20. Lindsey
20
LINDSEY
T he ring feels heavy on my finger as I sit silently in the back seat of the Escalade, surreptitiously studying the diamond. The center diamond is massive—maybe even three carats, if I had to guess—the halo pear cut is sophisticated and elegant, with the main jewel surrounded by smaller glistening stones and set in a delicate platinum band. I can’t imagine Maks had time or the inclination to go out and buy the ring yesterday. It looks like a statement piece—the kind of ring a man might buy the love of his life before he proposes, or maybe on a tenth anniversary—not a random bit of costume jewelry meant to convince a mobster I’ll stay quiet. I’ve never owned jewelry this bold or beautiful, and it makes my pulse race just to see it decorating my finger.
“It was my mother’s,” Maks says, his deep voice sending a shiver up my spine.
I tense, my fists clenching as I bury my hands in my lap. I hadn’t realized I was that obvious about admiring it. “It’s stunning,” I admit, glancing at him beside me.
His lips curve in a soft smile. “My father always did enjoy grand gestures—especially for my mother. I hope you don’t mind. It was what I could come up with on short notice.”
“I’ll take good care of it until I can give it back,” I assure him, my heart fluttering at the weight of its significance. Wearing it suddenly feels like a serious responsibility.
Emotion flashes across Maks’s face—so quickly I can’t quite read it before it’s gone. He gives a single nod of acknowledgment, then turns to watch the cars outside his window. The rest of the ride back to the penthouse is as painfully silent as it was on the way to the church, and as my discomfort builds, I can’t help but wonder if he already regrets marrying me. He doesn’t look very happy about it.
His driver opens the car door for me, and as I step out, Maks is there to walk me inside. He doesn’t place his hand on the small of my back, and I feel the absence of his touch in the bitter cold that sinks through the fabric of my dress, like an inverse print of his warm palm. I don’t even know that I want him to touch me, and yet, the fact that he doesn’t creates an aching inside me that knots my stomach.
“I didn’t plan anything special for dinner,” Maks says as we cross the lobby together. “But Lenka’s cooking, so I’m sure it’ll be good.”
“Her meals are always exceptional,” I assure him with a tight smile as we step onto the elevator.
The doors slide closed behind us, leaving me and Maks alone again, and the weight of my new title as his wife feels awfully surreal. All our interactions since yesterday have been strained, uncomfortable even, and stiffly formal. I don’t know if it’s because of what I did, what he did to me, or how we’ve left things after, but I get the feeling that he’s been avoiding me since Lucian came barging into his penthouse, and now, just talking about what’s for dinner on the night of our wedding makes me fidget. In all the time I’ve spent with Maks these past few months, nothing has felt less than natural—until now.
The penthouse hums with quiet expectation as we step off the elevator, and I hold my breath at the unnerving sensation that everything is different—even though it looks exactly the same. Someone came to replace the vase of flowers while we were gone, and the fresh bouquet is a beautiful blend of pastel pinks, blues, and yellows. The smell of searing meat makes my mouth water as we head through the living room toward the kitchen, both drawn by the tempting scent.
Lenka looks up with a smile, and her eyes grow round as she takes in my dress, then her gaze flicks down to the massive rock on my ring finger before she finds my face again. “You look lovely, Lindsey.” She glances curiously at Maks, her lips parting like she wants to say something else before she thinks better of it.
“Thanks, Lenka.”
I shift my attention to my new husband and fight the shudder that ripples through me when I find him looking at me. It’s not hard to read the meaning behind the heat in his eyes, the way they travel slowly down my body. He wants me—and the realization sends heat radiating through my body before I even have time to consider what it means. I want Maks too—I always want him. From the moment we first met eyes, I’ve been drawn to him.
But I’m still confused about what I want to do. I shouldn’t give in to my attraction to him, because he’s given me every indication that he doesn’t want me in a permanent sense. He only married me to get the Italians off his back. We might have exchanged rings and signed the papers, but Maks isn’t really my husband at all—not if the vows we shared today have any relevance to the title. We promised a lifetime of commitment, and I know that’s not what Maks wants.
