Chapter 15 - Roman
Even with a sense of relief surrounding me, I expected the tension to be completely gone. I thought having sex with Victoria would mostly get it out of my system and help me concentrate on other matters, but it seems I was completely off base.
It’s been two days since I had her, and that craving hasn’t gone away…in fact, I’m willing to admit it has only gotten worse.
I know what it’s like to hear her moan my name, to feel the way her skin heats up when she starts giving herself over to me. I’ve felt the dig of her nails in my back, and I’ve seen how gorgeous she looks when she comes undone for me.
Everything about it was far more hypnotizing than I imagined it would be, but with those memories fresh in my mind, I want it again.
I want her, and I want that release. I want what only she can give me now.
Of course, it’s not just about her body—I could get that from anyone. But with Victoria, it’s something completely different. She’s in my bloodstream, and I know there isn’t anything I can do to get her out again.
While the sex was phenomenal and absolutely something I need to partake in again, she’s returned to that previous state of trying her best to ignore me. Of pretending like that night didn’t mean anything.
The way she moves around the house like nothing has changed between us irks me. In the way she barely holds my gaze as if she hadn’t been begging me to keep going…as if my presence alone disgusts her.
She’s fighting me, regardless of how badly I want the opposite.
Before, when I thought she was a Nikolaev, I had been prepared for nothing but trouble. I was ready to deal with an unruly Bratva woman. But knowing who she is and having been given the chance to feel the depth of her passion, trying to wrangle her has been far too taxing.
Getting a glimpse of that genuine side of her only makes me want to see it more, but with her resistance, it seems so far out of my reach.
Almost like a cruel joke, this all comes at a time in my life when I’m trying. When I’m genuinely taking steps to get her to like me and to realize I’m not working against her.
She wants to see me as a villain so badly that it’s completely clouding her judgment and opinion of me.
Things could be so much easier between us if she’d just take a moment to see the truth and sincerity in my actions.
I’m well aware that I can be cold and ruthless. Emotionless when the time calls for it. But I can also be tender when I want to be. I can be understanding and caring, regardless of how it might contrast with the version of myself I often show the world.
And with Victoria, I find myself wanting to be warmer. I want to be different, and I want to provide her with everything she needs…even if that requires being vulnerable for once.
But now, I’m finding myself running out of solutions and options to try and make her see something more in me. I want to connect, but she won’t meet me halfway. She’ll scarcely take a step in my direction.
Before, I assumed sleeping together would solve things, or at least open the door to finding common ground with one another. But it isn’t enough, and it’s only making me want her more.
So, in a polarizing gesture to my usual habits, I set the table myself.
I pick the right silverware and utensils and have the prepared food warming in the oven while I make sure the table looks how I want it.
I pay more attention to the details than I normally would, hoping Victoria might pick up on those minute things.
With candles and wine on ice sitting in the middle as the centerpiece, I already have our glasses poured, and much to my pleasure, it looks genuine. Almost like we’re a normal, domestic couple about to share a warm meal.
In all my years, I’ve never done this for anyone before. I’m not the one to dismiss the chef or any other staff for the night to prove I can do it.
But tonight, it’s all on me, and I’m determined to be better than she expects of me.
I want to show Victoria I’m not a common criminal who functions on cruelty. That I can provide so much more than just a roof over her head. It makes me feel at odds with myself, but I don’t care. I have to try to see if I want this thing to work for even a moment.
Eventually, Victoria walks into the room like she isn’t impressed or fazed by any of it. She casually grabs a glass from the cupboard and moves to the fridge, clicking the water dispenser on. She barely looks at me.
“Smells good.”
Even if her tone is less than thrilled, her even uttering a word brings me the slightest feeling of hope.
“Fingers crossed it tastes that way. I made it myself.”
Victoria hums absently to herself before sipping from her glass, not offering me much more to work with.
She doesn’t smile or tease…she just lingers.
I hate how her lack of enthusiasm makes me question myself. How it has me second-guessing the smallest things in ways I wouldn’t normally.
She holds more power than she knows.
“Take a seat, it’s ready,” I eventually say, keeping my tone light despite the subtle twist of uncertainty in my stomach.
I shouldn’t care…But I do.
I want her to like it, and I want her to just give me something .
Eventually, we make our way to the table, and I serve up our plates. I’m mostly satisfied with how the herb-encrusted chicken turned out, along with the seasoned potatoes and sautéed greens.
Everything about the meal, down to the table setting, is perfect.
And yet, Victoria doesn’t reveal any kind of thrill. Instead, she looks noncommittal while she cuts into the food and starts to eat.
She chews and swallows, but there’s no spark in her gaze. She hardly speaks and wears that detached look way too well.
It’s nearly agonizing.
“What do you think?” I eventually ask, puncturing through the heavy silence.
