Chapter 18
I woke up sweating and freezing at the same time, like the air-conditioning system was competing with Mother Nature.
My thighs stuck to the sheets. My arms were covered in goosebumps.
In here, the air conditioner had the bedroom set to subzero, but I always got hot when I slept.
I looked around slowly. Sunlight pressed against the windows even through the blackout curtains.
Outside, South Texas was already doing what it did in June.
I sighed, recalling where I was. I remembered the enormous bed, the soft scent of something expensive, the deep quiet…
and, oh, yeah, the man on the other side of the bed.
Targen was awake. He wasn’t acting like he had over the last week, though.
He wasn’t sitting up with his phone like he was running the world before breakfast. He wasn’t watching me like he was patiently waiting for me to wake up.
He was laid back against the headboard, one arm bent behind his head, the other resting loose on his stomach.
He was shirtless now. Of course. Because God felt like testing me with that eight-pack and those biceps.
He looked at me suddenly, smirking like he knew where my mind was.
I shifted, pulling the sheet higher. “Here you go with this staring again.”
“I’m not staring,” he said.
“You are staring,” I insisted.
His mouth curved into a smile. “I’m checking on you, Theory.”
I struggled not to let those words soften me, not to let my imagination take me to a place in which his concern would feel natural and my desire to reassure him would feel normal.
I shrugged. “I’m alive.”
“You were shaking earlier.”
I shook my head fast. I didn’t want to show this man any more weaknesses than I already had. “I was not shaking.”
I knew I was starting to sound petty. It didn't help that he wouldn't argue. Just had me out here looking petty on my own. He reached for the comforter and pulled it up over me in one smooth motion like he’d done it a hundred times.
It was a little possessive but not outside my comfort zone because he was just so…
gentle. My stupid body relaxed, accepting the rightness of his showing care for me. I hated that. I glared at him.
“You shouldn’t have it so cold in here.”
He blinked once. “My bad. We'll adjust it,” he said, and it sounded so sincere that it irritated me.
I sat up, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and stood, grabbing the robe that had been draped over a chair.
The floor was cool under my bare feet in the second before I slid them into the fur-lined slippers.
The air kissed my skin and raised fresh goosebumps.
I turned toward the bathroom, trying to shake off the annoying ache in my chest.
“Where you going?” he asked.
I glanced at him, glanced away just as quickly. “To the bathroom, then to find coffee.”
“You like tea,” he countered.
“I prefer coffee when I’m trapped in a mansion and need something to help me hold onto my sanity,” I shot back.
He just looked at me. “I’ll make it.”
I sighed. “I can pour my own coffee.”
“I’m sure you can,” he said. “Still.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t trust my words not to betray me.
The bathroom was ridiculous, I thought. But I kinda loved the stone counters, spotless glass, and towels folded perfectly.
I splashed water on my face and stared at myself in the mirror.
I was a woman who had married a man she didn’t fully trust. I was also a woman who had slept next to that man all night without one worry.
It was truly annoying how weak I was.
I sped through my morning routine, then gave myself a little pep talk before I left the room.
Downstairs, the house felt different in daylight.
Oh, it was still big and expensive as hell.
But it wasn’t as quiet and impersonal as I had thought.
The soft clink of something from the kitchen and the smell of food drifting through the air made it feel warmer.
My nose followed the smell before my mind could decide if I wanted to.
Targen was in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, moving around the stove like he belonged there. A skillet hissed on the big gas stove. He had a cutting board out and a bowl of eggs he was whisking like he had personal beef with them.
I stopped in the doorway.
“I thought you were trying to impress me with the one meal you know how to make. You really cook,” I murmured.
“I can survive,” he said.
“That didn’t answer the question.”
He glanced up, then back down. “That was a question? Yes, Theory Grace. I can cook.”
“What are you making?”
“Breakfast.”
I squinted. “You got a smart mouth for a man who just married somebody against her will.”
His eyes locked with mine again, then moved away. “Sit,” he said.
My brows lifted. “Don’t start.”
He lifted his hand slightly. “Not an order, shorty. A suggestion.”
“You do a lot of suggesting,” I muttered, but I walked over and sat at the island anyway.
A deep blue mug slid in front of me. My fingers curled around it before I could stop myself.
“That’s yours, specially,” he said.
I looked up. “How would you know?”
“I picked it for you,” he said, like that was normal.
I stared at him. “You had mugs chosen for me?”
He didn’t deny it. He just poured coffee like he hadn’t heard my question. Instead, cream and sugar appeared before me. My eyes narrowed.
“You don’t know how I take it.”
“You put two sugars in your tea on the farm,” he said.
The soft, melting feeling in my chest made me mad. He remembered that? I looked down fast and tried to sound unimpressed. “Maybe I changed.”
He leaned back against the counter. “Did you?” he asked.
I put one sugar in the cup… then tried to sneak to add another. He smiled. I felt his satisfaction and wanted to knock the whole mug over out of spite.
“You irritating,” I told him.
“You cute.”
My head snapped up. “Don’t call me that.”
He nodded once. “Okay.”
Just like that. No argument. It threw me off worse than a fight would have.
