16. Veronica
16
VERONICA
V ictor Stepanov sits at the head of the table like a king holding court, his sharp eyes making it clear that he sees everything.
He’s much older than Maxim but the resemblance is striking: the same chiseled jawline, the same cold, calculating intensity.
Maxim’s hand lingers on my back as he pulls out my chair, his touch steadying. “Sit,” he growls.
I do as I’m told, smoothing the fabric of my dress as I settle into the chair. Maxim takes the seat beside me. I glance at him, and for a moment, I think I catch a flicker of something—nerves, maybe? No. That would be ridiculous.
“Veronica,” Victor says, his voice smooth but heavy with authority. “It’s good to finally meet you properly.”
I smile, even though his words are more scrutiny than compliment. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Stepanov. Maxim’s told me so much about you.”
“Has he?” Victor leans back in his chair, his gaze flicking between us. “And what has he told you?”
I glance at Maxim, who remains stoic, his jaw tight. Fine. If he’s going to play the strong, silent type, I’ll handle this.
“That you’re the backbone of the family,” I say smoothly. “That he respects you more than anyone.”
Victor’s lips twitch, forming a smile. “Don’t bullshit me.” He hums, clearly unimpressed but intrigued enough to continue. “So, tell me, Veronica. How did you and my son meet?”
I lean forward slightly, my hands folded on the table. “At a charity gala,” I say confidently, reciting the story we crafted earlier. “I was serving food, and Maxim…” I pause, glancing at him with mock exasperation. “Maxim decided he simply had to talk to me. He followed me around all night like a lost puppy until I finally agreed to have dinner with him.”
Victor raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“She’s exaggerating,” Maxim interjects, his tone dry. “I was persuasive, not desperate.”
“You’re splitting hairs,” I tease, nudging him lightly with my elbow.
Victor watches the exchange, his gaze sharp. “And what is it you see in my son, Veronica? He’s not exactly the romantic sort, I was led to believe.”
I laugh softly, more to ease the tension than anything else. “Oh, he seems scary,” I say, shooting Maxim a sideways glance. “But that’s part of the charm. He’s loyal, protective, and—believe it or not—he has a sense of humor. You just have to dig for it.”
Maxim’s deadpan voice cuts through the moment. “I’m hilarious.”
The faintest smile tugs at Victor’s lips, but he hides it well. “And what about you, my boy? What do you see in this American?”
Maxim doesn’t hesitate. “She’s funny. Smart.” His voice softens slightly, just enough for me to notice. “And she doesn’t back down, even when it’s in her own interests to do so. She’s stubborn, like me.”
The words hang in the air, heavier than I expected. I glance at him, but his gaze is fixed on his father, unreadable.
Victor nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Being too stubborn can get people killed. What about grandchildren? Have you made plans?”
“A boy and a girl,” I say quickly. “Though we’re still deciding on names.”
“Two?” Victor says, his eyebrows raising. “Good.” He glances at his watch. “Unfortunately I have many meetings this morning. The work of a Pakhan, even a temporary one, is never done.”
He gets to his feet. “A pleasure, Veronica.” His eyes suggest it’s anything but.
Once he’s gone, Maxim visibly relaxes, picking up the coffee pot and pouring out two cups. “You did well,” he says. “Two kids, huh? When will you have time for the bookstore?”
I take the coffee mug he offers me. “I thought about saying ten but didn’t want to spook the guy.”
“It would certainly scare me to think of ten children running around here. We’d never get anything done.” He pulls out his cellphone. “Take a look at this.”
“What is it?” I ask, examining the screen.
He gestures to the photo that’s on display. “You wanted a bookstore. If this all works out, that one will be yours. Owner retired many years ago but left everything in situ. Needs clearing out and repainting but the building is good and the area’s got a lot of footfall.”
I blink, stunned. The picture is dated, showing a charming little storefront, its window display lined with books and a faded sign above the door that reads The Reading Nook.
He flicks to the next picture, showing grimy windows and a peeling door. I see through into the interior, picturing how it used to be.
A smile spreads across my face before I can stop it. “This looks perfect,” I whisper. The word feels too small for what I’m feeling. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of, a tangible piece of a future I thought I’d never have.
