very much like him.
He gestures toward one of the chairs. “Sit. Or do you want to lie down?”
I shake my head. “I can’t sleep right now.”
We settle into the sofa. Maxim reaches for a bottle of vodka on the table, pours two glasses, and hands me one. I take it without protest. The first sip burns pleasantly down my throat.
We sit in surprisingly comfortable silence for a while, sipping slowly. Outside, thunder rumbles and rain begins to lash against the windows.
Eventually, he speaks. “Do you want to talk about why you hate the dark so much?”
I shake my head quickly. “No.”
He doesn’t push. He just nods and takes another sip, respecting the boundary. I’m oddly grateful for that.
A few minutes later, the power flickers back on. The room fills with soft light from the lamps. I should stand up and go back to my own room now.
But I don’t move. Some strange, stubborn part of me doesn’t want to leave yet. It would feel rude, I tell myself.
We start talking, about nothing important at first. He asks about my life back home.
“So,” he says, voice low, “what did you used to do with your days? Before all of this.”
I hesitate, then shrug lightly. “A lot of reading. Painting sometimes. Milana and I would spend hours in the garden or in the library, making up ridiculous stories about the people we saw from the windows. She was always the dramatic one. She’d turn everything into some grand romance or tragedy.”
Maxim’s mouth twitches, almost a smile. “And you?”
“I was the one who tried to keep her from getting us both in trouble,” I say, smiling faintly at the memory.
He’s quiet for a moment, studying me. “You miss her.”
It’s not a question. I nod, looking down at my hands. “Every day. I miss feeling like I could breathe without someone watching. I miss Milana’s laugh when we were being silly. I miss… home.”
I find myself answering more than I expected. He listens intently, eyes never leaving my face. For once, there’s no arrogance, no command in his tone.
I curl up smaller in the big leather chair, knees drawn to my chest, the vodka warming me from the inside.
The storm outside feels farther away now. His voice is low and steady, lulling me. My eyelids grow heavier with every passing minute.
Just finish this drink, I tell myself, then I’ll go back to my room.
But I don’t even remember finishing the glass. My eyes drift shut, and I fall asleep.
I wake up slowly to the feeling of something hard poking against my stomach, and my pillow being exceptionally warm.
At first, I think it’s a strange pillow, firmer than the one I’m used to, warmer, and strangely comforting. I snuggle closer, pressing my cheek against it, inhaling a clean, masculine scent that makes my body relax even more.
Then the “pillow” lets out a low, deep groan that vibrates through my entire body.
My eyes fly open. I’m not in my bed.
My head is resting on a hard, muscled chest. Warm skin. Steady heartbeat under my ear. One strong arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me firmly against a very male body.
Maxim.
I fell asleep in his room last night, on the sofa. I don’t even remember drifting off.
My gaze drops lower. The hard pressure against my stomach is unmistakably his erection, through his sweatpants.
Heat floods my face. My heart starts racing.
I could try to sneak out before he wakes up. Slip away and pretend this never happened. Avoid the awkwardness entirely.
But when I glance up, it’s already too late.
Maxim is awake. His dark eyes are half-lidded, watching me with a sleepy, heated intensity that makes my breath catch. His voice is rough and gravelly when he speaks.
“Good morning.”
The deep, sleepy timbre does dangerous things to me. A shiver runs down my spine straight between my legs.
“G-good morning,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
I try to move, to put some space between us, but his arm tightens around my waist, keeping me pressed flush against him.
I can feel every inch of his body, the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs, and that very obvious erection now nestled against my lower belly.
“Are you hard right now?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
Why did I just ask that?!
Maxim’s lips twitch. A low, amused sound rumbles in his chest. “It’s called morning wood, Calina.”
“Yeah, well… whatever it is, it’s poking me,” I mutter, trying to wriggle out of his hold. But he doesn’t let me go. His arm stays locked around me, keeping me exactly where I am.
His eyes darken as he looks down at me, the sleepy haze giving way to something much hotter.
“What are you doing?” I ask, voice breathier than I’d like.
He doesn’t move. “Why are you in such a hurry to leave?”
Every tiny shift of my body makes his cock twitch against me. I wiggle without thinking, trying to create space, and he lets out a low, guttural groan that vibrates straight through my core.
“That’s not helping,” he mutters, voice rough with restraint.
“Maybe you should just let me go then,” I whisper.
His dark eyes lock onto mine. “What if I don’t want to let you go?”
Before I can respond, he rolls us smoothly so he’s on top, his powerful body caging me against the mattress. His hips settle between my thighs, that hard length now pressed right against my center through our clothes.
Our faces are inches apart. His breath fans across my lips. I can feel the heat of him everywhere.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m dizzy. A huge part of me, almost all of me, wants him to kiss me right now. I want to taste him. I want to feel his weight pressing me down. I want—
“Are you seriously about to force yourself on me?” I blurt out, the words escaping before I can stop them.
That isn't what I wanted to say.
Maxim stills. Then a slow smile curves his lips. He shakes his head, eyes never leaving mine.
“I’m many things, Calina… but I’m not that. I would never force myself on a woman.”
His voice drops even lower, sensual and rough. “With a snap of my fingers, I could have five women in this bed right now who are more than willing. So why would I ever need to force anyone?”
The words hit me like a slap. An ugly burst of jealousy flares in my chest at the thought of him with other women.
Willing, eager women touching him, kissing him, taking him. What type of women does he like? Am I even his type? It pisses me off that I even care.
“What a misogynistic thing to say,” I snap, pushing at his chest.
He doesn’t budge at first, still hovering over me, eyes burning. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just making it clear, I don’t need to force any woman. There are plenty who want me.”
I shove harder. This time he lets me push him off. I scramble out of his grip, cheeks burning with anger and embarrassment.
“Well, then go snap your fingers and call one of them,” I hiss. “I’m sure they’d be thrilled to take care of your little morning problem.”
I storm toward the door, and slam it shut behind me with way more force than necessary. The loud bang echoes down the hallway.