He turned back to the stove and started back cooking. I sat there looking stupid and feeling worse. No, I didn’t choose this marriage, but I was still his wife. And once upon a time, my heart had chosen him. Maybe I could—
You chose him and he disappeared. The devil on my left shoulder suddenly overrode the angel on my right. I watched as Targen plated the food. Tortillas, eggs, potatoes, sausage, peppers, onions, it all smelled so good. He set a plate down in front of me.
Breakfast tacos.
My stomach gave the smallest, most traitorous growl. Another one of his smug little smiles. He stepped back, crossed his arms over his chest.
“Eat,” he said.
“Stop saying it like that,” I snapped, even though I could hear the teasing note in his voice.
“Okay.”
“You know what? I don’t even want it right now,” I lied petulantly, pushing the plate away.
He rounded the island and was in my face so fast, I barely had time to blink.
Part of me realized that I should be scared, but I wasn’t.
What I felt was excitement mixed with something I didn’t wanna name.
It didn’t help that he smelled and looked so good this morning.
He cupped my face gently, but his gray eyes were stormy.
“I’ve been trying to deal with your attitude, because I know a lot of shit unfolded that you don’t know the background to and in circumstances that neither of us would’ve picked.
But the little petty shit? It’s about to stop.
You can feel how you wanna feel, but you don’t get to cut off your nose to spite your face,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I get that you used to being in charge, but you not in charge of me,” I spat.
“You want options, milaya? Fine. You get two choices for what I can do to you right now.”
The air between us was tense, thick… and hot.
Charged with something electric, a current I felt all through me.
I bit my bottom lip as I waited on him to lay out these choices.
He dragged his thumb below it, tugging until I released it.
And then unbelievably, he slid his thumb between my lips before bringing his mouth to the shell of my ear.
“I can feed you or fuck you, Theory. Either way ends with this attitude gone,” he rasped, his breath warm against me. “And don’t pretend that I’d have to force you, malyshka. Look how you already reacting now. Bet that tight little pussy already wet for me.”
How was I reacting? I was proud of myself that I had managed not to moan or whimper out loud. Then, he moved his thumb slightly, and I realized I’d been unconsciously sucking on it. Horrified, I pushed his hand away.
“It is not!” I hissed.
“Yeah? Let me feel, then, shorty,” he taunted.
We both knew I couldn’t.
We both knew I was lying.
So, I rolled my eyes at him and grabbed the plate.
He smiled.
I didn’t speak again until I was almost done. The food was too good. “This is… decent,” I admitted.
“I know,” he said.
I kissed my teeth. “You’re arrogant.”
He shrugged. “I’m accurate.”
A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. He heard it and visibly relaxed. He knew he was wearing me down.
“Where were you?” I asked.
He set down his fork, lifted his napkin and wiped his mouth. “When?”
It dawned on me that he thought I meant the last year. I’d get to that. “You disappeared after we got back Thursday. You were gone Friday. You came to bed like a ghost. No explanation.”
A minute passed. I waited expectantly.
“Thursday, I was handling things,” he said.
“What things?” I pressed.
His eyes went cold, but his voice stayed calm. “Things you don’t need to worry about,” he said.
“That’s not an answer,” I said.
His gaze held mine. “It’s my answer.”
I scoffed. “Just make sure those things I don’t need to worry about don’t include no bitch. I refuse to be out here looking like a fool with a cheating ass husband,” I said.
His hand balled in the napkin. “Don’t insult me, Theory. I haven’t been with another woman since I met you. I keep telling you that. I have no intention of being with another woman ever.”
My heart swelled. I tamped down the warmth, the hopefulness his words brought me. “Mm-hmm,” was all I said.
“And you know now where I went Friday. I went to see your family.”
“You did that after I told you not to,” I said, my voice tight.
“I did,” he admitted.
“That’s not romantic. That’s you not listening to me, just doing what you want,” I accused.
He shook his head. “I know it looks like that, but it wasn’t about me getting my way. It was about you not walking down the aisle thinking you were alone.”
I stared at him, my brain struggling to hold anger and something else at the same time.
“I wondered if you’d left again,” I said quietly.
His expression changed, softened a little. “I’m not leaving you,” he said.
I looked down at my hands around the mug. “We’ll see,” I whispered.
“Yeah. We will.”
The silence between us stretched. It was broken only by a ringing sound, a doorbell I guessed. Targen looked at his phone before tapping a few buttons. Suddenly, there was movement in another part of the house. I heard a door opening, a door closing, then soft footsteps.
“The kitchen,” Targen called.
A few seconds later, Andrei appeared in the doorway. I don’t know why I was so happy to see him—it had only been a day. But I glided over to him and hugged him like I hadn’t seen him in years. He patted my back awkwardly.
“Dobroye utro. Kak u vas dela?” he greeted before turning to Targen. “I am here to make sure the last of the items you had at Gospodin Maxim’s home are returned. I also have a note for you, sir,” he explained.
I felt my cheeks redden. Damn near assaulted the man and he was all business, as usual. I moved away, about to go back to the bedroom and regroup.
“Mrs. Sidorov?” Andrei said suddenly.
I pasted on a smile before I turned around. “Yes?”
“I will be here later to continue your lessons in Russian, if you would like.”
My smile warmed. I typed a question in my phone, studied the answer for a second before answering him. “Mne by eto ochen' ponravilos',” I butchered, which meant, I would like that very much.