Chapter 37
MELANI
Vanya is gone when I wake up. Again.
I frown at his side of the bed when I don’t see a note like the one he left yesterday.
Did he forget… or is he still somewhere in the suite?
My thighs quake as I roll out of bed, the ache between them a sharp reminder of the way he worked my body last night. My nipples are swollen and oversensitive from how he pinched and twisted them with those wicked fingers, and I wince every time they brush my blouse. Shit.
He wrecked me thoroughly and then opened himself up to me.
My stomach flutters at the memory. Vanya doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who bares his soul to just anybody.
And yet last night he did. For me. I pad to the bathroom and pull open the drawer where the toothbrushes are and blink in surprise when I see my birth control pills now tucked there as well.
He must have brought them in here sometime between when I fell asleep last night and this morning.
I take the packet and place it on the edge of the sink so I won’t forget to take one and catch myself smiling at my own reflection.
Stop it. I’ve got things to do. As I brush my teeth, plans churn through my mind.
How do I get myself to that warehouse this weekend?
How do I throw his men off my scent? Sure, the elevator card I took last night might help, but how do I stop them from calling Vanya to confirm whatever excuse I come up with?
I spit into the sink and rinse my mouth.
Then I take the birth control pills with me back to the bedroom and drop them on the table to take after eating.
That’s when I notice another dress folded on the nightstand—just like yesterday.
My heart races. Is Vanya leaving dresses out for me to wear?
I run my hand over the soft emerald fabric. The color would look stunning against my skin. Still… I need to confirm it’s really from him. I make a mental note to ask him later as I drift towards the door. That’s when I hear the voices. Curious, I crack it just enough to peek outside.
“I got a call from Jorge. He’s been trying to reach Luka and Mr. Petrov, but can’t get through to them.
He sounded pretty urgent,” a man says to Boris, who’s fiddling with something on the coffee table.
They’re both sitting on the sofa with their backs to Vanya’s door, which is why they haven’t noticed me.
“Luka specifically said they shouldn’t be interrupted. Do you have any idea what’s at stake and what’s coming up this weekend? Tell Jorge if it’s that important, he should come here and speak to Mr. Petrov in person when he gets back home.”
“But—”
“Or you can call them yourself,” Boris cuts him off. “Your head, your choice.”
Someone out of my line of sight snickers, and the guy being scolded shoots an annoyed glare towards the direction of the front door.
Heart pounding, I ease the bedroom door shut. I want to hear more, but lingering long enough to get caught eavesdropping would be stupid.
So Vanya isn’t in the suite after all.
My lips twist. Wherever Vanya and Luka are, they’ve told the men not to disturb them. Which means they’re already in planning mode. Already making decisions about this weekend without me. My heart pangs at the thought, but I shove the feeling aside and hurry into the ensuite to take a quick shower.
A strategy starts forming in my mind as I wash myself, and by the time I step out and reach for a towel, it has solidified into something I might actually pull off.
I slip into the emerald dress and go to check my reflection in the closet mirror—then wish I hadn’t. Because the last time I stood in front of this mirror, Vanya was behind me with his hands on my body and his voice in my ear and—Keep looking.
A shiver runs through me, my sensitive nipples tightening against the fabric. God. I force myself to shove him out of my head and focus on the woman staring back at me instead.
As I expected, the color looks amazing against my skin.
Still, I frown as I study my reflection.
I look different from the girl I was before getting a job at Zvezda and meeting Vanya.
So different. My face is softer, fuller.
My breasts too. My whole body, really. The hollow look is gone.
Well… that’s bound to happen when I’m eating three delicious meals a day while being locked up in this hotel suite where I don’t have to lift a finger.
No exercise, no stress, nothing. I tilt my head, my hair falling to the side with the movement.
Hell, even my hair looks different. Shinier, with some actual body to it.
I turn away from the mirror before I can spend too long thinking about it, and I’m halfway back to the bedroom when there’s a knock and the door opens.
Boris walks in carrying the most extravagant bouquet of roses I’ve seen in my life.
Deep red, probably over three dozen of them, wrapped in dark paper.
My brows knit as he heads towards the dining area with them. “What’s this?”
