Chapter 10 - Anya
I’ve walked around the perimeter of the garden for what feels like the hundredth time in the past week.
Kicking a small pebble off the pathway, I huff loudly as it rolls away. I pout my lips out and make my sulking face more obvious, even though no one is paying any attention to me.
I can’t sit still and do nothing, but I also can’t go out without several bodyguards tagging along. What I envision as a peaceful sunset stroll on the beach becomes me walking ahead, followed by an entourage of men dressed in black suits, and I’m not going to lie—it kills the vibes a bit.
So, I’ve been walking the garden path, taking my time, stopping to look at each flower, or listen to the birds, or squint into the bushes when I think I see a little creature hiding.
But now that I’ve done this loop a hundred times, I’ve seen all the flowers, and I’m tired of the birds, and I desperately need to get out.
I’ve really enjoyed reading. I’ve been devouring the books in his library, but every day has been filled with sunshine, beautiful and inviting. I should be lying on the hot sand, dipping my toes in the ocean, shopping, hiking, eating lunch with a view—anything but being stuck in here day after day.
Emmanuil has to let me out, just for a bit, with maybe one guard. Not seven. It’s such overkill, and honestly, I think I should tell him, I think it attracts more attention to me than doing any good.
In fact, with my patience this thin, I can’t wait another second.
I’ll tell him now. I caught a glimpse of him moving about in his bedroom when I walked past the window earlier, so I know he’s in there.
With my attitude in full effect, prepared to argue with him if I need to, I storm into the house, march up the stairs, and burst through his open bedroom door.
I walk straight into his bedroom, already blurting out my demands.
“Emmanuil, I’m going out. Literally anywhere. It can be safe. It can be away from crowds. I don’t care. But I’m definitely going out and I’m being nice enough to tell you about it, but I am not taking ten guards with me, I am taking one of the cars and you will not stop me from—"
He steps out of his bathroom wearing nothing but a dark gray towel wrapped around his waist, sitting low on his hips. His hair is pitch-black and dripping wet, water running in small rivulets down his body. My eyes dance over him.
The damn towel is low enough that the arch of his Adonis belt has caught my full attention as it dips below the towel. And the trail of dark hair leading down reminds me of how he looks completely and utterly naked. My heart starts beating faster. I bite my lip. I shake my head.
I clear my throat, standing dead still, trying desperately to remember what I wanted to say to him.
My eyes travel up from the towel over each perfectly shaped muscle of his abdomen. Oh my word, he’s gorgeous. He’s like a sculpture of perfection. Chiseled from marble, each muscle carved out with the utmost attention to detail.
He’s been working out. I mean properly. Like he must have spent every day for the past five years since we were together working out. He always had a naturally toned body, but dammit. This is—this is ridiculous.
My eyes keep moving up his body, over his pecs, noticing the magnificent bulge of his biceps, his thick neck muscles, his solid jaw. That delicious smirk etched across his lips. Those beautiful dark green eyes framed by pitch-black lashes.
Oh my word, he’s staring at me.
Oh fuck, I’m the one who’s staring. Say something, Anya.
“Uh, I wanted, I mean, I was—" I stammer.
I squeeze my eyes shut because I’m still staring. “I’ll talk to you later,” I blurt out and spin away from him, practically running back towards the open door.
I have no idea how Emmanuil moved so fast, but in a flash, he’s blocking the doorway, and I run headfirst into his chest. It’s like hitting a solid wall, and it knocks my breath away.
I lift my hand and press it against his chest to steady myself.
His hand is resting against the doorframe above our heads as he stares down at me with intense eyes.
“Hey,” I mutter indignantly, already embarrassed that I was caught perving him. “Why did you block me?”
“Where are you running off to in such a hurry? Going to steal a car and leave? Or call your brother and feed him information about what’s really going on?
Are you bored playing nice now, ready to switch things up?
” he says, his voice low, rumbling through me, my blood pulsing faster as my fingers brush unconsciously over his skin, still hot from the shower.
“I—I’ve kept my end of the deal,” I whisper, hardly paying attention to what I’m saying.
“How can I be so sure of that, Anya?” he asks, leaning closer to me.
I bite my lower lip.
I remember this.
I remember feeling the heat of his body soak into mine.
I remember him, hot from a shower, dripping wet, as he pinned me to the bed. I remember his grunts as he thrust into me, his body trapping me beneath him, my legs spread around him.
I remember how he would say my name and whisper in my ear, “Spread your legs wider for me, kitten, I want to be deeper inside you.”
My pussy throbs and my legs grow weak as images flash through my mind.
It’s been so long. It’s been far too long since I felt his hands on my skin, the thrust of his massive cock as he pushes himself into me.
I groan softly, a desperate need slipping from my lips.
In response, I hear him, too—“mm”—a deep vibration, caught in the air between us.
Oh my word, I’m doing it again. I’m perving.
No, but actually he is, too. He’s the one leaning over me. He’s the one blocking my way.
He wants me.
I look up at him.
There is a dark smile touching one corner of his mouth, the smile he used to have when he wanted to play. When he wanted to punish me for some imaginary thing. When he would be bend me over the back of the sofa and let his fingers sting across my pussy as he spanked me.
My lips part as I take in a sharp breath. A gasp.
No.
He’s teasing me again. He did this before. He mocked me by seducing me. By pretending he wanted to kiss me.
