39. Laila
39
LAILA
“First off, I want to apologize.” Kira drops down on the couch next to me, a takeout container extended in offering.
“I think you’re confusing ‘spring rolls’ for ‘olive branch.’”
I didn’t know Kira was coming over today, but I opened the door and she was holding Chinese food. The only follow-up question I was capable of asking was, “Do you need help carrying the fried rice into the kitchen?”
She waves her chopsticks like a white flag between us. “Dominik told me that things aren’t quite how they seem with you and Arsen. I didn’t realize, and I think I might’ve made things weird. With the baby shower and the nursery talk. So this is me saying sorry.”
I swallow a bite and it feels like a boulder in my throat. “What did Dominik tell you?”
“He said he didn’t want to get into it because it wasn’t any of our business.”
I arch a brow. “And you just left that alone?”
“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready to.” She flips her braid over her shoulder. “Which is why I came over today… just in case you’re ready to tell me. Right now. In full detail.”
Despite the fact my life feels like dry wood and this conversation is a lit match soaked in gasoline, I smile. “Thanks, but things aren’t as dire as Dominik might’ve made them out to be. Arsen and I rushed into this marriage, and I guess we’re still trying to find some solid ground.”
I’m not sure why I’m lying. Maybe it’s because, as much as I hated lying to Kira, part of me liked living in the fantasy we were spinning for her.
It’s like when I told my sixth grade class that my father wasn’t around because he was an astronaut on a special mission to Mars. It was nice being a girl who had a father who loved her, even if it only lasted a few days.
“I think that’s normal. There were moments in the beginning of our marriage where I wondered if Dom and I jumped the gun, too.”
“Yeah?”
“We eloped,” she explains. “Arsen and Gedeon were the only people at our wedding. I didn’t break the news to my parents until a week later.”
“How’d they take it?”
“They were shocked, but it was a done deal, so they didn’t really have a choice but to try to get to know my husband. Which I sometimes think was another mistake.” She rolls her eyes. “I think he gets more calls from my mom than I do.”
I play with my fingernails. “But you questioned things because of your parents, right? Not because of Dom?”
“Right.” She gives me a tentative smile. “From the moment I said yes to Dom, I knew he was the man for me.”
My heart does a little backwards somersault. What must that be like? To be sure ? To not walk through life riddled with doubts, waiting for the world as you know it to crumble around you? What a concept.
It’s bad enough having to live with those questions blaring at full volume in the back of my head. But even when I try to convince myself everything will be fine, I have a formal contract I can reexamine to remind myself which parts of my soul I’ve sold and what I can expect to get in return for them.
“Whatever’s going on between you and Arsen, I’m sure it’ll be okay in the end.” Kira gives me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “After all, he married you.”
“Did you ever meet Natascha? Because Arsen married her, too, and from what I understand, ‘okay’ wasn’t one of the words you’d use to describe their relationship.”
Kira waves that detail away like it’s nothing. “Natascha’s father practically forced her on him, and Arsen was a young gun who didn’t want to turn down the opportunity for an ally. But he never wanted kids with her, not even while they were married.”
Dominik may have told Kira that Arsen and I aren’t all we appear to be, but telling her my uterus was up for sale must’ve been a bridge too far. I ought to tell her the truth… but I can’t bring myself to wipe away the hopeful gleam in Kira’s eyes.
“I saw them together, Lai,” she adds. “He and Natascha were so cold and distant. But with you two, it’s different. He’s softer around you. Warmer. He touches you and looks at you every chance he gets. There’s a spark there that I can’t describe, but I feel it.”
I feel it, too.
Because when I get too close, I burn.
Oh, I’m burning alright.
Burning with anger and frustration and helplessness that no amount of swiping my shiny black credit card is going to help.
I’ve spent the last forty minutes surrounded by baby blankets and stuffed elephants and books I probably won’t be around to even read to my daughter. I have no idea why I thought this would help.
I thought organizing the nursery would make me feel better about *waves hands generally to encompass the entire cursed fucking situation that is my frankly unbelievable life* , but as soon as I started slicing into boxes, I realized what I’m actually doing here.
This is a desperate attempt to leave my mark. To leave some piece of myself behind, so that, even if I can’t be here with my daughter all the time, parts of me can. When Arsen looks around this room, he’s going to think of me. He’ll have no choice.
But it’s not enough.
Every time I think that Arsen and I are making some progress, he reminds me that there’s a contract in place and his kindness is nothing more than tolerance.
He can touch me. He can kiss me. He can fuck me how and when he pleases.
But the one time I reach for him—a simple hand on the leg—he shoves me off. Draws a line in the sand that I can’t cross, but later, when it suits him, he’ll do naked backflips over that same line.
The message is clear: It’s my way or no way at all.
Pretty sure that was a clause in that damn contract. Meh. I should have gone over it word by word. I should have had a lawyer look at it first. I should have negotiated.
In the event either party is a brooding asshole and the other party regrets selling their firstborn daughter, the second party may withdraw their consent, rip up the contract, and dance upon the ashes while the brooding asshole watches on… preferably with tears of yearning in his eyes.
But I didn’t and now, here I am, caught between a rock and a surly set of abs, spiraling in front of an audience of stuffies while pain flares in my hip.
I could go take my pills, but I did this to myself. I deserve this pain. So maybe I deserve to?—
“Laila.”
I whirl around to find Arsen standing in the doorway, his blank gaze trailing over the additions I’ve made.
