Chapter 36
ROSALIE
TWO WEEKS UNTIL THE WEDDING . . .
Icouldn’t help but wonder how much Dimitri was getting paid. It was a curious thought that kept nagging at me, especially considering what he was doing—or rather, what he wasn’t doing.
The man just sat there on the couch all day long. He was completely absorbed in scrolling through the channels on the TV, and rather than using my time productively, I found myself sitting beside him.
My initial intention was to get some wedding planning done and send a few things to Daisy, maybe even read a book, but Dimitri’s mindless channel-surfing pulled me in.
Five o’clock had come and gone in what felt like the blink of an eye. Before I knew it, it was seven o’clock. Time was nothing but grains of sand slipping through my fingers.
Max had told me he’d be home for dinner by eight—a plan we’d made as he couldn’t meet me for breakfast this morning.
“Can you help me cook dinner?” I asked Dimitri as I sprung up from the couch, searching for a distraction. “A nice one, for Max. He’ll be home soon.”
Dimitri looked at me strangely, like the idea of him cooking was a foreign concept. His beard was large, almost comically so, making his slim facial features seem out of proportion. “Doesn’t Max have someone for that? I think her name is Bianca or something.”
“Well, she’s not here, is she?”
Dimitri groaned, glancing down at his phone to check the time. “Nah, probably not.”
“Okay,” I said, my voice light. “Then can you help me?”
“Oh,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I can’t cook, but if you need anything else, you let me know.”
My eyes rolled almost involuntarily. His attitude was starting to grate on my nerves. “Can you chop some onions or boil some noodles?” I asked, hoping for just a little bit of assistance.
Dimitri shook his head, darting his eyes around the room. “Onions make me cry, and the steam from the pot gives me a headache,” he muttered.
I stood there wondering if the man could do anything at all. He was utterly useless. It was as if he were looking for every excuse he could find not to join me. His reluctance seemed almost personal. Why was it such an insufferable thought to him to spend time with me?
Taking a deep breath, I decided to do it without him.
I gathered the ingredients, set the pot on the stove, and began chopping onions alone. The persistent sound of the knife against the cutting board seemed to annoy Dimitri. I could see it in the way his eyes twitched with every chop.
Good.
I chopped some more.
Then he got off the couch and walked into the kitchen. “I swear, we’d better finish this before Max gets here. I don’t need to hear it from him.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the realization. Dimitri didn’t want to cook dinner for Max. The thought was amusing—Max coming home to find Dimitri in the kitchen cooking his dinner. The image was so far out of character for him.
“I gotta be honest with you, I think Max would get a laugh out of this,” I said, imagining his reaction.
“I’d never hear the end of it.”
To my surprise, Dimitri helped more than I thought he would.
He diced the tomatoes, stirred the sauce, and even managed to cook the pasta without fussing about the steam.
It was almost . . . fun? I started to see him as someone I could laugh with.
He spoke about his wife, Anya, almost every time he opened his mouth.
He loved his family and took so much pride in talking about them, especially his daughters.
When I suggested he wear an apron, he didn’t hesitate. He let me tie it around his neck, and we both got a laugh out of that. He even pulled out his phone and sent a picture to his wife, grinning from ear to ear.
We continued to laugh as we got to know one another. That is, until Max appeared in the doorway.
Dimitri jumped up suddenly, startled by Max’s entrance. His elbow knocked the open container in my hand. A huge pile of salt landed right in the middle of the sauce. I stared at it in disbelief, watching the crystals dissolve into what was supposed to be dinner.
Shit.
Dimitri’s eyes widened, and he frantically tore at the apron, trying to take it off as fast as he could. The fabric tangled around his neck. His panic only seemed to make things worse.
Why did everything have to go wrong at once?
I tried to suppress my laughter.
Unfortunately, Dimitri didn’t manage to take off the apron fast enough. Max had already entered the kitchen. He took one look at Dimitri and gave him a blank stare.
“Did you make me dinner, Dimitri?”