I step back, horrified that I’m falling for the exact same thing again.
Emmanuil grabs my arm and tugs me close again.
“I’m watching you, kitten. Don’t forget that,” he growls.
“Pfft,” I hiss, pressing both hands against his chest and shoving myself away from him. “I’m going out. You do whatever you want. I’m going crazy in this boring mansion doing boring nothing all boring day,” I blurt out like a child throwing a tantrum. I don’t care if I sound silly. I mean it.
I’m over this, and I’m over him taunting me, one moment hating me, the next pretending to want me, only to laugh in my face about the fact that I fell for it. I think the only reason he has the power to turn me on so much is because of how long it’s been since I had sex.
Yes, Anya, that’s the only reason. It has nothing to do with how you feel about him.
Emmanuil doesn’t move from the doorway, so I duck under his arm, brushing against his side as I squeeze past him, muttering the entire time about manners and personal space.
I hear him chuckle as I storm away, back to my room to get changed.
Originally, I was just going to go for a drive or somewhere normal, safe, calm. But now I’m annoyed and frustrated, and I want to provoke him as much as he provoked me.
So, I’m going to a bar.
He can track my damned phone. I don’t care. Let him see, and maybe get the message loud and clear that I’m not his little puppet.
In my room, with the door slammed shut behind me, I search around in my closet for what I want to wear.
My fingers brush over the pink dress, and I giggle, knowing it would infuriate him.
But I’ll save that for another day. I find a summery, soft flowing peach dress with thin straps and a pretty lace border around the skirt, and pull that out.
Pairing it with my white sneakers, I pull my hair up into a messy bun and shove my phone into my purse.
A touch of lip gloss, a soft spray of perfume, and I’m ready to go.
When I tug the door open, I half expect Emmanuil to be standing there, ready to enforce his law. But he isn’t. And it’s mildly disappointing.
Hurrying downstairs, still expecting someone to come out and stop me, I run into the garage, find the keys for the army green Range Rover, and climb into the driver’s seat.
Still, no one comes to stop me. Pressing the button on the dashboard, I start the engine and reverse out of the garage into the long driveway. The guards open the gate for me and smile, nodding politely.
“Mm. Maybe he got the message after all. Maybe he’s given up being a total douchebag trying to control me the entire time,” I say to myself as I pull out into the road and turn left towards the strip of beach bars along the coast.
It’s strange that my eyes keep drifting to my rearview mirror.
Despite everything, my heart wants him to chase me down. I want to spend time with him. I want to be around him, but it’s pointless. He’s not the same man he was before.
Or he is, but he no longer loves me, so I don’t get to see that side of him.
I’m the one who left.
He doesn’t even know why I had to do it.
The beach bar is busy, and I have to park down the road and walk a bit to get there. But it’s a beautiful day, and I’m loving every second of it.
This beats walking that damned garden path one more time.
I can’t figure out what to expect from all of this. How long is he going to keep me here? When will he let me go? What will he do when he lets me go?
All I really care about is that my brother and my best friend are safe, and maybe I need to remind myself of that more often. They are the reason I’m still here—the only reason.
Is that true, Anya? Are they really the only reason you’re staying?
Ugh. My stupid thoughts are at it again.
No, I’m not sticking around because I hope he will fall in love with me again. I’m not that stupid.
There. Answered. Conversation over.
Sometimes I wish I could turn my thoughts off so they would stop giving my heart hope that doesn’t exist.
The bar is bubbling with energy. Music pours through the air along with laughter and the hum of conversation.
I find a seat near the front, close to the side open to the ocean, where the sun can splash over my skin. At least I am getting loads of opportunities to work on my tan while I’m here in San Diego. I stretch my legs out beneath the table.
I could sit here all day, people watching. And the waves are perfect today, so there are surfers sitting in the backline, waiting to catch one.
This is gorgeous.
“What can I get you?” A friendly young man steps close to my table, holding a menu. “Are you here for a drink, or would you like to order some food, too?”
“Mm. I haven’t really decided yet. Let me browse over the menu. In the meantime, you can bring me a cocktail—something with mango.”
“We have a version of a pina colada that uses mango instead of pineapple. Would you like to try that? It’s really popular.”
“Yes, I love it already, it sounds great.”
He drops a menu onto my table and smiles broadly. “I’ll be back in a moment with your drink.”
I take a deep breath, doing my best to let go of my stress and all those annoying thoughts about Emmanuil.
Hopefully, all of this will be over soon.
I won’t have to put up with him and his stupid plans.
This is an emotional rollercoaster that I can’t wait to get away from.
I don’t need all of this pain dragged up again.
I’ve done my best to leave it in my past, and even though I never really managed to let go of him, I’ve at least learned to live with the fact that we can’t be together.
But this situation isn’t helping anything.
The waiter returns with my cocktail, a giant, bright orange slushy, decorated with a slice of mango and a pretty leaf I don’t recognize.
“Thank you,” I grin, tossing the leaf aside and using the straw to stir the thick orange drink. I’ll definitely be having more than one of these.
He leaves me in peace, and I sip my cocktail while watching the surfers fight over the waves.
I miss Emmanuil.
In the past, he would have been here with me, making up silly conversations between those surfers as they battled it out for territory.
A giggle spills from me.
At least I still have the memories.