Chapter Thirteen Alina’s POV #3
My annoyance surged. The only thing that kept me from yelling in his face or kicking the damn chair away was that I didn’t want him to think he had that power. So, I heaved a sigh and sat.
“I’m not asking for any other reason than the fact that I want to know,” he pointed out, and his voice went even lower as he added, “I care to know.”
I swallowed, mentally wiping the sight of the tenderness I felt in his tone and face from my mind.
“Have a nice day,” he uttered, dropping the empty mug on the table. “I know you will.”
And then he was walking out of the house.
I wanted to scream, but I also wanted to whisper to him, anything to make him come back.
What the hell has come over me?
Greta came out, served my food, and also served hers when I insisted.
Hans joined the both of us in the sitting room hours later and was telling me about the library upstairs when a suited-up man entered the house.
He bowed slightly in a wordless greeting to me and went straight to the two men behind the couch.
“Oh, they’re here then,” Hans remarked, standing from the couch.
“Who?”
He didn’t need to answer my question as the man went back to the door, and it opened again, revealing Liza’s bob.
I shot up to my feet, and Greta did the same.
“Hi, Alina!”
“Liza!”
Just as I got to her and brought my arms around her, I saw the two other women who stood just inside the door, smiling at us.
Isabella and Emilia.
“Oh my God,” I rushed. “Welcome. Good afternoon.”
“The surprise is the total package,” Liza uttered, chuckling as she stepped to the side and I went ahead to the approaching women.
“Hi, Alina,” Emilia greeted, extending her hands for a hug.
I went straight in, unable to resist the calm pull of her smile.
“Alina! We meet again,” Isabella greeted cheerily, and I moved on to hug her, too.
Emilia’s baby pink dress fell to her heels in neat pleats.
It was the definition of elegance. The light color of her dress paired well with her calm aura.
Her chestnut hair was pulled back in a ponytail that came down to her tiny waist, and her makeup was the lightest among the three of them.
She looked so young and composed, like a powerful leader who didn’t need to remind anyone of their authority.
I had met Isabella more than once, and the orange jacket she had over her cream dress depicted the kind of bold fashion I had come to identify her with.
Her hair framed her face and stopped around her stomach, partly covering her large hoop earrings.
Her gorgeous face shone with happiness, making her endearing.
Liza looked regal as ever in her sleeveless leather dress and red shrug. I didn’t need to ask her if she was cold; I knew she wasn’t.
“So…reintroductions. Alina, you’ve met them before, but that was under different circumstances,” Liza started, facing the three of us with a grin. She stretched her hand towards Emilia as she said, “Emilia Lobanov. The first lady of the Bratva. She’s Viktor’s wife.”
“The senior wife,” Isabella chimed, making Emilia shake her head in a friendly rebuke.
“And this is Isabella,” Liza disclosed, gesturing towards Isabella. “Mikhail’s wife.” She squinted her eyes in mock confusion as she asked, “Is second lady a thing?”
“Can you just stop talking already?” Isabella asked, chuckling.
“Welcome to the wives’ club, Alina,” Emilia joked. “We’re glad to have you as our sister.”
“Thank you,” was all I could say.
Greta greeted them and went into the kitchen as the four of us settled down. Liza and I took the first two-seater facing the television while Emilia and Isabella sat on the couch facing away from the dining room.
The large room was wrapped in different exquisite perfumes and the silent hum of power.
“Where’s Mitya?” I asked Liza as Greta brought drinks and pastries before leaving again.
“She’s at Mikhail’s. With the nanny. The brothers are meeting there so,” she explained, shrugging, “killing two birds with a stone.”
“How are you doing, Alina?” Emilia inquired, her tone kind. “We understand the situation. We know it might be hard on you.”
Their gazes landed on me. But it wasn’t overwhelming; it was understanding.
“Everything feels wrong,” I blurted out, sighing. “This is not my life. Life feels forced here, like I’m in a movie or something.”
“It was all so sudden,” Liza uttered, her tone soft.
I nodded before explaining, “He doesn’t make it easier. One minute he’s talking and asking questions, the next minute he’s all mysterious. To him, I’m nothing but a pawn. It’s frustrating because I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“I assure you, darling, it’s not about you. Konstantin is wired that way. But I can also assure you that he means well. Everything he’s done to this point is to keep you alive. To protect you,” Isabella answered.
“I know. But it doesn’t make it any easier,” I pointed out.
“You’re right,” Emilia said. “But you’re not a pawn, take that thought out of your head. Yes, things were circumstantial, but it’s not the end of your beautiful life. It’s just the start of another phase.”
“And,” Isabella drawled, “I might have heard a conversation between your husband and mine when the whole issue was still fresh. I still remember his anger at any option that could put you in harm’s way.
That’s not ‘nothing,’ my dear. Forget what he acts like, a pawn is the last thing he sees you as. ”
“And you know Mikhail is the closest thing he has to a best friend, or a friend at all. So, whatever he tells or shows him is the truth,” Liza added.
“Is he his immediate older brother?” I asked without thinking.
“No,” Isabella answered, laughing.
“Mikhail is the second. Roman is the third. Then Konstantin,” Emilia revealed.
“Oh,” I remarked.
“Yeah,” Liza mentioned, chuckling. “So, we can say you’re our youngest sister.”
“I’m still surprised about the warm welcome, seriously. Thank you,” I divulged, smiling at them.
“Whatever it is, we’re here for you,” Emilia assured.
“Yes. Always,” Isabella confirmed, nodding.
I blinked back tears. I didn’t expect to feel at home, but I did. They made me feel seen and understood.
We talked, joked, and ate for another few hours before they left.
Even though I got tired after all the hanging out and, a while later, TV watching with Greta, I resisted the urge to go upstairs for just one reason: I wanted to see him.
I wanted to meet him here when he arrived.
I wanted to smile at him and tell him ‘thank you’ for inviting the women over.
I didn’t care how that made him see me. I wanted to have dinner with him and let him know how much what he did meant to me.
But after another hour, several yawns, and Greta’s prodding, I decided to retire to bed. She promised to bring my dinner when the ‘boss’ arrived, after I refused to be served immediately.
I had changed into my plain navy silk pajamas after a warm bath when I heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I called, shifting to the edge of the bed, expecting Greta.
But it wasn’t Greta who stepped in in black cotton pajama pants and a tee shirt, it was Konstantin.
Barefoot, he carried the tray of food to the stool and set it down.
A lock of his hair fell to his face as he came back to his full height, and I found it hard to look away from his gaze.
The domesticity of it all was absurd. Still, he didn’t say anything to me.
As if his silence compelled me, the ‘thanks’ I had planned to tell him evaded me.
“Konstantin,” I called as he was about to turn around. “Why did you marry me?”
“It was the only way to keep you alive without killing you,” he said, turning around.
The bluntness of his response rocked me.
Right from the onset, he’d told me the marriage was the best strategy. But then, it had sounded like an inevitable option, like it was more about the survival of the Bratva.
But now, I wondered what it really cost him to make that decision.
He left my room without a second glance or another word.
I found myself touching the rim of the plate which was still warm from his touch.
What’s happening to me?