Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Holly
The plan was to meet up with Mrs. Maslak, Irina, and Olga in front of the theater at seven.
I’m there a few minutes early and watch the crowds gather.
I love the energy of New York, and the theater district is always filled with tourists and locals with a shared interest in the incredible productions put on here.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen a show and I’ve been looking forward to it, despite a bit of trepidation about spending time with Viktor’s mother.
This is literally what I’m getting paid for, though.
When Viktor and I first discussed money, I was happy for him to merely pay the two-hundred-and-fifty thousand I borrowed from the loan shark to ensure that the farm and sanctuary didn’t go into foreclosure.
He was the one who said a million was a far better number.
That it would protect me and give me a buffer.
Then he changed his mind and offered a million when we got married and another million in a year. That would allow me time to build a nest egg, maybe invest some of it, and also give me time to look for a job. By the time we divorce, I should be all set.
On top of that incredibly generous offer, he kept adding on.
Any gifts he bought me during the marriage were mine to keep—including the stupidly expensive engagement ring.
I would live with him rent-free, including food, insurance, and anything else I needed.
He’s even given me one of his credit cards, and it has no limit. He told me to plan our vacation, decorate the new house, and buy myself anything I need.
I don’t have any plans to buy things for myself, though. I have plenty of clothes and shoes and purses. My closet was beyond full and it still is, even after I sold a couple of expensive purses to try to keep myself afloat when I first left Nathan.
All in all, Viktor is making my life so incredibly easy, I’m willing to take whatever his mother has to dish out.
It’s that simple.
I see them coming up the street but before I can wave, Olga waves to someone and then runs forward. Another tall blond greets her and the two hug like old friends. She seems to be introducing them to Mrs. Maslak and Irina, and I approach gingerly.
“Hi,” I say.
They all turn at once, as if they weren’t expecting me. Olga murmurs something in Russia and Irina presses her lips together. Mrs. Maslak gives me a polite smile—one that definitely doesn’t reach her eyes this time.
“Holly. Hello.” She inclines her head.
“We had forgotten you were joining us,” Olga says with false regret, her lips turning down. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” I ask, a bad feeling winding through my gut.
“You don’t mind, do you? That I offered your ticket to my friend Anna? She’s a friend from home who goes to university here. I was so excited to see her, it totally slipped my mind that you would be joining us. Is it okay if she uses your ticket? We haven’t seen each other in several years.”
I highly doubt that.
This was probably always the plan.
But if this is some kind of test, I’m not going to play their little game.
“Oh, no problem at all.” I smile a lot more brightly than I feel. “Actually, I have friends in town doing pre-production for a show they’re filming, and they invited me to dinner anyway. Don’t worry about me! Have a wonderful time, and I’ll see you at the game tomorrow.”
“Yes, yes.” Mrs. Maslak smiles brightly now.
Viktor wasn’t kidding about the level of fuckery.
I’m disappointed I won’t have a chance to see the show, but there will be others. In the meantime, I’m going to hang out with Serena.
I give a little wave, turn, walk to the end of the street, and lift my arm for a cab.
I don’t know what their plan was—to somehow humiliate me or expect me to throw a tantrum?—but I’ll be damned if I let them see how disappointed I am. Besides, I really do have an open invitation to join Serena and her friends.
They’re probably a lot more fun anyway.
It’s late when I get back to the hotel, and Viktor is in bed reading when I get to the room. He looks up, his expression inscrutable.
“Did you wait up for me?” I ask in surprise.
He nods, eyes searching my face as I set down my things. “What happened?” he asks quietly.
I sigh. “Give me a minute to wash up and I’ll tell you.”
I grab my pajamas and disappear into the bathroom, suddenly a little nervous.
We’ve been sharing a bed, platonically, for several days now, so that’s not a problem.
Neither of us brought up the fact that we woke up spooning the other day, and I don’t see any reason to.
Erections happen when men sleep, especially in the morning, so there’s no need to make things awkward.
But something feels different tonight.
Coming home to a man who’s waiting for me in bed feels…
intimate. That’s the only word for it. And I’m suddenly unsure whether or not I did something wrong in going out with Serena tonight instead of pushing the issue with his family.
Did he expect me to do that? In the moment, I figured I would give in gracefully and let Viktor handle the fallout.
But maybe I shouldn’t have?
I wash off my makeup, brush my teeth and put on some moisturizer, then I pad back out to the bedroom. I climb on the bed but sit cross-legged facing him.
“What did my mother do?” he asks, his voice gentle but his gaze intense.
I swallow. “Um, so, when I got there, Olga had a friend waiting and they said they forgot I was going and had already offered her my ticket to the show. So, I said it was okay and I left to go meet up with Serena.” I grimace. “Did I do something wrong?”
He looks angry for a minute but then shakes his head. “No, no, not you. I should apologize for this.” He blows out what sounds like a frustrated breath. “This is what I worry about…this behavior. Unacceptable.” He mutters in Russian. “I will talk to her.”
“No, don’t,” I say quickly. “It’s fine. I can handle them.”
“I think they will only get worse,” he says. “And they will be…mean.”
“What are they going to do? Spill wine on my clothes or something?”
“Maybe. Or embarrass you in front of other wives.”
I shrug. “Look, if you want to look at it very black and white—this is a job. And for the next year, handling your family is my job. That’s why you’re paying me.
Believe me, this isn’t my first time dealing with mean girls.
The thing is—we’re in my country, with my friends, my husband’s team, my world.
If Olga wants to play games, I promise you, I’ve been playing much longer.
And probably better, thanks to my father. ”
“All right.” He nods slowly. “But I will speak to my father. Normally, he is very quiet when it comes to the women in the family, but if I tell him I am angry, he will say something.”
“Like I said, you focus on hockey. Let me focus on the rest.”
He looks at me for a long time and then holds out his hand.
We’re alone so we don’t have to hold hands.
But he wants to.
And my body seems to be on board because I reach out and slide my fingers around his.
“I also would like to talk about…sleeping together.”
My face flushes, and my heart skips a beat. “Um, what?”
“The other morning when we woke. I was aroused. I do not remember turning to hold you but…I am sorry if this was inappropriate.”
“You…wait.” I shake my head. “You think I’m upset?”
“You did not give…consent.”
Consent.
Sweet Jesus.
My hot, quirky husband is worried about consent. Even though he truly didn’t do anything. He can’t help waking up that way.
“I consented to sleeping in a bed with you and we both know men can…wake up that way.”
“Yes, but touching you in your sleep was not discussed.”
“I think…um, well, I think touching is inevitable. Considering we’re living together and sharing a bed.”
“I did not pay two million dollars for sex,” he says firmly, green eyes boring into mine.
I aim for levity. “Technically, you’ve only paid one million so far, so no, you didn’t.”
“Holly. I am serious. Sex is not part of deal.” He pauses. “I do not want you to feel pressure for this. That would be…inappro—” He cuts off, wrinkling his nose.
“Inappropriate,” I finish for him. “And I appreciate you saying that. But I don’t mind when you touch me. Honestly, it’s starting to feel natural. Holding your hand, sitting next to you—I feel safe with you, and it’s been a long time since anyone made me feel safe.”
“And this is why we should not do anything to interfere with that. I want you to be safe. Happy. Relaxed. If there are expectations, it changes everything.”
“I think lines are going to blur no matter what we say,” I admit.
“Trust me—it is better if we do not blur the lines. It will make the end of our contract more difficult.”
Ugh.
I know he’s right but I hate it.
Because I want him to touch me.
So much so it’s almost painful when he doesn’t.
But he just set a boundary.
And I don’t know what the hell to do about it.