She swallows again before reaching for her wine. “It’s fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes. Fine.”
I sigh, feeling like she’s kicking me while I’ve already surrendered.
Finally, I put my silverware down and meet her gaze. “Just how long will you keep pretending like nothing ruffles you now?”
Victoria doesn’t even flinch. “I’m not pretending.”
I know damn well she’s bluffing. She had been nothing but flustered and terrified before, and now, she’s wearing the opposite mask.
“Bullshit. You’re acting like nothing happened,” I return, tone accusatory. “Like nothing has changed.”
Then, the slightest twitch in her face gives away her true feelings. But she schools her expression and looks at me pointedly. “And what do you want me to say? How I liked it? That I regret it?”
Tempering my irritation at her tone, I mutter, “I want you to be honest for once.”
This makes her gaze sharpen and sends her lips into a flat line. “I’ve tried to be honest with you numerous times before, but you never wanted to hear it.”
I go to refute that claim, but I pause, well aware that she has a point.
She tried to tell me the truth about who she was, but I didn’t listen. She tried to get me to see how the arrangement was bringing her nothing but panic, and I still didn’t pay attention. I didn’t do anything about it.
Letting go of a breath, I look her over with a hint of reluctance in my tone. “And if I’m trying to be better?”
She scoffs to herself, not caring to continue eating, it seems. “Would you like a gold star for your effort?”
That makes my blood pressure rise, but I scrub a hand over my mouth to try and stay calm. “You don’t get to do this…act like you’d do anything to get my hands on you, just to turn around and ice me out. Not after what we shared.”
“Don’t act like a bit of ice bothers you. You’re nothing but cold,” Victoria says, still unwilling to bend in any capacity. “And don’t pretend like you feel something now.”
“I do,” I grit, all while trying to avoid saying anything that I might regret, or that could set her off even further. “And it’s not something I’m used to. But I’m still here…I’m still trying. I can’t say the same for you.”
Immediately, her eyes seem capable of throwing daggers, and she pushes the chair back before standing.
Her words come out cold and clipped. “I’m going to bed.”
I wait a beat, letting that frustration simmer within me before I murmur, “Where?”
To my surprise, she pauses but doesn’t look back at me. “Mine, obviously.”
That flares immediate displeasure in me, and my expression hardens. “No…you’ll sleep in mine—ours.”
Victoria bristles, but turns again to let me see just how unimpressed she is by my insistence. “I can sleep where I want to.”
“You’re sleeping in our bed,” I repeat, unwilling to accept anything different. “You’re my wife…you don’t need to sleep in another bed like we’re roommates.”
“Aren’t we? We hardly know each other.”
It’s my turn to narrow my gaze in her direction. “We might get to know each other if you give me something to work with…it’s amazing how that works.”
She hardly looks impressed and crosses her arms. “Like you’d open up to me for even a second.”
“I would…but you won’t let that happen.”
Her jaw tightens, and she looks prepared to storm out at any moment. “No…because I’m protecting myself.”
“From me?”
She doesn’t waver. “Yes. From you.”
I hate to admit it to even myself, but her response hits me like a sucker punch.
She really thinks so lowly of me…
Trying to even myself out again, I take a slow breath. “You think I’d hurt you?”
“You already have.”
Everything in me wants to shout about how wrong she is. How every one of my goals serves to do the exact opposite, but I already know that won’t help.
Instead, I focus on the sincerity pulsing within me, hoping she’ll see the truth eventually.
There are so many things I could say…so many topics I could unearth, yet, my mind is only focused on one thing at the moment.
“You’ll sleep in the master bedroom. With me.”
Of course, she digs even deeper. “No.”
“Victoria…I’m not asking.”
“And I’m not agreeing,” she counters, just as guarded as usual. “Why does it matter anyway?”
“Because I want you near me…is that what you needed to hear?”
To my surprise, this makes her pause, and she even hesitates. Then, Victoria releases a breath that serves as a quiet surrender. Her agreement.
“Don’t assume this means anything…”
Biting back the urge to say anything else, I watch as she turns away again and continues out of the dining room.
Regardless of her irritation, it’s something, at least.
Time crawls by as I finish eating on my own, and while the food is better than I expected, it suddenly feels bland, regardless of whether I managed to win that little exchange.
After cleaning up the remnants of my attempt to connect with my wife, I head upstairs to find Victoria keeping her word.
She sleeps on the far side of the bed with her back facing the door. The sheets are pulled up high to cover her completely, and her body moves ever so slightly with each one of her slow, measured breaths.
Sliding in beside her, I keep to my side, and despite the temptation, I don’t touch her.
I stare up at the ceiling for a while, caught between subtle relief and the agonizing need for more.
I just want her to look past every preconceived notion she has of me…to see beyond the hard exterior.
Her iciness has me completely on edge, and despite myself, I don’t know how much more I can take.