Chapter 7 - Kristopher
At least she agreed to join me at the dinner table tonight. I’ve waited for her every night since she got here, and she’s made excuses about studying, but when I caught her in the kitchen, I figured out it was something more than that. I think she was just hiding from me.
Sitting at the dinner table, waiting for her, I scroll through my phone. I’m impatient for her to get here. Every day, I’d hoped to spend some time with her, and she’d managed to get out of it. But tonight, I will have her attention to myself.
I hear her footsteps coming down the hall outside the dining room. High heels? What in the…
Lifting my head, I knit my brows and stare at the door. When she walks through it, my heart comes to a complete stop in my chest, and I practically gag.
She stands in the doorway with a very cheeky smile on her lips.
Slowly, she spins, blatantly messing with me.
The tight, short black dress she’s wearing with a low-cut neckline and a design that accentuates her perfect body in the most dangerous ways immediately has my cock throbbing. Thank fuck I’m sitting down.
“Is this what a proper Bratva wife would wear to dinner?” she muses, her voice sultry and divine.
I need to stand, to pull her chair out for her.
“It’ll do,” I say, sounding bored. I clear my throat and pick up my phone again, pretending to finish sending a text while she sits down opposite me.
“Mm. Next time I’ll have to try harder, by the looks of things.”
I glance up at her, but her eyes are glittering with mischief. She sees straight through my act.
I clear my throat loudly and set my phone down.
“You look gorgeous,” I say.
“Why, thank you. That’s so sweet of you to say,” she grins. This is some kind of power play, a mischievous jab at me for not letting her eat dinner in the kitchen.
The truth is, I just want to spend time with her.
I don’t want to change her in any way. She doesn’t have to be some stereotypical version of a Bratva wife for me.
She doesn’t have to be any stereotypical version of anything.
I’m obsessed with her exactly as she is.
Not a thing should change about her, not anything she doesn't want to change.
She stands up and leans over the table to reach for a plate, and in doing so gives me an eyeful of her cleavage. Dammit. She looks like she just stepped out of my fantasies and into the real world. How am I supposed to survive an entire dinner with her?
My cock is rock-hard beneath the table.
I need to change the subject before I drag her onto this table and have my way with her. My beautiful wife.
“Jeremey told me you like chow mein, so I asked him to make this.” I gesture over the food.
“He’s a brilliant chef. That burger he made yesterday was incredible,” she nods.
“Anything you want, Georgie, all you have to do is ask.”
“Well, in that case.” She pouts for a second, her eyes boring holes into mine. “I want to go back to university to attend my classes in person.”
I growl in disapproval. “No,” I say, too harshly.
“Why not?” she blurts out. “I need to study. I need to stay up to date with…”
“The online classes are more than efficient.”
“They’re not the same, Kristopher,” she huffs.
“No, but they are safer. It’s too soon to send you back out there. We have no idea what Ali Koskos’s plan was, or why he took you in the first place. I won’t risk him taking you again. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
I can’t tell her that I believe he took her because he’s working with my father, and my father arranged it because he wanted to provoke me. That would also require I explain to her why or how they’d believe that taking her would affect me so badly.
I still don’t like the fact that my father worked out what she meant to me.
Georgie stabs her fork into the noodles on her plate and sticks out her bottom lip as she sulks over my refusal.
“Did you get some new clothes?” I ask, redirecting her thoughts.
“Do you like my dress?” she sasses back at me.
“I meant other clothes, day-to-day clothes.”
“This isn’t day-to-day?” she asks, sounding shocked.
I chuckle, shaking my head. I dish up some food for myself.
“If you wore that every day, you’d have to deal with men falling at your feet, offering their lives, their belongings, everything they own just to be around you,” I muse, but when I see the look on her face, I realize just how honest I’ve been.
Dammit.
She smiles, but this time it’s a radiant, genuine smile. No sass. No attitude.
We eat in silence for a little while before she starts pushing the issue again.
“But seriously, Kris. If I don’t get back to my real classes, I’m facing the genuine risk of flunking. I’m struggling with the online classes. They are only meant to be a short-term backup for emergencies.” Her voice is strained with worry. She’s being honest. I can hear that this isn’t some ploy.
“Georgie, the risk…”
“The risk of me flunking after I’ve spent years working so damn hard for this…you have to understand what this means to me. This is my life. My future. My dream,” she adds.
I clench my jaw, closing my eyes and mulling over the fact that I can’t say no to her when she asks like that.
