Chapter 11 - Ivan
Not having a concrete plan pisses me off.
Watching my attempts at keeping one together, only for it to crumble right in front of me, pisses me off more.
Instead of doing what needs to be done and reaping the rewards, I have an angry woman on my hands, busy hating me for reasons that are entirely my fault, along with a never-ending slippery slope I can’t catch a break from.
Try as I might to form something concrete that will help us all, the baby shower made it painfully clear that I’m not any closer than I was a few weeks ago.
My brothers said as much, and knowing how perceptive they are, they know I’m improvising.
They know that something other than duty is guiding me right now.
Hell, for the most part, they’ve found themselves in a similar position, and they wasted no time doing the one thing they surely expected me to.
In our world, marriage is how you both secure alliances and figuratively tell your enemies to fuck off when done with the right person.
Tying myself to Mila legally would be a swift way to remove her from the equation, and it would be difficult for others to challenge without more bloodshed.
My brothers wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if they questioned it, either.
Roman didn’t ask me to tie a knot around her. He told me to get rid of her like it was a simple request. Of course, I’m not prepared to let that happen, which leaves me with very few options.
Forcing Mila to marry me would also require me to be someone I’m not.
I don’t marry, and I don’t promise anyone permanence. I don’t operate around another person outside of my family and call it duty, nor do I waste time trying to find security or comfort in anyone else.
Whether my brothers have benefited from sheer luck or pure stubborn determination when it comes to their marriages, I don’t know, but in my case, I don’t think I’d have such luck.
With my track record, I’m not so sure I deserve it anyway.
Yet, letting Mila go feels more like shooting myself in the foot and hoping I don’t bleed out. I’ve invested far too much time into watching her and learning about those details she didn’t want me to uncover, and now, she also knows too much.
Whether she’s figured it out completely or not, soon enough, she’ll realize my dedication was never about facts skimmed over in a dossier handed to me. Instead, it’s personal, even if I never should’ve allowed that to happen.
She already hates me, but she’ll only hate me more.
While I don’t want to admit that Roman is right, and the smart move would be to create distance between us for the sake of damage control, I’m not willing to let that happen. I’m not prepared for the inner turmoil it would place in me.
So, I make temporary space instead. Something I can abandon the moment my urge to be near her kicks up again.
I end up in one of our clubs, reacquainting myself with the low lights and the deep bass I’ve managed to stray away from more recently. I’ve been too busy to indulge like usual, and now, I need the relief I’m used to.
Here, the private section calls me in like a siren call, and drinks appear without me asking. Our men and associates greet me briefly, nodding as I pass them, and before long, the usual drifters come back in.
This is where I usually unwind, and while the relief surrounds me at first, it doesn’t feel as sweet as usual.
Still, I drink anyway. The whiskey goes down as easily as it normally does, and the slight burn melts the rough edges of my otherwise flailing plan.
Between the lights and the bottles entering my space, along with the more attentive women, I don’t know how much time passes, but it doesn’t seem to matter anyway.
Their laughter surrounds me, pitched just right while their dresses are cut short enough to potentially invite curious hands, but I struggle to focus on them or the way they linger like they want something.
Of course, it doesn’t take long for her to find me.
Naomi slides in closer than the others, grinning faintly like usual when she’s feeling a bit smug, while she leans in, and the cut of her neckline seems to speak before she does. “It’s been a while, Ivan.”
We had a thing once. There weren’t any expectations at first, and it had been only about fun, usually when I was drunk.
She usually didn’t ask for much, and rarely showed me much emotion beyond the vaguely cold and controlled veneer of a socialite.
Until she started to slip, and my interest waned as a result.
I glance at her, buzzed enough to not push her away as she lightly brushes her fingers along my wrist. Really, it feels more like a habit on my end.
“You disappeared…I was worried something might’ve happened to you,” she hums, tracing my features with a gleam in her brown eyes, long lashes framing them almost innocently. “I missed our talks.”
A vaguely amused huff leaves me, but I sidestep around the bait. “I was busy.”
“Busier than usual? You used to make time for me,” she murmurs, fingers gliding higher while she moves in even closer.
I take a measured breath, feeling a slight waver in my previous disinterest thanks to the whiskey. “Priorities change.”
