Chapter 20 – Freya
The soreness between my legs made me open my eyes. Yawning, I stretched and leaned on the headboard, fighting yet failing to resist the urge to stare at the reason I ached everywhere—the man lying peacefully beside me.
The midnight blue curtains were drawn apart, and warm, white-golden rays of sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows, pouring on his fair skin.
He was beautiful and strangely peaceful as he slept without the covers, allowing me to feed my eyes on the magnificent sight of his firm buttocks, alongside everything else.
Pink, puckered lips that tasted like vodka and wicked intentions. Thick, dark eyebrows that could pull to the most condescending thing I had ever seen. Brown tousled sex hair that even felt softer than it looked. The breadth of his shoulders glowing with faint red spots of my nail marks…and long muscled legs that inched over the bed frame.
Heat crept up my neck.
I’d marked him as much as he’d marked me and wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Triumph? Irritation? Uncertainty latched on the walls of my heart like a leech.
It was rather amazing how just watching his chest rise and fall gently made warm tingles spread throughout my body, evoking something unbelievably intimate in that space. It was almost like I could grow into this routine of watching him sleep every morning beside me.
He was everything man. Hard and big and defined. My fingers itched to trace the sculpted outlines of his small waist and the esoteric black design inked across his back—black butterflies choked in long, thick thorns.
It was unique and unlike anything I’d ever seen before, and knowing Egor, a design like that surely meant something. Not like he was ever going to be willing to share a part of his life with me.
Alright, Freya.
I’d had enough of the view of the insanely attractive man, my husband, and decided to put my time to much better use.
Gingerly, so as not to wake him, I got off the bed and padded over to his closet in the corner of the room. It was huge, almost as big as my bedroom back in my now abandoned apartment in LA. Jackets, plain dress shirts, pants, ties, and a neat array of other casual t-shirts and sweatshirts hung—loosely coordinated by color. On one side, sleek black drawers with glass lids showcased his impressive collection of luxury timepieces.
I traced my hand over the rim, secretly admiring how everything appeared in order and was super spick and span. For a man known to cause disastrous chaos, his display of perfect organization was almost…impressive.
Catching myself before I further fell into the trap of delusion, thinking I could find any more things admirable about him, I snagged on a baggy t-shirt from his spacious closet before strolling off to the kitchen.
Anna was already there early, promenading across the hardwood flooring with her graying blonde hair in a neat ponytail, her regular drab white blouse, and her black below-the-knee skirt. She stood by the sink, her sleeves rolled up to her elbow, washing the silver utensils when I came up beside her, propping my hip against the counter.
“Ah! The bride is awake. And glowing, I see.” She laughed, and I forced my lips to curve, at least to mirror her enthusiasm.
I couldn’t keep fighting the truth of what my life had become, as much as I hated it. In the eyes of society, I was officially Mrs. Yezhov now, the wife of one of the most dangerous men in the world. That status came with influence, wealth, and power.
It should have felt good that I had married one of the most sought-after men— in every sense of the word —but it didn’t.
I brushed my hand over my stomach, suddenly conscious of the implications of carrying his child. A man like him didn’t lack enemies, and following the announcement of our wedding, I was flung into the limelight, inheriting his enemies—and so had his unborn child.
Despite my reluctance to acknowledge it, the only person capable of keeping us both safe was, ironically, the same person who had initially entangled us in this mess.
She wiped her arms on a napkin and moved from the sink to the island at the center of the kitchen with dried plates, her eyes sparkling as she set down the chinaware.
I meandered around the gleaming kitchen island with my fingers trailing the cool surface before picking a fresh red apple from the fruit basket and sinking my teeth into it.
“What’s the time?”
“A bit past nine,” she said without sparing me a glance, her hands still busy with the pre-prep before the actual breakfast preparations. It was like her little ritual, the small arrangements she liked to do before setting the ball rolling and mixing up ingredients for her famous delicious Russian meals. I’d seen her in action a few times.
“Hm.”
A bit past nine was an unusual wake-up time for me. No later than six, I was always up and running, ready to launch myself into whatever Egor-induced plans the day held. And, surprise, surprise, I had him to thank, or blame, for waking up later than my routine time.
I mean, after what happened last night….
“Mrs. Yezhov?”
I blinked, swallowing and shoving back the dancing sparks that quickly returned after briefly reliving moments from the previous night.
