Chapter 56 #2
He shook his head. “Nope. She’ll hate the idea. To her, it will be the equivalent of throwing away everything I’ve worked my entire life for.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, letting the silence stretch again.
“But to me?” he added softly, “It feels like I’m finally choosing something for myself. Now, let’s get off this depressing subject and move on to something happier. Got any suggestions?”
Deep inside my heart, I knew he wanted an out, to not think the decision over once more and to maybe breathe again. So I did the only thing I knew how to do in moments like this.
Make things awkward as shit.
“Well, I’ve got some good news to share too. I got some new lingerie,” I said suddenly, stepping out of his arms, pretending I wasn’t still emotionally raw. “If you can even call it that. It’s more like…ribbons. And nothing else.”
He blinked at me, stunned for all of two seconds—then laughed. Loud and open, the sound bouncing off the walls. The tension eased in my chest, and a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.
“Oh my god.”
“What?”
He grinned. “You’re absolutely unhinged. I love this version of you, though, so promise you won’t ever change.”
“Okay, then I won’t. But, unfortunately,” I said with a faux sigh, “I love you too much to model it for you, because then Ivan will surely put you six feet under.”
He winced dramatically. “Yeah, I’ve seen that man work out. That sounds about right. Could probably dig the hole in less than ten minutes.”
I tilted my head, pretending to consider. “Hmm. Not sure they dig a whole bunch of graves. But ashes…” I trailed off thoughtfully. “Yeah. I’d rather not have to cart you around in an urn and cry over you in public places. It’d be a whole thing.”
“Aw,” he teased. “So you would mourn me?”
“Of course, silly. I’ve mourned lesser things.” I gave him a crooked smile. “Like my last container of chocolate Oreo ice cream. They stopped making it one day. It was a dark time.”
He clutched his chest. “How ever did you survive?”
I snorted. “Hit a local Cold Stone and got me a ‘love it’ sized chocolate ice cream with Oreos mashed in and pretended it was the real deal. But,” I said dramatically, “back to what I think you can help me with.”
He narrowed his eyes. “If this ends in violence or emotional devastation, I want it on record that I wanted no part in it.”
I grinned. “No, no. Nothing that tragic. I need you to choreograph a sexy little number for me.”
“A dance,” he clarified, skeptical.
“Yes, a dance.”
“A sexy dance.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You know how to make things sound weird.”
He crossed his arms. “Will it involve…ribbon removal?”
I let the pause drag for dramatic effect, tapping my chin with a finger. “Mmm. No comment.”
“Game on. Maybe your Kings can hire me to teach their girls. I hear they have a whole operation going on downtown.”
“Oh, have you, now? But low-key, that is brilliant. You should absolutely do that. In fact, I will speak to them on your behalf, of course.”
“Why thank you, mademoiselle.”
We spent two hours working on a routine that I knew within five minutes was going to knock my Kings’ socks off—and their pants too. When my phone buzzed on the dock, lighting up with Ivan’s name, it broke the dancing spell we were under.
I picked it up, thumb hovering. “Looks like I’m being summoned.”
“Don’t forget to put in that word for me. Because I’m taking the job here. Clarity always comes when I dance with you. Another reason I hate that you’re leaving. I have one last part of my contract I have to fulfill, but on the off chance you come back, I’ll be here.”
With a kiss on the top of my head, he gathered his things and flew out the door, a thousand times lighter than when he entered.
“What are you doing, little love?” Ivan asked.
I turned my attention to him and let go of the reality of my life. Pretending hurt less, and I wanted to soak in some more good memories that would stay with me long after I was gone.
“Just got done dancing with Pasha.”
The two of us chatted for a bit while I went back to my room.
My eyes kept darting to the suitcase Marcus had dropped off.
I was dying to open it, and once I did, I squealed in excitement.
It was everything I imagined it would be.
My fingers traced the cheeky panties on top, a new addition. There was a card on top with a note.
Thought these would make the unwrapping all the more sensual. —Marcus.
After shooting him a text thanking him, I showered and then locked my door to try a few pieces on.
Music played from a playlist on my phone, and I danced around my room.