I’m not sure I should want it either. I have a baby to think about now, and getting as far from Maks as I can might be the best way to protect our child— my child. He’s all but said so himself about when it comes to my safety, so why wouldn’t that apply to my baby? Besides, I still don’t know what to think about him punishing me like he did yesterday. I can handle the pain—to be perfectly honest with myself, I even enjoy being tied down and spanked. The rough sex and threats of punishment turn me on far more than I knew they could before Maks. But I really didn’t like the way he deprived me of an orgasm—when I didn’t know if he would ever let me come. It felt more like psychological torture than foreplay or the kind of punishment he’s given me before.
Heat climbing into my cheeks, I drop my eyes, unable to stand the way he’s looking at me. It’s setting my skin on fire, but I’m terrified to see what comes next. “I think I’ll change before dinner,” I murmur, wrapping my arms defensively around my stomach.
“Of course.” When I glance up at him through my lashes, his eyes shift lazily from my face, and his fingers dig at the collar of his dress shirt, loosening the tie around his throat. “Lenka, I think I’ll have a chilled vodka before dinner.”
As he heads toward the bar seating along the island, Lenka flashes me a look of confusion before she turns back to the kitchen to pour his drink.
Stepping out of my heels, I quickly stoop to grab them and pad down the hall, the hard marble cold and unforgiving on my bare feet. When I reach the bedroom, I close the doors and lean back against the sturdy wood, taking a moment to process. Now that I’m alone, the reality of my situation comes tumbling down around me, the consequences of my actions suddenly a daunting weight. I’m married. To Maksim Yashkov. Goosebumps ripple across my skin, and I close my eyes as I wrap my mind around that strange new reality. I never should have slept with him. But when I think about our first night together, the way he turned me on and set my soul on fire as he bent me over his desk, fresh heat pools in my belly. His touch is irresistible, addictive even, and that’s what got me into this mess.
If we hadn’t had sex, I wouldn’t have snuck out for a pregnancy test—I wouldn’t be pregnant at all—and Lucian never would have found out about me. Resting a palm on my stomach, I think about the life I’ll be bringing into this world. It’s not a question of if I want to keep my baby—only how I’m going to protect it. I’m terrified of failing at that task, and Maks’s words keep ringing in my ears, the stories about his mother, his sister, his niece. What if I have a girl? I don’t want her to grow up in a world like that—and neither does Maks, which is why he never intended to get married in the first place. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to solve the problem.
Sighing, I let my hand drop and push off the door to head to the closet. It takes some effort to unzip the dress on my own, but I don’t want to ask for help. I need time alone with my thoughts. I change from the beautiful silk dress into stretchy leggings and a soft, oversized blue knit sweater, adding a pair of cozy socks to the casual look. Then I head back out to face the uncomfortable silence.
“Dinner’s ready for you,” Lenka says from the kitchen sink, tipping her head in the direction of the dining table.
Maks is already sitting there, his jacket and tie removed and his collar unbuttoned. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing his tattooed forearms and making him look more comfortable but no less attractive. Maks in a tux might be the single sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and it makes my conflicting emotions all the more challenging to sort through.
“You want some wine?” he asks as I sink into the seat across from him.
“No, thank you.”
“Something harder?”
There’s an edge to his tone, like hard alcohol is the only way he’s going to get through what we did today, and a lump forms in my throat. A drink would be nice right about now. It might help the stiffness between us feel less awkward, but I can’t.
“No, I—I think I’ll just stick with water tonight. My stomach’s a bit unsettled.”
Maks’s eyebrows lift slightly, and my pulse jumps. I hope he doesn’t read into the symptom.
“Probably just raw from coffee without much food. I’m sure I’ll be fine after dinner.”
He nods and gestures to my plate, where a perfectly cooked steak sits nestled on a bed of mashed potatoes. The flash fried green beans beside it look mouthwatering, and I pick up my silverware, suddenly ravenous. A moan of pleasure rushes from me as I bite into the flavorful and tender cut of filet mignon. It’s rich and garlicky, making me think Lenka must have pan seared it in herbed butter. Resting my hands on the table, I take a minute to appreciate the art of her cooking as I chew.