“Huh?”
Anna was looking at me funny, like she saw something I didn’t. Did she catch me in the heat of the moment? Could my eyes convey the insane pleasures I’d felt when his hands slid between my thighs in that part-aggressive, part-tender sensual motion or when he hungrily kissed me like he couldn’t do without the taste of my lips?
“You not used to name yet? Mrs. Yezhov?”
I blinked again, fully crashing back to reality, where I stood in the center of the kitchen with a half-bitten apple in my mouth and Anna’s curious blue eyes trained solely on me as she wondered whether or not my new “title” had me shook.
If only it was the constant reminder of the official change of name without my express permission that had me bothered.
Shaking my head, I took another large bite of the apple, refusing to allow the sweet juices to remind me of how sweet his tongue had tasted.
“Let’s stick to Freya, Anna. I’m not sure I like being called… that .” I munched, swallowing my distaste alongside chewed-up chunks of juicy apple. It was too much of an acknowledgment for me, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for it yet.
“Whatever you want.” She nodded and then beamed like she’d hit a jackpot.
“I have an idea. The breakfast,” she said in a rush and smiled even wider like it was supposed to make any sense. “You do the breakfast today, to make korol happy. It is tradition: New wives makes breakfast for new husband to show love and loyalty.”
I almost scoffed aloud but instead shoved down my disdain with more bites of the fruit. Love… pfft.
As if that could ever happen.
There was no love stored in my heart for that monster. It was barely conceivable. I just couldn’t imagine preparing breakfast for him out of…. I could choke on the word where he was concerned.
Loyalty, however. Now, that was conceivable because it was forced . When I thought about the life I carried in my womb, which had his blood and mine running through its tiny veins, I had no choice but to propel myself to be on Egor’s good side, considering that I’d run out of escape plans and already had him hating on me for trying to run away once. In addition, I was really no match for the number of people he had lined up, waiting to kill him.
I blew out a resigned sigh and walked up to Anna’s side. I put a hand on her shoulder, making her pause from her pre-prep movements. When she looked at me, my lips made a small twitch.
“Fine. I’ll take over from here. Take the day off. Go home and rest. Or better yet, do something fun with your husband. Dress up, go out….” Make real love after a fun day, a movie night, and popcorn.
At least what they had was real: the laughter, the joy, probably the sex— even if we had never delved into that topic. But I was sure she didn’t tell her husband how much she resented him when he touched or kissed her. Their love looked healthy and pure and not like a burning mix of rage, hatred, and an unwholesome toxic attraction.
In the short time I’d gotten to know Anna better, she’d talked about her husband with this bright joy in her gaze and a blush on both cheeks. When I thought of Egor, different ways I could wield a knife crossed my mind.
They didn’t have much, well, as much as the Yehzovs owned, but I noticed one outstanding thing with her—how content she was.
She was satisfied with him, madly in love, and grateful for her family. I couldn’t relate and doubted that I’d ever experience even a sliver of what she had.
Anna’s eyes regarded me suspiciously. “You’re sure? I mean… Korol…. ”
“Your boss will be fine without having you here for a couple of hours, Anna. You’ve been devoted for years. I’m sure he will comprehend why you needed one day off.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Anna’s service to that asshole was the perfect example of genuine loyalty, one that came right from the heart. “You should go. Have fun, okay?”
“Oh, my.” She wiped her damp hands on her skirt and placed them on her chest, stuttering her gratitude. “Bless you, Freya. Thank you.”
I allowed a warm smile to replace the cold downturn on my lips, calmly watching her rapidly grab her things, like she’d been waiting to jump on an opportunity like this all her life. In a matter of seconds, she was out the door and on her own way to happiness.
Happiness I’d been robbed of ever experiencing for a long time.
Languidly, I turned back to the view of flour, eggs, milk, and a bunch of other Russian pancake ingredients Anna had set on the counter.
“Okay.” I blew out a breath through flared nostrils and tossed the unfinished bit of the apple in the trash, feeling the nerves climb as I realized I was really doing this. “Where do we start?”
****
American breakfast.