I looked down, biting my lip to keep from laughing out loud. I loved how grumpy he could be.
“Me?” Dimitri questioned, pointing to himself with a look of pure bewilderment. “No, I wouldn’t do something like that—why would I do something like that?”
I couldn’t hold it in any longer and laughed as I moved the food to the plate. My hands trembled, making it difficult to hold the pot still.
Max saw me struggling. He reached around me, holding the pot steady as I scooped out the rest of the noodles. His free hand rested just above my ass, his fingers grazing the small of my back.
I could feel the heat of his body through his shirt, his breath warm against my ear. “I thought we weren’t doing the whole prudish Victorian thing?”
I swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand, but his closeness was distracting. “We’re not.”
The sound of loud chatter filled the house the moment the front door swung open. I looked up from the stove and saw Mikhail and Lev, another one of his men, walking inside. They were arguing about something that didn’t concern me.
Mikhail’s voice cut through the air. “And I’m telling you, Lev, it’s not going to work like that. You need to think it through.”
Lev followed behind Mikhail quickly. He was tall, his strides just as wide as Mikhail’s. His hair was dark and wavy, his hazel eyes sharp and observant. “And I’m saying you’re overcomplicating it. We need to keep it simple.”
Their debate continued as they walked further into the house. “Sorry,” Max whispered in my ear, his breath causing goose bumps to trail across my arm. “I told them we could have a drink.”
I turned my head, meeting his eye. “That’s great, actually,” I said with a smile. “I made too much anyway. Tell them to stay.”
As I glanced back at the simmering pot, I crossed my fingers behind my back, silently hoping the food wasn’t too salty for them to eat. Dimitri just had to ruin it by being a careless klutz.
Max glared at me, his eyes narrowing in frustration. “No.”
“Why?” I asked, confused.
“Lev annoys me,” he said in a low voice.
Everyone annoyed Max. His patience was thin for anyone but me.
I shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll survive. Besides, he couldn’t possibly be any worse than you.”
Max sighed deeply, but he didn’t argue further.
I forced a smile. “Help me set the table, would you?”
Reluctantly, he helped me put more plates on the table, though it was clear he wasn’t too happy about it.
I took a seat next to Max. Mikhail leaned back in his chair across from us, already drinking from a glass full of vodka, his laughter filling the room as he shared some joke with Lev. Max, on the other hand, took a bite of the food I’d prepared. His chewing was slow and methodical.
It was too salty . . . I knew it.
Lev then took a bite, followed by Mikhail and Dimitri. Each of them glanced at Max, seeking his approval before they said anything. Max gave them a stern look that clearly communicated they should keep their mouths shut if they didn’t like it.
“How is it?” I asked, testing Max’s control over the others. I wondered if they’d be honest.
“Oh, so good,” Mikhail said, forcing a smile as he washed it down with a generous gulp of vodka. His eyes widened slightly as the strong drink burned its way down his throat, but he managed to keep a straight face for the most part.
“Delicious . . .” Lev mumbled, scooping some of the noodles onto the plate with exaggerated enthusiasm. He wasn’t convincing, but he kept his eyes on Max, clearly afraid to voice any criticism.
It was obvious they were scared of Max—afraid to tell the truth. I couldn’t help but find the situation amusing. These men, usually so tough and strong, had been reduced to nervous schoolboys under Max’s watchful eye.
That made me smile just a tiny bit.
Later, as I was heading up to bed, Max stopped me at the bottom of the stairs.
“Rosalie,” he called, his voice carrying a hint of urgency that made me pause.
I turned to face him, noticing his serious expression. “Yes?” I replied, my curiosity piqued. I wondered if he was going to thank me for the dinner I’d cooked, even if the sodium levels were a health risk.
But he didn’t. Instead he said, “Don’t forget about the engagement dinner. You’re not finding a way out of this. Friday. Six o’clock.” His words were quick and demanding, the urgency in his voice unmistakable. “And Rosalie?”
“Hmm?” I replied, the sound barely more than a hum of acknowledgment.
“Do not make me wait.”