Chapter 53
AMALIE
“Come. We are nearly there.”
The mansion is quiet. It’s softer. Settled.
Sasha’s down for the night. Roman doesn’t say where we’re going. Instead, he takes my hand and leads me down a corridor I’ve never noticed before. The walls are bare, aside from the occasional wall-mounted lighting. We stop in front of a door at the very end. The lights are on inside.
“What is this place?” I ask. “And why is it so empty?”
“It is empty because, until now, there has been no one to occupy it.” He gestures toward the bare walls. “These will need your touch, of course. If you find some pieces that catch your eye, decorate as you see fit.”
My jaw nearly drops. I think about the other hall, the one with the priceless, incredible art. When Roman says, “decorate as you see fit,” he doesn’t mean picking out stuff from Etsy. He means create another wing of his private museum. Our private museum.
“I will definitely do that,” I say, forcing down my shock.
“Good. But that will be a project for another time. This room is what I wanted to show you.” With that, he opens the door.
When I realize what it is, I stand in the doorway, stunned, my brain struggling to catch up with my eyes. “An art studio,” I whisper.
“Your art studio.”
I swallow and step inside. Canvases—all different sizes and textures—line the walls. A long worktable sits with jars filled with brushes sorted by type and palettes laid out ready to be worked from. Shelves are stacked with paints, charcoals and clays.
My throat tightens. “These are mine,” I say softly, my gaze landing on a metal slide ruler I’ve had since college.
“I had Andrei and some of my men gather what we could from your apartment. Whatever else you need, we can bring over tomorrow. And the lighting can be adjusted. You’re always talking about the importance of light.”
I turn slowly in a circle, taking it all in. I notice a desk in the corner—sleek, practical, loaded with office supplies and what looks like the latest iMac, with a brand new MacBook docked next to it.
“I figured you would need a private work space for all of the responsibilities with the Artists’ Studio. Whatever else you need, just tell me, and I will provide it.”
I press a hand to my mouth. Never in my life did I think I would work in this kind of room. And it’s all mine.
“I wanted you to have a private space. Not borrowed, not temporary. Your own studio to do with as you see fit. Naturally, you will have another office at the Artist Studio.”
I turn to him, totally clueless as to what I should say. “Roman, I… you didn’t have to—”
He shakes his head. “I did,” he interrupts gently. “Because you chose me. Because you chose my son. Because you chose a future with us in it.”
My heart clenches.
“And there is more,” he says, gesturing toward my desk and a manila folder sitting on top.
“Sit,” he says.
I do, watching as he steps over to the desk and retrieves the folder, bringing it to me. I open it, not sure what to expect.
“Legal documents?” I look up at him, then review them.
They are very precise and packed with legalese. There’s not much I understand other than “trust,” “Barinov Holdings,” and my name.
My head snaps up when I realize what I’m looking at. “This is—”
“It’s a trust I created, in your name, with some of the profits from the IPO. This is yours, to do with as you see fit.”
My jaw nearly hits the floor when I turn the page and land on the value. “Roman, this—”
He raises his hand. “Is yours. Not another word. I wanted you to have something all to yourself. And if you ask me, that money was earned—this IPO would not have gone through without you. And you don’t need to worry about your mother’s medical bills, either. Those were handled this morning.”
“How did you…” I trail off. It’s a silly question to ask. It’s Roman. Of course he would know about her outstanding medical bills.
All the same, that does it. Tears spill out before I can stop them.
“I never asked for…”
“I know. But that doesn’t matter. This is your life now, should you want it.” He takes the folder and places it back on the desk. “Please, take time with a lawyer tomorrow and learn what’s here before you sign. I want you completely informed.”
He turns with something new in his hand. “There is something else I want to ask you, something I would like a more immediate answer to.”
He steps closer, in his hand a small velvet box.
My heart stutters.
Roman lowers himself to one knee. “Amalie Denning. I love you. I am goddamned ashamed that it’s taken me so long to say those words.
I promise you that I will never hold back saying them again.
I cannot predict the future, my love, but I can tell you this—you will never face it alone. Will you marry me?”
He opens the box. The ring is simple, elegant, perfect.
I’m crying and laughing a little now, nodding before the word is spoken. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, Roman. Of course I will.”
He stands and pulls me into his arms, kissing me with the passion of knowing this is the beginning of something new and wonderful.
The kiss is soft at first, then deepens. Roman lifts me with effortless strength, setting me on the edge of the wide worktable. My legs part and he steps in between them, hands framing my face.
“I love you,” he says.
“And I love you.” God, it feels so good, so right to say.
His hands slide down my sides reverently, urgently. My dress is pushed up, panties pulled down. He drops to his knees again, but for a different purpose altogether, one that puts a devilish little grin on my lips.
His tongue finds me in that perfect way it always does, tracing every fold with adoration. I gasp, slipping my fingers into his hair. Roman licks deeper, sucking on my clit just the way I like it, the rhythm building.
“I want to taste you every day for the rest of my life,” he growls against my thigh. “And I will never tire of it.”
Two fingers slide inside just right, curling and hitting that perfect place. Pleasure coils, and before I know it I’m right on the cusp of orgasm.
“Roman—”
He looks up, eyes dark and shining. “Come for me, love. Let me taste you.”
The words shatter me. I arch, crying out as the orgasm rolls through me in long, gentle waves. Roman works me through it, his tongue lashes softer now, his suckles slower, more loving, like he’s more focused on savoring how I taste.
When he’s wrung every last bit of pleasure out of me, he stands, undoing his belt with those big, gorgeous hands of his. His cock springs free—thick and hard, pre-cum on the tip, making me lick my lips. He steps forward, guiding himself to my entrance, rubbing his head against my wetness.
“I love you,” he says again.
I’ll never get tired of hearing those words.
He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, eyes locked onto mine. The stretch is pure heaven, as always, and I wrap my legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. We both groan when he bottoms out, hips pressed against mine.
He leans in and kisses my shoulder as he pushes in and out with long, measured thrusts that drag over every sensitive spot.
Roman’s hands move all over my body, cupping my breasts through my dress, his thumbs teasing my nipples before sliding down with both palms to grip my hips and hold me steady as he drives into me.
“I love every bit of you,” he says. “Every curve. Every breath. All of you.”
Tears prick my eyes again. “I love you too. So much.”
He kisses me hard, swallowing my moans. The pace stays steady, sensual, building slowly, another orgasm rising. His hand slips down, fingers circling my clit in perfect time to his thrusts.
“Roman, I’m so close.”
“Me too. Come with me, my love. Together.”
I nod, clinging to him. The wave crests. It’s powerful, my walls fluttering around him as I come with a quiet cry. He follows instantly, thrusting deep, spilling hot and thick inside of me. He groans as his cock pulses, hips grinding as he makes sure I take every last drop.
When we’re done, we stay like that, joined, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. Roman wraps his arms around me, holding me close. I can feel his heart pounding against mine.
“I love you,” he whispers once more.
“And I love you. Always.”
He kisses me slowly. The studio lights glow softly around us, the future ahead wide and promising.