Chapter 26 Tristan
TRISTAN
What she asks from me—exposing those memories—induces raw torment, like I am peeling the skin from my bones, skinning me alive. I’ve buried those experiences so deep in my mind and closed the casket that I forgot the corpse it hides inside—the child that never got to feel safe or loved.
It’s opening up or she’ll keep me out when all I fucking want is in.
That’s the only way.
She will understand why I don’t want children.
And at the end of the ordeal, I’ll have her.
Let her in, and she’ll let me back in.
I know it.
She knows it.
I pull her close and she stays, unlike the first night, cuddling into me in a silent promise of more.
I crave her like no other woman. It was idiotic to presume she wouldn’t want to know all of me, including the hidden parts.
“What do you expect to find out?” I rasp.
“You as you are,” she whispers.
I drag a hand down my face, groaning low in my throat. “My fucked-up mind for forgiveness?”
She bites her lip. “Perhaps.”
I’ll take her crumbs regardless.
“All of me for all of you,” I say wistfully.
“I’ve never hidden myself from you. I’ve given you my all. It’s up to you. If I am enough…”
“Enough?” Viviana fills every crevice, eases every wound. “You’re more than enough. You’re everything.”
Her hand finds mine, and she intertwines our fingers, my chest expanding with a breath of relief. Her power over me is pure magic, compelling my soul, and I give in, sleep pulling at my eyelids.
Burying my head in her neck, I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
Peacefulness washes over me as soon as I open my eyelids to notice our limbs entangled.
I would splay myself open repeatedly, just to feel her close to me.
She stirs in her sleep, but I am not ready to give up on serenity, so I tighten my grip on her, brushing my knuckles along her belly.
She pretends to sleep some more, but her alarm rings, dissipating the moment.
Shooting from my arms, she scoots up and reaches for her phone on the nightstand to stop the alarm.
Sliding out of bed, we observe each other from opposite sides of the bed, needing some time to gather ourselves.
She’s the first one to look away, as she slips into the bathroom. I don’t want to bother her, knowing she must be deep in thought, both excited and anxious for starting her first day.
She’ll do an excellent job, but my words will mean nothing until she sees that for herself.
Plucking my phone from the nightstand, I see my day is packed with meetings.
As soon as she comes out of the bathroom, she shifts on her feet, looking unsure.
This damn tiptoeing around each other maddens me to the point of wanting to punch a wall. I erase the distance between us in three long strides. “You’re going to do great.”
She worries her lip, fidgeting with her fingers. “You think so?”
That’s my woman, right there, eyeing me with eyes full of trust as if my words can fix her entire world, making me feel the proudest.
“I know so.” I grip her chin, stroking my thumb along her soft skin.
I miss her with increasing desperation. Kissing her, touching her, taking her just to feel her from the inside out and witness her abandoning herself to rapture.
She hurries inside the walk-in closet, erasing the moment as if telling me my confessions belong to the night and once day breaks in, the peace treaty expires.
After I take a shower and dress in one of my tailored suits, I find her in the kitchen, pulling stuff from the fridge.
It’s some overnight oats with blueberries, and she pushes the second cup on the marble island toward me. Two mugs of coffee steam by the espresso machine.
“I’m going to be late tonight,” I say, and her brows furrow. “The driver is waiting for you in the garage.”
She nods, and we continue to eat in silence.
In the elevator, she keeps her distance, causing my hand to twitch with the urge to press the stop button, back her into the wall, and kiss her senseless.
This is the opposite of how I envisioned our marriage.
She climbs into the back of the car, my eyes trailing after her until she disappears. Only then do I get into my silver Wiesmann, needing to drive today so I can focus on something else. But not even my favorite car helps distract me.
The moment I greet my assistant, she pushes herself off the desk and follows me into my office. Carrying a stack of reports, she bombards me with names and appointments when all I’d like to do is be done with work and return home to my wife.
Everyone wants something from me, acting as if I am the only one capable of solving shit and getting things done. I guess I wouldn’t be where I am without that capacity.
