Chapter 12
Galina
Ihold his gaze and force myself not to look away.
I had been raised by monsters. I know exactly what they look like. The more dangerous question is whether he understands what it means to marry one.
He is close enough that I can feel the heat of him, close enough that the question sits between us like a loaded gun. He asks it plainly, and that is worse than if he had dressed it up. No excuses. No lies. No attempt to make himself prettier for me.
A monster.
He is waiting for an answer, so I give him the only one I can.
“I can live with what you are,” I say quietly.
“I grew up with monsters. I was raised by them. I know what sits under expensive suits and family dinners.” My hand comes up before I can stop it, resting lightly against his wrist where it cups my face.
“What I can’t live with is not knowing where I stand with you. ”
His eyes sharpen. Not angry. Focused.
“That,” he says, “is a different question.”
“Then answer that one too.”
For a second, he says nothing.
Laszlo studies me with that hard, terrifying stillness that always makes me feel like I’ve just stepped onto dangerous ground and noticed too late. His hand stays on my face. Warm. Heavy. Certain.
His gaze drops to my mouth, then returns to my eyes. “You are not a burden I accepted for business. You are not a piece of leverage I’m tolerating until the paperwork dries. You are mine, Galina.”
Something tightens in my chest, a quick vice that steals the air from my lungs and leaves me frozen under his touch.
“I don’t say that lightly,” he says, voice low and steady.
“I don’t collect people. I don’t make room for them.
I don’t change my life for them. You walked into it yesterday, and now I’m replacing beds, threatening staff, changing security protocols, rearranging my house around you, because of you. ”
The force of that lands deep enough to hurt.
I stare at him and feel every defence I have spent years perfecting start to split in ugly, dangerous places. Men say mine in this world all the time. They say it over women, territory, guns, businesses, children. Usually, it means ownership. Control. A warning to everyone else.
With Laszlo, it still means all of that.
But it also means the new mattress. The broken arm in the garden. The way he moved me behind him when the box was opened. The way he changed things without asking whether it inconvenienced him.
That is the problem.
If he were cruel, I could hate him cleanly.
Cruelty would be simpler. There is nothing simple about a man whose care feels this much like enclosure.
I could survive cruelty. Cruel men are easy. You brace, you bite back, you endure, and you never mistake their damage for devotion.
This is worse.
Because he means it.
My throat tightens around that truth, and I hate him a little for putting it inside me.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” I admit.
His thumb brushes once across my cheekbone. “You don’t have to do anything with it yet.”
“That sounds suspiciously patient.”
“I can be patient when I want something enough.”
A shiver runs through me, low and traitorous. He notices. He notices everything, and I am beginning to understand that this is not a quirk. It’s a weapon. A skill. A way of moving through the world that leaves nothing untouched.
“I am not easy,” I say, because it feels important to warn him. “I don’t know how to just… settle into this. Into you.”
“I’m not asking you to make my life peaceful, Galina.”
“That’s good, because I’d be shit at it.”
His mouth twitches. “I know.”
I should be offended. Instead, something in me loosens.
Only a little.
He slides his hand from my face to the back of my neck and draws me in until my forehead rests against his chest. I go still at once. This is not how men like him hold women. Not in front of witnesses, and not with tenderness. Not without wanting something in return.
Yet here I am, pressed to him, cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart and the quiet drag of his breathing above my head.
I should move.
I don’t.
His hand stays at the back of my neck, not forcing, just holding.
The other settles at my waist, broad and warm through the thin fabric of my top.
Everything in me should be screaming about danger, about dependency, about the stupidity of letting myself soften in front of a man who just asked whether I can live with the fact that he is a monster.
Instead, I close my eyes for one stupid second and let myself breathe.
“Galina.”
My name comes out low, almost careful, and that more than anything makes my chest ache.
“What?” I ask, the word muffled against him.
“If you need something from me, you tell me.”
“I need us to stop being at each other’s throats the entire time.”
“Done.”
“That was too easy.”
“Compliance makes me happy, Galina.”
“Yours as well as mine?”
“Yes.”
“Done, then.” I tilt my head back, and it’s the biggest mistake.
He drops his mouth to mine, and I open up for him. He kisses me like he has been holding himself back by force and has just decided he is done pretending.
My fingers fist in his shirt before I even realise I’ve done it.
His mouth is hot, demanding, and I give him back exactly what he takes, opening wider, pressing closer, letting him drag a sound out of me that I would deny under torture.
His hand tightens at the back of my neck.
The other spreads over my waist and pulls me flush against him, and I feel all of him. Hard. Ready. Controlled only by effort.
Dangerous man, dangerous mouth.
I kiss him harder.
He makes a low sound and turns us, walking me backwards until my back hits the wall. My clit twitches, and I moan into his mouth, fisting his shirt tighter, pulling him flush against me, my other hand landing on his waist.
He grips my wrist and pulls my hand down, placing it over his rock-hard cock.
I gasp when he closes his hand over mine and starts to move it.
“Fuck, Galina,” he murmurs.
“Laszlo,” I breathe and squeeze him tighter.
He responds with a groan, his hand going to my throat and squeezing with as much pressure as I’m putting on his cock. He moves his hips slightly, and I jerk him off through his expensive pants, my nipples peaking against my top until they are aching.
Sliding my hand over him, I stare at his face. His eyes are closed, his breath is heavy. He slams his left hand to the wall beside my head, the other dropping from my throat.
“Don’t stop,” he murmurs, so I don’t. I keep going, wondering how this ends, how much control he has.
“Laszlo,” I whisper.
“Fuck, Galina, I’m coming…”
He lets out a low groan as my eyes widen and I catch a noise over by the door that’s still open. “Leonid,” I murmur.
His eyes snap open, and he glares at me before he sees where my gaze is pointing. He turns his head slowly as Leonid clears his throat again. “Sir, there is someone here to see you.”
“Tell them I’m busy,” he growls.
“It’s Viktor Rusanov,” he murmurs.
My hand drops away from him quickly, damp from the come he released while still fully clothed. It’s one of the hottest, dirtiest, sexiest things I’ve ever seen, and I’m ready for more.
“Tvoiu zh mat’!” he curses under his breath and steps back, dropping his hand from the wall.
Laszlo strips off, throwing his pants in the laundry hamper and reaching for another pair, while I hastily cross over to Leonid and mutter, “I have something to say to everyone, after my dad.”
He gives me a searching stare, but then nods and disappears quickly.
Laszlo looms behind me, turning me to face him. “Next time, don’t say another man’s name while my dick is coming in my pants, moya zhena,” he says.
“Next time, make sure the door is closed, then,” I say, still breathless from this encounter.
He smirks and exits the room, closing the door pointedly behind him.
I sag against it, my whole body on fire. I had made him lose control for a second. Not much. But enough to matter. Enough to keep.
I won’t go down to see my dad unless he explicitly asks for me.
It will look like I’m running to him for help, when that is the last thing I want.
Right now, I need to calm down and make myself look presentable for what I’m about to do.
I move to the bathroom and run a brush through my hair, curling it up into a knot.
I reapply my make-up and as I run my lip gloss over my lips, my gaze lands on my pills.
“Shit,” I mutter and pick them up. I forgot to take one today and it looks like it’s the last one. I curse when I remember the new packet under the sink at my dad’s which I completely forgot to pack.
Well, I’m not asking him to go back and get it. I will just order some more. I snatch up my phone and place an online order from my regular chemist with instructions to deliver today to my new address. It processes and is confirmed within seconds.
I set a reminder for half an hour to ping so I can tell Leonid to expect the package, and then I fling open the wardrobe and try to find the severest, most demure thing I own.