She hums again, pink-tinted lips still teasing while she cuts more of the space. Her hand finds my chest, moving down now while her face presses close to my neck. “You look tense, Ivan. Let me help.”
A dull yet familiar spark travels down the length of my spine from her touch, just stimulating enough to wake up that part of my brain.
Normally, that’s all it would take for me to cave and give us both what we want, even if it means nothing.
The night would end no differently than usual, both indulgent and predictable.
But the moment her lips brush against my neck, I tense.
There’s a small voice in my head telling me to go with it, and to let desire dull everything else, but it isn’t louder than the image of her in my mind.
Mila.
I don’t know why, but her face intrudes uninvited, breaking the moment before it can even truly begin.
It isn’t angry or defiant, Mila, but the one I’ve been watching for week after week. The one who willingly puts herself on a stage and allows herself to be vulnerable when nobody else in her life will listen. The one who looked at me tonight like I crossed a line she didn’t even know existed.
My jaw tightens, and I pull back slightly.
Naomi notices and pauses, shifting away enough to look me in the eyes. “Bad timing?”
Lying and forcing myself not to care feels easier, but I’m apparently not strong enough to avoid Mila’s pull.
“I’m just not in the mood,” I mutter, bringing my glass to my lips.
She cocks a brow at me, settling back to give me at least a sliver of space. Her eyes roam my face again, then she gives a small, somewhat dejected laugh. “That’s new.”
The longer I feel her eyes on me, the less I want it, and I shrug her hands away. “Another night.”
An empty promise, and one I won’t even attempt to live up to.
Naomi lingers for a moment, then she shrugs and slides out of the booth like she doesn’t have it in her to care, though, knowing her, it must sting at least a little. Fortunately, she doesn’t make a scene.
In a way, that’s why our previous arrangement worked, until it didn’t.
When she leaves, long dark hair gleaming under the lights, the others follow, and before long, I’m left in a spacious booth that feels emptier than it should. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Throwing back the last of my drink, I stand with a slight sway, muttering to one of my men nearby, “Take me home.”
Despite him not being on the clock, he complies, and the drive blurs along with the city lights and various tourists just beginning their night.
The alcohol in my system is enough to dampen my awareness without being so plastered I can’t handle myself. By the time we pull into the parking garage, my thoughts are slower, but not entirely gone.
The condo is quiet when I arrive, and under the soft glow of the living room lamps, I expect to find it perfectly empty, and for Mila to be in bed.
But, she’s still awake, sitting on one of the couches with her knees tucked up, long golden strands loose around her shoulders.
The TV’s on, but she doesn’t seem all that invested in whatever’s playing.
Though she glances at me once she hears my footsteps, and a hint of surprise flickers across her face, only for her to school it again.
“You’re up late,” I say on a heavy exhale, dropping my keys unceremoniously on the counter before I approach.
“So are you,” she mumbles, arms crossed over her chest. Then, she looks at me again, longer this time. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“What a coincidence,” I muse, leaning against the back of the other sofa. “Neither could I.”
Mila lets a faintly amused sound slip from her, then, as if realizing she’s supposed to be mad at me, she turns her nose up. “You smell like a bar.”
“An expensive one, I hope.”
“They all smell cheap regardless.”
“Harsh, but observant,” I hum, feeling a bit lighter than I had earlier. From where I stand, I toe my shoes off, letting go of a chuckle at the way I almost lose my balance before catching myself on the sofa.
The tension between us is still there, as if waiting for the right moment to strike, but the booze takes away some of its bite. I felt miserable earlier, and even more so after the drinks, but now, it leaves me, and if anything, I’m more tired than angry. Maybe a little delirious, even.
After a moment of consideration, Mila murmurs cautiously, “How much have you had to drink?”
“Enough to feel pretty good,” I tell her, lips pulling without me telling them to.
Her brows lift, and she hesitates, caught between curiosity, disbelief, and amusement. “Pretty good? Does that mean you’re a happy drunk?”
“Happier than most usually…but I’m buzzed, not drunk,” I correct her, pointing lazily in her direction. “There’s a very distinct difference.”