I gesture for the folders, skimming through them. I am a control freak, so nothing happens without my knowledge, and I demand daily progress reports. Since I don’t need much sleep, I always finish my workload. My days are twenty hours long, and I accomplish numerous tasks in that time.
Throughout the day, everything drags on, as if someone is trying to sabotage my plans of going home sooner. In a small break, I order a bouquet of pink peonies and some high-end pralines, hoping the flowers and the sweets I send her on her first day will smooth my absence.
In the past, I scheduled time for her, but those interactions occurred on weekends. I crammed everything work-related during the week so I could enjoy some undisturbed time with her.
With various buildings under construction and renovations ensuing, something always demands my attention.
After I visit the site where a crane crashed, I meet with the mayor for the gala he is organizing. Being his top donor, he needs me to show my face while he gives me some land that was unbuyable until now.
I am about to leave the restaurant when I run into Demyan.
We’re staring each other down, and he points toward the restaurant. “Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon instead of kissing the mayor’s ass?”
My jaw sets in a hard line. It takes immense willpower not to squish this vermin. “It’s called collaboration, but you wouldn’t know a thing about that. That’s why you rule over the trashy side, and I play in the big league.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Keep doing that. You ask, I take. That’s the difference between us.”
I shoulder him, and he gets in my face. “How I’d like to break that fucking face of yours.”
I jerk my chin at him just as eager for a confrontation, and blow off some steam. “Why don’t you try?”
“It wouldn’t be worth it,” he grits out.
Hmm, interesting. “Maybe I should ask around why the sudden change. Are you dying?”
“Ah, fucker, I am not leaving this world before you. Say hello to your sister for me.”
In an instant, I wrap my hand around his throat, not caring who could see me. Distant gasps reach my ears, but the rage coursing through my blood makes me murderous. “Don’t even think about that.”
In a swift move, he escapes my hold and brushes some invisible lint from his suit jacket. These fucking Russians are machines with no fear of dying. It’s like their mothers breastfed them insanity with a pinch of violence.
I expect him to attack me. Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve hidden in a corner to beat each other. It’s a stalemate. Everything is with this asshole. We’ve tried to take the other out for years, sabotaging each other until we divided New York.
“You should have kept her hidden.” The threat is unmistakable.
I stab a finger at him and gnash my teeth. “You touch her, you die. It’s that simple. Mark my fucking words. No one will save you from my wrath.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, a manic grin stretching on the lunatic’s face. “If it’s worth dying for someone, it’s for a woman. You should know that now.”
Fucking asshole.
Then I drive to my restaurant slash club and meet with the manager. It’s a money laundering front providing a diversion for my other business.
It’s here I kill and the farm is where I deliver the corpses.
It’s already nine p.m. and listening to my men whining and arguing at the meeting will cost me another two hours.
I pluck out my phone and send her a text.
Don’t wait up for me.
She sees it but leaves it on read.
If that’s not a sign that she’s mad, then I don’t know what is.
At the head of the table, I take my seat and gesture for them to start, steepling my fingers over my mouth.
When I killed my father, I knew I had to be doubly feared to succeed where he never could. Gain respect and become someone who’s part of the big leagues, expanding my influence in sectors like politics and finance.
I have built an empire with various firms under a conglomerate, and as I look at my men, some have polished their appearance to climb up the ladder beyond the criminal organization. The top tier has infiltrated important places, helping me gain even more power. Others just rule the streets.
The image anchors me; it speaks of my duality.
Meeting done, they bow their heads at me, and I get in my car, driving home.
Stepping inside the penthouse, I go straight to the bar and pour myself a glass of scotch to decompress. I never drink in public, trusting no one.
I put a record on and lounge in my armchair. Closing my eyes, I savor my drink and some peace. Or try to when my spitfire of a wife shows up.
“I see you’re alive.”
Cocking my head, I grip the armrest to contain the urge to bend her over the first surface and fuck her hard. “Would it have bothered you if I weren’t?”
I love her sass. I love her battiness, but I also fucking love that damn pussy she keeps away from me just because she can.
Cruel woman.
I chuckle. Not even a single one of my men would dare sass me.
“How was your first day, mo run?”
