21. Chapter Twenty-One
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
V iktor
I helped Tiffany out of the bed. “Let’s clean you up and get you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” she replied.
Right on cue, her stomach grumbled to protest her lie.
“Did you hear that sound?”
Confused, she looked around. “What?”
“It sounds like a bear who didn’t get enough food before hibernating for the winter.”
Her eyes blinked slowly. “Wait, what?”
“Your stomach.”
She still looked like she did not know what I was talking about.
“You’re hungry, milyy. Your stomach is growling.”
“No, it’s not. I would have heard my stomach growling.” She blushed. “You know it’s not polite to point out a lady’s bodily noises.”
I kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll get you some new clothes to wear. In the meantime, hop in the shower and clean up. I’ll make you breakfast after.”
I left the bathroom and went back into the bedroom. I grabbed a robe for her, then reentered the bathroom without knocking. I was stunned by the sight in front of me.
Tiffany was a wet vision, her dark skin beading water as she slowly rinsed off. I noticed she protected her hair from the water. Didn’t women love washing their hair all the time?
“You’re not going to wash your hair?”
“Not today,” she replied. “It would take forever to dry, and I just don’t want to deal with it.”
“What nationality are you?” I knew she was American, but I wanted to know more about her roots.
“Dominican. I was adopted by an older couple who couldn’t have children. But they’re gone now.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
She shook her head before shutting off the water. “You didn’t. I miss them, but it’s for the best.”
For the best? The way she said it made me suspect she was the one who’d seen them out. “How did they die?”
“Poison. But the cause of death was listed as fire, I’m sure.”
I would have pressed for more information, but she then stepped around the glass wall and onto the mat, looking at me expectantly. When I didn’t move, because my eyes were too busy eating up her exposed body, she cleared her throat.
“Can you hand me a towel?” she asked.
Fumbling, I handed the closest one over to her. I could feel my ears growing hot when I saw it was a hand towel, rather than a full-sized bath towel. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and just started using it to dry off her skin.
“I brought you a robe.”
She smiled, picked up the fabric, and smelled it. “It’s yours.”
I nodded.
After she put her robe on, I escorted her to the kitchen and helped her into a chair. I knew her ass and pussy were sore, so I retrieved some painkillers and a glass of juice, both of which I set in front of her.
“Would you like a full Russian breakfast?” I returned to the stove and the meal I abandoned earlier.
“You can cook?”
I nodded. “Is that so strange?”
She laughed. “Well, who would’ve thought a powerful man like yourself would know how to do anything domestic for himself?”
“I learned from the chefs my family hired, and made sure I could fend for myself.”
“Will it disappoint you to know I do not know my way around a kitchen?”
“Not at all.”
If the jars of dicks showed anything, her talents in a kitchen were not completely lacking. She knew how to butcher and cure meat, as well as dry plants for long-term storage.
When Tiffany smiled, it was almost hard to concentrate on our conversation. What were we discussing again?
“Breakfast,” my mother’s ghost replied.
That’s right. “So back to the question: do you want a full Russian breakfast?”
She shook her head. “Some toast would be fine, and maybe some water.”
Bread and water?
I arched an eyebrow. “Do we need to revisit the conversation from the freezer?”
“No, please,” she murmured in a pout. “I learned my lesson.”
Her face had changed color slightly. I think she was blushing, and it was the most endearing thing I’d ever seen. Even after giving all her virginities to me, she was still so fucking innocent.
“Tell me about yourself,” I offered as she sat down.
Tiffany’s eyes locked onto mine as I placed butter, and a variety of jams and jellies, in front of her. I would give her the toast, but she would be adding more to it. I even got the Nutella out.
“How about you go first,” she suggested.
After laying down sliced fruit on the table, I went about making her toast. “I think you already know my darkest secret.”
“That you are in the mafia?”
“Bratva,” I corrected.
“Tomato, tomahto,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand.
“No, it’s not,” I grumbled, slightly irritated.
But she plowed on, seemingly unfazed. “Why did you tell me? Won’t you have to kill me now?” Her eyes widened in mock alarm. “Is that what this is? I’m way too pretty to die.”
I could tell she was fucking with me, but I was not in the mood. “No. Now I have to marry you.”
The atmosphere in the kitchen instantly changed.
“We’re really going to do that?” she asked quietly.
“This afternoon. Someone will be here shortly to fit you for clothes.”
“Then I would like to skip breakfast.”
“No.”
The rebellion in her dark eyes glared as bright as a supernova. “I guess we’re not getting married today.”
“We are,” I countered. “I have arranged everything. We cannot delay this.”
She rose to her feet. “I said–”
I hit the table with my palm. “You no longer get a say, milyy. You will eat, then we’re getting married. And so help me God, Tiffany, if you make this difficult, I will be your worst nightmare.”
She narrowed her gaze and twisted her vintage ring. “Are you threatening me, Viktor?”
“I am.” The quiet declaration was punctuated by the ding of the toaster. “And if you think what you’ve endured the last twenty-four hours was painful, then imagine what I can do when I’m really angry.”
I spun and stalked over to the toaster before adding, “Even if you force my hand as you like to do, note that we will still be married when it’s all said and done. So spare yourself my wrath and just fucking behave.” I returned to the table and practically threw the plate on the table. “Now sit your ass down and eat.”
I couldn’t tell if Tiffany was going to burst into tears, or attempt to murder me with the butter knife. She kept eyeing where it laid on the butter dish. Then, to my utter surprise, she actually did what I told her. With a heavy sigh, she sat down.
This woman really made me ride the emotional rollercoaster with her. Considering that neither of us were emotional types, I pondered the meaning of such a thing.
I should have just shot her.
“She’s good for you,” my mom piped up.
Tiffany picked up a piece of toast and nibbled on it. So I snatched it out of her hand, practically put half a container of Nutella on it, added sliced apples and strawberries, then held it in her face.
“Open your mouth,” I ordered.
She looked up at me with watery eyes, and my heart hurt for her. I knew many women had terrible relationships with food, but I would not allow my woman to be one of them.
“You will never have to diet for me, Tiffany. You’re beautiful. You could go up four dress sizes or more, and I’d still feel the same way.”
Two tears spilled over her bottom lashes and rolled down her cheeks. “Promise?”
“I swear it on the life of our future son, the heir that you will soon bear for me.”
I watched her shoulders relax in relief. She offered a small smile then opened her mouth to take a bite. When she chewed and swallowed, I sat down next to her and fed her by hand.
I was a little relieved too. I really liked Tiffany. I didn’t want to fight with her. But I needed her to let me lead. I needed her to obey me without question. Both our lives depended on this.