For the first time since I’ve known him, he offers me a small smile. “I was asked to deliver these as soon as you woke up.” His eyes drop to my dress, and the smile tips into mild reproach. “I see I’m a little late.”
“It’s fine.” I brush the comment aside as I walk towards the bouquet, my heart already beating faster. I don’t need to ask who the flowers are from. That part is obvious.
“I’ll be back with your breakfast soon,” he says, stepping away from the table.
“Actually, that won’t be necessary. I’m not eating in here today,” I say as I lift the bouquet. This is the first time anyone has given me flowers. It’s heavier than I expected, the sheer fullness of the arrangement filling my arms.
“What?” Boris sounds confused, but I simply wave him off.
“We’ll talk about that later.”
He hesitates for a moment, then leaves the room, the door closing quietly behind him.
I find a small envelope tucked into the stems and pull it free, setting the bouquet down to open it. The note inside is folded once, his handwriting slanted and uneven, like he wrote it quickly and didn’t stop to reconsider a single word.
Milani,
You got me fucked up in ways I don’t know how to write about. Didn’t like leaving you this morning even though I had to.
Fucked up.
The flower’s stupid, but I wanted you to have something.
Hope you like roses? Let me know tonight.
Last night… don’t forget it. Stay put, stay safe.
I read it once. Then again. Then a third time, running the pad of my finger over the ink like I can absorb something from the impression of it.
My chest aches in the best and worst way simultaneously.
It’s sweet and pulls at my heartstrings, but it doesn’t erase the fact that he’s out there right now planning a move he intends to make without me.
Does he think things got resolved, and I would really just stay here because he told me to? He said I have sway over him. That I have a measure of power. And maybe that’s a little true. Well, I’m about to find out if his men think the same way.
I fold the note back into the envelope and set it on the table. Then I lift the roses to my face and breathe them in, eyes closing for one self-indulgent second.
Later, I tell myself. Fall apart about this later.
I carry the roses out of the bedroom with the elevator card already tucked into my bra strap—the emerald dress has no pockets, which is a crime—and the men glance up from various positions around the suite as I appear.
“I need a vase for my flowers,” I announce before anyone can say anything. “Is there one here?”
“Not really,” one of them answers.
“Well, guess I’ll have to improvise.” I make my way to the kitchen and start opening cabinets until I find something that might work. A glass pitcher, wide-mouthed and clear.
I rinse it in the sink, then carefully unwrap the paper around the bouquet and place the roses inside, stems first. The flowers stand tall.
Too tall. So I pull them back out and start rummaging through the cabinets again.
That’s when Boris materializes beside me, crouches by the cabinet beneath the sink, and takes out a pair of scissors.
“Thank you,” I say when he hands them to me. I trim a few inches off the stems and rearrange the flowers until they sit at a reasonable height. It’s not perfect—a proper vase would be better—but it has a certain charm, a too-full, overflowing quality that suits them.
“That looks nice,” says one of the men—Kieran, I think—from behind Boris.
I glance over with a quick smile. A small audience has gathered while I was working.
“Should I have your breakfast brought up now?” Boris asks, and my stomach grumbles in response, but I shake my head.
“Actually, I’d like to have my breakfast in the restaurant downstairs this morning.” I keep my voice easy, matter-of-fact. “The one on the ground floor.”
Boris stares at me like I’ve just suggested walking straight into traffic. His eyes nearly bulge out of his skull. “I beg your—”
“Don’t worry, Vanya already approved it.” I slide the elevator card out of my bra strap and wave it in front of his nose. “He didn’t mention it to you? Silly. But then again, he has a lot on his mind these days, poor thing.”
Boris’s brows pull together, and I can practically see the conflict flashing in his eyes—torn between believing me and following his standing orders.
“If you don’t believe me, feel free to call Vanya,” I bluff, pretending to blow out a frustrated breath.
I’m betting on what I overheard earlier and hoping he’ll be reluctant to disturb him.
Sure enough, Boris winces. “You have no reason to lie. I’ll assign a few men to go down with us.”
Triumph surges through my veins. It’s hard not to grin, but I swallow the urge. Not yet. This is just the first stage. A test run to build trust so it won't seem suspicious when I demand to go down for lunch on the day of the meeting.
“Of course. That’s exactly what Vanya and I agreed to. You know how protective he can be,” I say lightly.