I could finish packing later. Delicately, I placed the pieces of the outfit against my body.
It wasn’t lingerie in the sense of panties and a bra, more like simple straps that wrapped around my body.
The top ones crossed over my full bare breasts, wrapping around my nipples.
They crossed in the back and then wound down around my waist and clipped right over the swell of my ass.
The bottom straps attached at the waist and hugged my thighs.
Once everything was in place, I stood back and looked at myself in the mirror.
I closed my eyes and thought again about my new fantasy.
Of course, it was contingent on me securing Sebastian’s help, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t hesitate.
I envisioned sneaking into the club after hours, when no one was there, making it look like a break-in.
When the alarm triggered, it would alert my Kings, who would come rushing down.
When they came in, I would be ready for them.
Music would start, and I’d sing for them as I danced solely for their pleasure.
I would put on a full show for them. Dancing on stage at their club, wearing only this strappy ensemble and cat ears.
One thing would lead to another, and the four of us would end up in one of the rooms together.
Cuffs, spreader bars, blindfolds, and more would come out, along with a few of the toys I’d asked Marcus to pick up.
CHRISTOPHER KING
The gates swung shut behind the unmarked black car.
It stopped only a few feet away from the front entrance.
Peering down from the second-floor balcony, I fixated on the scene.
From my elevated vantage point, I was able to capture every detail.
I dialed Alek and listened as it rang on the other end.
Without waiting for him to greet me, I said, “Son, your guards were right. He’s pulling up as we speak.”
“Father, listen to me carefully. You don’t have much time. Do not trust a word he says. Get Mother and Kinsley to the safe room. Now! We are fifteen minutes out. Engage him, keep him talking. Ask for proof, whatever you need to do, but do not let him anywhere near her.”
The urgency in Alek’s voice put me on edge.
From the moment I knew she was Romanov’s granddaughter, I knew this day would come.
Originally, I had hoped that she’d be gone, and we wouldn’t have to deal with this situation, but then I got to know her.
And now, after seeing her with my sons, I found myself grappling with the weight of it.
My apprehension wasn’t with the power these men had, but more about how much it haunted me that they might be capable of the unspeakable acts she endured as a child. I could still see the terror and confusion in her eyes as she screamed that night about someone being branded.
Alek’s bodyguards had spotted the vehicle and then, as bold as could be, her grandfather and uncle strode into the restaurant without a care in the world. The whole scenario left a bad taste in my mouth, and I feared I was about to engage in a dangerous game of chess.
Hanging up with him, I called Sophia and used our code word for the first time in our adult married lives. As a diplomat, I was used to clandestine operations and dangerous missions. Having established a safe room protocol, I knew she would execute it without question.
Not more than two minutes later, I received the notification, letting me know the safe room door was firmly closed and the lock engaged.
Sophia and Kinsley were safe for the moment.
I turned my attention back to the task at hand.
I had the skill set, honed over years navigating the political landscape, to deal with this man.
Adrenaline coursed through me, and every fiber of my being focused on engaging him as if this were a perfectly normal occurrence in my life.
While I watched on from a distance, the driver stepped out and opened the door for Romanov and his son.
They moved like they were on a mission and carried an air of determination.
I waited for my doorman to announce their arrival and then instructed him to put them in the front drawing room. Time seemed to crawl as I allowed five minutes to pass, a calculated delay to assert my authority. After all, they’d arrived unannounced. Their lack of courtesy dictated the response.
As I approached, I took a deep breath and turned the handle. My steps were measured and purposeful as I entered. Our eyes met, and their gazes flickered briefly, acknowledging my presence before settling back into that determined demeanor.
I extended my hand in greeting. “Christopher King.”
“Mikhail Romanov, and this is my son Konstantin.” The man’s voice reverberated in the room, carrying a distinct air of authority and urgency. “I would like to see my granddaughter,” he said, getting right to the point.
His thick accent held that familiar cadence of Sophia’s father. His gaze intensified, viewing my lack of movement as defiance, as I nodded in his direction but didn’t acknowledge his request by sending for her immediately.