“I decided to add a few new things to the nursery.” I blurt it out like an alibi. Like I’m actually stuffing illicit drugs in the stuffies to ship them over state lines. Not that Arsen would have much of an issue with that kind of thing…
Arsen’s eyes narrow as he shuts the door behind him. “Your hip hurts.”
“How do you know?”
He doesn’t bother answering. The tilt of his head says he knows everything about me without even having to ask. “You should take a break.”
He’s right, which makes everything worse. “I think I know my body better than you do.”
“Where did all of this stuff come from?” He looks around the nursery, stopping in front of the tapestry I hung over the crib. It’s a textured sunset, streaks of pink and purple in front of a golden sun.
“I have the right to buy my daughter things if I want to.”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “Someone’s looking for a fight tonight.”
“You look for a fight every other night, so I figured it was my turn.”
“I’m never looking for a fight with my pregnant wife,” he scoffs.
“Stop calling me your ‘wife.’ It’s a lie.”
“You’re tired, roza ?—”
“And stop acting like you know me!” I jab a finger at his chest. “I’m not your wife or your friend or your roza, whatever the hell that means. I’m not even the mother of your child, as far as you’re concerned. I’m just a means to an end.”
A vein in his forehead stands out in stark relief. It’s the only indication that anything I’ve said has had any impact on him.
“We’re here again, are we?”
Here again , he says. As if we ever left!
“Oh, silly me, I forgot I’m not allowed to have any regrets. I signed the contract and sealed my fate. Now, I just have to lie back—” I jab him again in the chest. “—and let you fuck me. In more ways than one.”
My finger is halfway to yet another jab when he grabs my hand and drags me towards him until my body is flush against his. “You signed that contract because I offered you everything you needed.” His green eyes simmer. “Money, security, care for your mother. What else do you want from me?”
It’s not a question. Not really. And Arsen doesn’t expect an answer, but I have one poised on the tip of my tongue.
Everything.
That’s what I want.
Everything.
I want you to kiss me like you mean it and then tell me you mean it afterwards just to be sure. I want you to make love to me while you look me in the eyes and then hold me afterwards just to be kind. I want to see you smile, not smolder, and I want to be able to pass you in the hall without having to hold my breath so your scent doesn’t invade my nostrils and make my brain do crazy, stupid things.
I want to be able to love you and be loved in return. That’s all. I want everything. Nothing more, nothing less.
Our eyes meet and hold, tension crackling between us… until one thought pops up in my head. It’s a thought that doesn’t belong in my head—truth be told, it sounds almost like I snatched it out of Arsen’s.
That’s what you want? the thought says. Very well. Then take it.
And before I can second-guess the instinct, I do.
I fist his shirt in my hands and drag his lips down to mine.
Always-prepared, never-taken-by-surprise Arsen stumbles, for just a second, as the kiss deepens and we wobble. Then he steadies himself, cradles my face with a growl deep in his chest, and presses my back against the wall.
I tear at the buttons of his shirt, and he shreds the collar of mine to press hot kisses to my chest and collarbone. His hair is silk in my hands, and I tug, directing him to my neck and my mouth. It feels good to take control. To channel all my anger into desire.
It feels like I’m stealing a small piece of him for myself.
I run my fingertips down to his abs. I can feel the gritty knots of his scars beneath my touch, like I’m reading the Braille of his life and it’s telling me all the things he refuses to say with his own lips.
I kiss my way along the exact paths my fingers went, following the line of his scar. Arsen falls forward, catching himself on the wall with a wordless snarl.
Before I can trail down to my knees, he lifts me back up and tries to turn me to face the wall.
But—
“No. Not like that. Not this time.”
Instead, I press against his shoulders until we’re on the floor, me straddling him with my knees around his hips.
If this is all I ever get of him, I’m going to take as much as I can.
The way he growls when I touch him— mine .
The way his dark eyes fill with desire when my hand slides between our bodies— mine .
I gather each and every strangled breath, tuck away the sight of his teeth clenching when I stroke him, and memorize the way his lips part when I lean close, almost like he wants this as much as I do. And for every perfect gesture I file away to keep me warm in the years to come, I save it with a single, rasped word: Mine, mine, mine.
One day way too soon, Arsen Adamov may take everything from me.
But right now, it’s my turn.
I slide onto him slowly, taking every inch of him until we’re sealed together. “Fuck.” The word is wrenched from between his gritted teeth. “Laila…”
I bite back his name, refusing to give him another piece of my soul. He’s taken enough. This is mine. I dig my nails into his chest and ride him hard.
Arsen cuffs his fingers around my wrists, looking into my eyes as I take and take, harder and faster, using him the same way he’s using me.
I hold off as long as I can, but finally, I close my eyes and come.
Arsen gasps, and I feel him twitch inside of me, but this isn’t about him. “You feel so good, roza .”
I don’t care.
I squeeze my eyes tighter, riding him until I shudder to a stop.
When I open my eyes, there’s blood on Arsen’s chest, little crimson half-moon cuts in the shape of my nails.
He looks at me in the silent moments after, and even though he says nothing, I feel it crumble. Everything I tried to squirrel away turns to dust that pours between my fingers before I can keep it safe.
Tears burn in the backs of my eyes as I climb off of him and get dressed. When I leave, he’s still on the floor, but I don’t look back.
Upstairs, I walk past his room and into mine.
I make sure to lock the door. I don’t want any visitors tonight.