She places her hands on her waist, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Now he’s interested,” she mutters.
“I’m asking you now.” I gesture between us. “This goes both ways. I am always available to you. But today when I texted you, I tested the waters, and you left me on read.”
“It was already late.”
I empty the glass, place it down with more force than necessary, and stand up.
She clutches my lapels, inhaling me subtly, and the breath of relief she lets out weakens my knees.
I dip my forehead onto hers, my tone softening. “I work. A lot. That’s what I am doing when I am not home with you.”
“Didn’t ask.”
“Sure. Wanna see if there are any traces of lipstick on my shirt?”
“Are there?” she blurts, the panic clear when she realizes her slip.
She stomps off, but I catch up to her and yank her back by her elbow. “Your jealousy is cute as fuck, but unfounded.”
“I’m just preserving my energy for tomorrow. You might be taxing, but you’re nothing compared to twenty little ones.”
“Are you calling me a man-child?”
Eyeing me over her shoulder, she lifts a brow. “Am I?”
Smiling under my breath, I follow her inside the bedroom. On my side of the bed lie a bouquet of peonies and a praline box.
“I see you found my replacement.”
“Jealous? Well, you sent flowers and chocolate instead of yourself, so I am going to sleep with those tonight.”
“Don’t play this game with me, mo run.”
She rolls her eyes at me, but her tone softens. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to.”
She glances at the flowers, a nostalgic look etched on her features. “Peonies. Pink peonies.”
I shove my hands into my pants and lean against the wall. “Those are your favorites.”
“Should that make me feel better now?”
I know what I have to do. Confess some more.
I drag a hand down my face, exhausted to my bones. “I’m sorry, mo run. I don’t know what the fuck I am doing.”
Mentally preparing myself to tell her some more, I go take a shower, hoping she falls asleep by then. Hoping reveals my dire situation because I never hope.
Fortifying myself, I walk inside our bedroom and see her on her phone. She quickly types something and discards it, lifting a brow.
“I think you consumed a month’s supply of water in there.” She sounds defensive and less sarcastic, trying hard not to stare at my body clad in just boxer briefs.
Not even witnessing her covert attraction veers my mind from the jealous route I am racing down full speed with one certainty. I will crash.
I jerk my chin toward her phone, appearing calmer—the opposite of how I feel. “Who were you texting with?”
She keeps eye contact even though she swallows, that single gesture betraying it’s the fucker with a death wish.
I cock my head, tapping my chin. “Hmm, a hypothetical question, wife. Would you like me to text another woman I once fucked?”
“It was a kiss,” she huffs.
“One kiss too much,” I grit out.
She waves me off, discarding my jealousy like a pesky fly. “We’re friends, Tristan. He just wanted to know how I’m doing.”
I curl and uncurl my hands at my sides. “Yeah, and did you tell him I already fucked up?”
“You did. But that’s between us.”
I cross my arms over my chest and stay rooted in place for some necessary distance before I say, fuck it, and show her who she belongs to.
Trying to be a better man for her might cause self-implosion. “So why didn’t it work between you?”
Her eyes shine with pure emotion. “I knew from one damn kiss that he’s not what I want when I knew from one damn glance at you that you were everything I craved.”
I let out a sound that is half agony, half ecstasy and jab a finger in my chest. “You wanted me so fucking much, you’re slaying me open so you can feel better. All you’re trying to do is find excuses to keep me out. To stop loving me.”
Chin quivering, she palms her chest, the gesture making my heart twist in response. “Is this what you think I am trying to do? Then fuck you, Tristan. Fuck you.”
“You did, in more ways than you’ll ever know.”
She turns her back to me, and I slip under the covers, the air thickening with repressed emotions, heavy enough to suffocate us.
Between my ingrained fear of her seeing me differently, the jealousy toward that guy that has me planning his death hourly, and her ability to twist me in a knot, I am lost.
I open and shut my mouth for long minutes.
Sleep eludes me, nothing fucking new, so I roll out of bed, returning at the crack of dawn before she wakes up.
But it’s like she knows I didn’t spend the night with her.
She casts me a look so coated in dejection that it rips me apart.