But then reality creeps in, cold and cruel, and the smile fades. My grip on the photo tightens as the familiar weight of fear settles in my chest.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing at once.
“There’s no point if Marco’s still out there,” I murmur. “I can’t move on until I know he’s been dealt with.”
“Marco can’t touch you,” he replies, his voice a deep rumble. “He won’t touch anything that matters to you. I’ll make sure of it.”
I turn to face him, the conviction in his words too much to bear. “How can you be so sure?”
He doesn’t hesitate, his voice steady. “No one hurts you again. Not while I’m alive.”
I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly his lips are on mine, and the world crumbles under my feet. The kiss is fierce, and I’m powerless to stop it.
His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, and I gasp against his mouth as the heat between us turns into an inferno.
He lifts me onto the table with an ease that makes my head spin, his lips trailing down my neck as my head tilts back. “What are you doing?” I ask. “Someone could come in.”
“Let them. We want to make this engagement believable. Don’t we?”
A laugh escapes me, breathless and shaky. “This is your idea of believability? Your ass going up and down when they come to clear the table?”
“Absolutely,” he replies, his mouth moving lower. “You should trust me on this.”
His hands are already sliding up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher and higher until it bunches at my waist.
His fingers dig into my hips as he steps between my legs, his face inches from mine. “You want to show me how well you can act?” he asks, his tone daring me to keep pushing.
I don’t hesitate. “Yes. I didn’t quite believe it last time.”
One hand moves to the back of my neck, pulling me into a searing kiss. It’s possessive, demanding, and I melt into it, my fingers tangling in his hair. He tastes like coffee and regret, and I can’t get enough. When he pulls away, my lips are swollen, and I’m breathing heavily.
He doesn’t give me time to recover. In one swift motion, he yanks my panties down, leaving me exposed. The cool air makes me gasp, but his hands are already there, spreading my legs wider as he kneels in front of me.
“Maxim—” I start, but he cuts me off with a sharp slap to my inner thigh. The sting is unexpected, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan.
“Be quiet,” he orders, his voice firm.
His mouth finds me before I can respond, and I let out a strangled cry as his tongue works its magic. He’s relentless, alternating between licks and sucks, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through me. My hands fumble for purchase on the table, gripping the edge as I struggle not to writhe under his touch.
“God, you taste good,” he mutters against me, his breath hot on my skin.
I whimper, arching into him, desperate for more. He hums in response, the vibrations making me see stars. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and I can feel myself teetering on the edge.
“Please,” I beg, my voice breaking.
He doesn’t stop, his movements becoming more precise, more intentional. And then it hits me—a crashing wave of ecstasy that leaves me trembling and gasping for air.
It washes over me and makes me crave him inside me. He doesn’t let up until I’ve ridden out the last of my climax, only then pulling back to press a kiss to my inner thigh.
Before I can catch my breath, he’s standing, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease. His pants fall to the floor, and then he’s lifting me again, positioning me on the edge of the table. There’s no hesitation as he pushes inside me, filling me completely.
“Look at me,” he demands, and I obey, locking eyes with him. The connection is electric, and I can’t look away even if I wanted to.
He starts slowly, rocking into me with deliberate strokes that make my toes curl. But it doesn’t stay that way for long.
Soon, he’s pounding into me, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. Each thrust drives me closer to the edge again, and I cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders.
“Maxim,” I gasp.
“Say my name again,” he growls, his pace unrelenting.
“Maxim,” I repeat, louder this time as I stroke my clit, trying to reach another high. My moans are enough to push him over the edge, and I feel him shudder as he spills inside me.
I hit my own climax an instant later, crying out with joy, collapsing against him, on the verge of tears.
He pulls out, helping me off the table and handing me my discarded clothes.
We dress in silence, the weight of what just happened hanging between us.
Just as I’m smoothing out my skirt, the door flies open. Dmitri strides in, his expression grim.
“What?” Maxim snaps. “We’re trying to eat in here.”
Dmitri’s eyes are bulging with anger. “Marco’s been spotted,” he says without preamble.
Maxim’s entire demeanor shifts, his earlier softness replaced by cold determination. He nods, grabbing his jacket and tossing me a brief glance. “Stay here,” he orders.
And just like that, they’re gone, leaving me alone at the breakfast table.