Adjusting my jacket, I smoothed the fabric. “I assume you’re speaking about Ms. Taylor?” The gesture, while casual, seemed to escalate the tension in the room.
“I am. Now, if you’d get her.” The words hung in the air, his demand causing me to raise an eyebrow in his direction.
He had a lot of nerve, not even a please. Internally, my irritation rose two notches, but I knew the best approach was to maintain a serene facade and walk the tightrope of this situation.
“Pardon me, Mr. Romanov,” I interjected, maintaining a measured tone, “but Ms. Taylor is currently under my protection, and I’m going to need a bit more information before I simply call her to the drawing room.
” Pausing briefly to check the clock in the room, I then continued, my eyes locked with Romanov’s.
“I’m sure you can understand.” The implication hung in the air.
With equal measure, I posed my next question.
“Do you have proof that you are her grandfather?” I asked, trying to buy time.
“Konstantin, the envelope, please,” he said, never breaking eye contact.
He extended his hand, offering it to me. Grasping it, I brushed my fingers against the smooth surface. I broke the seal and took the papers out. Scanning it, I scrutinized the original birth certificate. The room remained still. The only sound the soft rustle of paper as I studied it further.
The document listed her as Mischa Natalya Dmitrieva. It was a far cry from Kinsley Taylor. My gaze shifted from the paper to Romanov, my eyes meeting his with measured intensity.
“You’ll excuse my question, but neither the father’s nor the mother’s last name listed here is Romanov. Care to explain that?”
“Keep looking,” he commented, a subtle flicker of intrigue dancing within his eyes.
I thumbed through more documents and came across her father’s original birth certificate, as well as his adoptive birth certificate, which showed Grigori Dmitriev’s lineage.
Romanov then handed me a stack of photos.
They encompassed her life from the time she was born to the time she was a small child.
If I had to guess, anywhere from six to eight years old.
She was tiny even then, so it made dating them hard, but I noticed a gap in the photographs. The next set seemed to encompass her teenage years and more recent photos from Washington.
My gaze lifted from the photos, meeting Konstantin’s. “If you don’t mind my asking, why the gap?” The intensity of my scrutiny matched his guarded countenance.
His response was laced with defiance and impatience. “That isn’t any of your business.”
My lips tightened at his dismissal of my concern, but his next words had me internally fuming. “Now, I think my father and I have waited long enough. I’d like to see my niece.”
In response, my voice remained steady, hiding the urge to throw them out.
“Yes, I understand your urgency. In all due time. The gaps raise legitimate questions for me. Given what I know about your niece, I’ll need a bit more information.
Quite frankly, your desire to see her right now pales in comparison to me ensuring her safety and well-being. ”
“Is that so? You’re concerned about her safety?” he sneered.
“I have several more questions,” I said diplomatically.
“As do we,” Konstantin fumed.
I raised my eyebrow. His tone, laced with disapproval, sliced through the charged atmosphere. Choosing to ignore it, I said, “From what I have been told, Kinsley’s grandfather died.” I waited for their reaction.
“You’re speaking about Owen Taylor. He was her guardian, not her grandfather. I am her grandfather. Me,“ Mikhail boasted.
“Yes, that’s what you keep saying. However, there are so many questions I have for you. If you’re her biological grandfather, why was another man raising her? You see, I’m a bit leery. Why was Kinsl—“
“Her name is Mischa. Mischa Natalya,” he said, his voice booming through my office as he vehemently corrected me.
My back stiffened, betraying my mounting irritation. Behind my calm exterior, which was fading by the moment, I spoke, “Mr. Romanov, there is no need to yell. Let me ask you this. When was the last time you saw your granddaughter?”
His irritation rose considerably as his cheeks darkened in color. Rage filled his eyes, reminding me of his ruthlessness. Even at his age, he was physically fit, but so was I. “That’s none of your concern. She is my family. Moy,” Mikhail thundered, hitting his chest. Mine.
“Mr. King, you’re an intelligent man. I suggest you quit stalling and get my niece. I’m sure you know who my father is,” Konstantin said.
“Yes, we’re all aware of who and what he is,” Alek growled as he waltzed through the door, followed by Ivan, Nik, and Sebastian.