Maks’s lips twitch in the ghost of a smile as he lifts a forkful to his mouth.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head, glancing down at his plate as if he’s not going to answer. And when he looks at me again, his eyes are intense. “You make a particular sound when you eat good food,” he notes. “It’s—well, I can tell you get pleasure from eating a nice meal.”
The heat in Maks’s gaze sets my skin on fire, and warmth crawls up my neck, pooling in my cheeks as I catch his underlying meaning. I must make the same sound in the bedroom—and it’s clearly turning him on. Heart thundering against my ribs, I focus on my plate of food, cutting another bite of steak and putting it in my mouth to buy more time to come up with an adequate response. But I don’t know what that would be. Just sitting near Maks, I feel drawn to him, but after what happened yesterday, I don’t know that I want to be with him. The hurt of how he treated me is like a dark shadow in the room, and as the silence stretches between us, the tension returns. The sound of silverware against the plates is all that breaks the quiet, and somehow, that makes it all the more obvious. It leaves the air feeling heavy, and I try to focus on enjoying the flavor of my food instead of the way Maks downs his drink in one smooth gulp.
“I’m heading out for the evening, sir,” Lenka says, glancing between us as she stands awkwardly in the doorway.
“Have a good night.”
She gives a last smile, and then Maks and I are truly alone for our wedding night. We manage to finish the meal in silence, neither of us trying to break it again.
“I’ll clean the dishes,” I suggest, standing to collect our empty plates.
“Thanks.” Maks stands as well, taking our glasses, and he leaves me at the kitchen sink as he takes his suit jacket and heads to the bedroom.
By the time I follow him, he’s already changed into a pair of gray joggers and a black T-shirt that clings to his shoulders and chest, showing off his muscular arms. Rather than put on one of his T-shirts I usually sleep in, I keep on my leggings and sweater as I brush my teeth. But I can’t stop glancing at the bed we’ve been sleeping in together for the past month. I’ve long since moved past putting up a pillow barrier, and though I could reestablish that line, I’m not sure I trust it will solve the tumultuous anxiety roiling inside me, the fear and anticipation of what Maks might expect on our wedding night—what I might do if I let my guard down. He never came to bed last night, so it didn’t become an issue, but now, it feels like the elephant in the room. Spitting my toothpaste into the sink, I finish rinsing my mouth and come to lean against the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom.
I watch him hang his suit jacket in the closet, and my pulse flutters as I find the nerve to speak my mind. “I think I would rather you chain me in the guest room tonight if you’re worried I might run,” I state.
Maks tenses, his shoulders bunching before he turns to look at me.
“I don’t want to sleep in the same bed,” I add, heat flooding my cheeks.
His blue eyes are surprisingly soft as he studies my face, then nods slowly. “I understand.” Releasing a heavy breath, he steps out of the closet, his movements careful as he approaches me. “I went too far yesterday. I let my frustration get the better of me—but it’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have pushed you that hard.”
It’s as close to an apology as I think I’ll ever get, and as I look up at him, I can see the sincerity of his regret. He didn’t mean to hurt me, but he did take things too far, and while I’m not trying to punish him over it, I can see the pain in his eyes. My heart skips a beat as he stops in front of me, his expression grave. For a second, I think he’s going to touch me, and my breath catches in anticipation. When he doesn’t make a move, my chest aches with an unexpected sense of rejection.
“I won’t chain you in the guest room,” he decides. “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor by the door.”
His tone is gentle, his words understanding, but clearly he still doesn’t trust me if he intends to sleep on the floor to make sure I won’t escape, and that stings. I have to blink back tears as I nod, and I turn away quickly before he can notice. From the corner of my eye, I watch as Maks collects his pillow and several blankets from the armoire. Tossing them onto the floor, he settles in for what looks like an uncomfortable night of sleep, and I wonder if our relationship ever had a chance of being real when neither of us seems capable of trusting the other.