“Right,” she snorts to herself. “Buzzed Ivan seems a lot more relaxed.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Despite herself, Mila allows the faintest smile to cross her face, and something about that makes me feel victorious in a way.
Yet, at the same time, my stomach sinks a little, and my mind drifts back to right after the baby shower. How I had been less than decent to her.
Sighing, I scrub a hand down my face. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
The warmth from her features fades slightly, but she doesn’t dodge it. “Said what?”
“The things before,” I gesture vaguely, leaning my forearms against the back of the couch to lean more into it. “About watching you. You weren’t supposed to know…but I’m also not good at explaining things gently.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
With some delay in my response, I lift my head more and meet her eyes. “It wasn’t about control, even if that’s how it seems.”
Mila glances away for a moment, and her shoulders shift with another scoff. “That’s definitely how it seems.”
“I know,” I concede, absently fiddling with my thumbs. “It really was about business, but then I got curious. I went from watching the doomed, sheltered sister to someone completely different on stage. Most girls in your position would’ve given in to their brothers’ wishes, but you didn’t.”
She watches me closely now, and regardless of the suspicion still in her eyes, something soft and new exists there too.
“I just wanted to understand, so I paid attention,” I mumble, taking more effort to draw in deep, grounding breaths than usual.
“It was still wrong.”
“Yeah, I know,” I mumble. “I’m working on that.”
I feel Mila’s eyes on me a moment longer, then I catch her amused hum. “You look like hell. You should probably sleep it off.”
“And yet my room is so far.”
“Quit complaining and start moving,” she says, surprising me with her more lighthearted tone. “Do you want some water?”
“Yes, please,” I mumble, starting to feel the pressure of exhaustion now as I will myself to stand up straighter.
“I’ll meet you there, then.”
I nod with uncharacteristic obedience, starting towards the master bedroom with a slight sway, but I manage to get enough of a grip to get there. Distantly, I hear the faucet run in the kitchen, and for whatever reason, a spark of anticipation flickers in my chest.
By the time Mila returns with a glass of cold water and presses it into my hand, I’m already sitting on the edge of the bed, and our fingers brush long enough for it to feel significant, even if it isn’t.
“Slow down,” she mutters as I drain most of it in a couple of mouthfuls, likely spilling some on myself without really caring.
“Yes, boss,” I say, pulling in a breath as I grin and set the glass aside.
Mila snickers, and this time, it’s a bit softer. Soft enough to dislodge something unfamiliar in my chest.
I’m usually more careful about what I say, but a thought leaves my head from my mouth before I can stop it. “You don’t have to hate me, you know.”
She looks at me, standing above me in a way that’s more appealing than it should be. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“No, I don’t,” I agree in a mumble. “But I can hope.”
She doesn’t move or say anything for a beat, then she sighs and reaches forward, lightly grabbing the buttons on my shirt. “You are lucky you’re drunk.”
I tense instinctively, likely a beat later than usual, then I force myself to relax a bit. I grin. “What, are you planning on taking advantage of me?”
I receive a deadpanned expression, but she continues anyway. “No, shut up.”
Something about that makes me laugh, being far too pliant for my own good.
“Push your luck, and I’ll let you sleep like this.”
“Imagine such a thing.”
Mila rolls her eyes, but smiles as she gets my shirt undone, slowing down a bit as she pushes the material back.
As her fingers brush against my skin while removing my sleeves, a shiver moves through me, unbidden.
That sensation lingers longer than it has any right to, but something in me wants to move closer towards it.
Even if she has every right to hate me, she handles me with the kind of care that makes me feel more vulnerable than I’m prepared to confront.
Left in my pants now, I look up as she steps back, half expecting her to continue.
Mila lifts a brow instead. “You’re handling the rest.”
The innocence in that demand makes me smile to myself, and I nod. “Fair enough…thanks for getting me this far.”
She nods, and something almost shy moves through her then. “Goodnight, Ivan.”
Feeling warmer than before, I shuffle back and watch as she retreats from the room, but not as hurriedly as I expected from her.
As I take my time getting out of my bottoms and settling into bed, I sit in that quiet space while the last half an hour replays in my head, provoking an unlikely realization in my hazy state.
I liked that more than I should’ve, and the sooner I get to feel her gentle hands on me again, the better.