My senses had been deprived of the savory delight of crispy bacon and the luscious taste of mouthwatering scrambled eggs for what felt like an eternity, and it had been a while since I put my heart into cooking anything special like this. The last time was years ago, with my dad and mom. Zeya hadn’t come into the picture quite yet, and things were fine. They’d put the music on, danced to it together, rubbed butter and oil on my cheeks, and added one more ingredient into the mix that made it taste more heavenly: love.
That was years ago, when life was a bed of roses, Barbie dolls, and sunshine. When Mommy and Daddy were in love and together. When Uncle Teddy hadn’t overdosed on drugs and died in his living room, with neighbors discovering his body three days later. When Daddy was alive and Mommy didn’t ever think she’d lose the love of her life and have to remarry.
Life was perfect then. Life was good.
Life now was what I accepted it to be. Bondage. Loveless. But at least there was breakfast, and comfort, and luxury.
By the time I was done, I stepped back, admiring my creation with pride. It felt good. I felt good—not like a chucked-up or imprisoned wife, but like me again.
Noise came from the hallway, like the heavy pounding of feet, and a strained groan like he was stretching. My heartbeat accelerated.
Why is it beating so fast?
Was I nervous?
Why am I nervous?
Why did I care what he thought?
It didn’t make sense. Even now, seeing him walk toward me with his long legs, in that manly calculated stride, and secretly watching the flex of his broad shoulders, his bare sculpted torso as he moved, and the hard ridges running a firm V-line to the band of his sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his waist, upset a flurry in my chest.
And when he raised his slender fingers to his hair, messing the tousled hair to an even hotter mess, I had to tear my eyes away and busy myself with serving him the actual breakfast I prepared before I did something stupid like spreading my legs open and begging him to… plunder me.
I love the way you respond to me , he’d said.
But I hated it. I hated how my body so easily reacted to him. You’d think a gap of twenty-plus years would be a major turn-off, a deal-breaker even, right?
Wrong.
Logic failed, and my emotions refused to cooperate. His appearance and agile movements gave no telltale signs that he’d witnessed the passage of times that I’d only ever read about. He seemed ageless and…I had to stop fantasizing.
“What’s going on here?”
I lifted my head to see him regarding me with a cursory glance, arching his eyebrows suspiciously. Despite myself, I blushed and even managed to smile.
For bullshit love and loyalty.
I began moving the plates toward him, listing everything I’d taken my time to prepare and hoping he’d appreciate or approve. “I gave Anna a day off. Thought I’d make breakfast today. Turkey bacon, eggs, avocado toast, and buckwheat pancakes because I know…um…you like your pancakes.”
As I spoke, his eyes lingered at the length of my legs and bare feet exposed below the shirt hanging mid-thigh before he dragged it back to the island and picked up a fork.
Settling down silently, he grabbed a full plate for himself and waited a heartbeat before digging in.
He cut a slice of the bacon, stabbed a forkful of eggs, and lifted it to his mouth in slow motion. Then, he paused abruptly, lifted his eyes to mine, and dropped his hand. My shoulders vibrated when the fork clattered on the plate, and the legs of his high stool scraped the floor as he rose to his full height.
“You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”
I gave a confused blink. “Huh?”
“You eat it.”
My smile faltered, and disbelief crept on my face.
Was he insinuating…?
“You think I poisoned it?”
He lifted the plate to his nose and sniffed it with a shrug but didn’t drop it. Rather casually, he walked up to me with a condescending look. “Your words, not mine.”
The bastard.
I was fuming now and strangely hurt at the silent accusation. The worst part was that I didn’t bother hiding how much it affected me.
“What? You…you can’t be serious. If I wanted to do that, today wouldn’t be my first try.”
“But today’s the first day you’ve cooked for me. You expect me to believe that overnight, you decided to become a loving, devoted wife who derives joy in preparing breakfast for her husband?”
“No one said anything about being a loving, devoted—”
“Exactly.” He pressed closer, with green eyes growing darker by the second. “So, there can only be one reason why you’d do this for me now. You want to kill me.”
“I don’t know….”
“Good thing I’m not hungry.”
And in a blink, the plate dropped into the trash, clunking on unfinished apple and cracked eggshells. I swallowed back the heated tears burning the back of my throat and curled my fingers into the hem of the shirt.
It was my fault. What was I expecting from a brute like him?
He backed off, retreating with a glower before he turned his back to me.
“Be smarter next time, wife. And wipe those tears from your eyes. They make me sick.”