“Fine,” I huff. “You can go to class. But I want a copy of your schedule. I want to know where you are planning to be at all times.”
She doesn’t need to know I already have that information.
She squeals and jumps from her seat, almost knocking her glass of wine over. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she says happily, and a wide smile spreads over my face.
Early the next morning, Georgie comes hurrying down the stairs with a heavy book bag over her shoulder. I’m already waiting for her at the door.
“Let me take that,” I say, pulling the bag from her shoulder.
“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m used to carrying it,” she argues, trying to tug it away from me.
“I’ll carry it for you, Georgie,” I say sternly.
She laughs and shakes her head. “What’s the point? It’s not like you’re going to be following me around all day carrying my book bag.” She rolls her eyes, walking out towards the car I’ve given her.
“We’re taking my car,” I comment, placing my hand on her waist and steering her in a different direction.
“What?” she snaps, coming to a stop. “Are you driving me to campus?”
“Yes. I’ll be following you around, making sure you’re safe,” I remark casually.
“What? No. You’re not coming with me,” she says in horror. “You can’t come with me.”
“I can, and I will. Otherwise, you aren’t going.” My voice is calm as I tug the passenger door open for her.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” she complains.
“Dead serious. I’ll stay out of your way. You won’t even know I’m there.”
She locks eyes with me, weighing her options. I stand waiting for her to argue, but instead, she ducks into the car, rolling her eyes. “Whatever. I just need to get to class.”
Relief washes over me. I expected much more of a fight over this.
I walk a little way behind her as she makes her way around campus. In her classes, I sit in the back, out of the way, but with her in my line of sight at all times. The truth is, I can’t tear my eyes off her. She’s too beautiful, too captivating.
And watching her, the way she navigates her day, is enthralling.
She clearly loves what she does. Her passion shines through when she listens to the lectures, asks questions, takes notes, and helps the other students.
I notice how many students look up to her, how many of them approach her for an easier explanation of a complex lesson, or to take photos of her notes because she takes them so well. And she’s patient, helpful, and kind to every single one of them.
Even flooded with her busy schedule, she still takes a moment to help anyone who asks.
I’m leaning against a tree just outside the massive entrance doors to a lecture hall. She’s busy showing a girl the link between two theories and how they would be used in conjunction with each other in order to diagnose a patient.
“Oh my word. That makes so much sense,” the girl blurts out. “I can’t believe I didn’t understand that when Mr. Jacovy explained it.”
“He does have a rather intense way of laying things out,” Georgie giggles. “I’ll WhatsApp you a document with my notes in it. It’ll help you with the assignment.”
“You are a star. I don’t know how I would’ve survived this year without you,” the girl says, clearly grateful.
They chat a little while longer before the other girl hurries off, not attending the next class with Georgie. Georgie is about to head towards the building when a guy walks up to her.
“Hey, beautiful, where have you been?” he asks, and instantly I’m on high alert.
He leans close to her, slipping his hand around her waist and kissing her cheek.
I force myself to stay where I am instead of ripping his arm off his body.
Georgie laughs and waves off his question, answering in a vague, non-specific way.
“But how have you been?” she asks.
“Just missing the prettiest girl on campus. Are you free to study tonight?” he asks, boiling my blood even hotter. Who the hell is this guy? An ex? A lover? A fling?
There is definitely something going on here.
“I can’t tonight, I’ve got…”
“Hello,” I say, my voice cutting into their conversation as I slip my arm around Georgie’s waist, forcing him to step back.
“Uh. Who are you?” the guy snaps, his brows furrowing with disapproval.
“I’m her husband. Who are you?” I growl.
“I’m…you’re…what?”
“Her husband,” I repeat.
Georgie tries to push my arm off her waist, but I don’t budge. She looks up and glares at me.
“Sorry, Trent. I’ve got to run. We can chat soon,” she smiles.
“Yes, sure, chat soon,” he stammers, still confused and taken aback. But he turns to leave.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, she pushes me away and folds her arms across her chest. “What the hell was that?”
“You tell me. He had his hands all over you.”
“He’s just a friend. You’re completely crazy. We’ve been friends for years,” she snaps angrily.
“He wants more.”
“No, he doesn’t!” she argues. “You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”
“Oh, really, most beautiful girl on campus, and the way he let his hand linger on your waist, and I haven’t seen any of your other friends kissing your cheek so tenderly. You’re blind if you don’t see it.”
She clenches her jaw, her eyes locked with mine. But she has nothing to say.
Because she knows I’m right.
A satisfied smile spreads over my face.