Chapter 13
My head spins as I try to collect my breath.
Emilio makes sure I’m steady before stepping out of the shower.
Goose bumps prick my skin as I bend down to grab the towel and wrap it around myself.
I count to ten, praying Emilio leaves the bathroom, but he doesn’t.
Sighing, I step out of the shower, holding the towel tight, and search my brain for the right words to say.
You can leave now.
Thanks for the orgasm, but I still don’t like you.
Luckily, he starts the conversation for me.
“Your dinner is on the nightstand,” he says, suddenly back to business.
Like what happened in the shower was nothing to him.
“You need to eat.” Without offering me another glance, he leaves the bathroom.
I hurriedly dry myself before shrugging on my pink cashmere robe. Tying it around my waist, I stomp into the bedroom. Emilio is seated on the edge of my bed, typing on his phone.
He stops when he notices me, slips his phone into his pocket, and jerks his head toward the nightstand. “Eat, Liliya.”
“I’ll eat when I damn well please,” I snarl.
He massages his temples. “I already drew blood from one Morozova today. I don’t mind doing the same with another.”
“What?” I suck in a breath. “Did you hurt Dasha?”
“Negative.” He gives his temples another stroke before dropping one hand and rubbing his dark brow with the other.
“Then which Morozova did you draw blood from?”
“Your dumbass brother.”
I inch closer. “What’d you do?”
“Relax, wife.” He says the last word as if he’d just tried my sandwich and it was nasty.
“Did you hurt my brother?”
“It was a small nick.” He makes a show of scratching his neck. “If I were you, I’d be happy every time something negative happened to your brother, considering he sold you out.”
“He didn’t sell me out.”
“He sold you to me.”
“Buying a woman isn’t the flex you think it is.”
“It’s a better flex than being the purchase.” He stands from the bed. “Now, why are you making me waste my time, coming up here to make sure you don’t starve yourself like a fucking child?”
“I don’t have an appetite.”
Since moving into my new home, I’ve yet to eat anything.
It’s not from stubbornness—okay, it’s somewhat out of stubbornness—but mainly from my nervous system in overdrive. When I’m stressed, I don’t eat.
“Too bad.” He motions toward the plate. “Eat.”
I stay in place.
“Fine, have it your way.” He sits back on the bed. “I’m not leaving this room until you eat. And I’m a fucking night owl, Liliya.”
I glare at him before stomping toward the nightstand and snatching the plate. Instead of sitting on the bed, I plop down on the floor, sitting cross-legged. Emilio’s gaze stays glued to me as I pick up the turkey sandwich.
When I told Maggie I didn’t want dinner, she made me a turkey sandwich, saying it was there in case I got hungry.
I cup the sandwich tight in my hand before pointing it toward Emilio. “I don’t like people watching me while I eat. Look at your phone or something.”
He makes a show of intensely watching me. “That’s your own damn fault. Eat when you’re supposed to, and I won’t have to waste my time watching you.”
I pretend to mock him before taking a massive bite of my sandwich. I finish the thing in just four bites. Bites so big that it takes me a couple of tries to swallow them down.
When I’m finished, Emilio stands. “Good girl.” He taps my head as if I were a dog while walking past me. “It seems that if I want you to follow my authority, I just need to make you come. Duly noted.”
He leaves the bedroom, and I flip the door off.
Two hours later, my phone rings.
Unknown Number.
I hurriedly answer. “Hello?”
“Liliya,” Dasha says on the other line. “I need your help.”