Chapter 10 Evi
EVI
Sunlight, too bright and warm, spills across the unfamiliar walls of the bedroom as I lazily open my eyes.
God, I’m exhausted, and for a moment, I don’t remember where I am.
The haze of sleep clings to me like a heavy fog.
But as I take in the dark gray paint and the rich mahogany furniture of Sandro’s suite, it all comes back in a rush—the wedding, the vows, the blood on Sandro’s hands and clothes when he walked through the door last night.
Then… everything that came after.
Heat rushes up my neck, and I bury my face in my pillow to hide the wave of embarrassment that threatens to swallow me whole—even as my lips split into a wide, unstoppable smile. Last night was undoubtedly the single best night of my life.
My entire body is sore, aching in ways I’ve never known before. My thighs burn, my hips feel bruised, and there’s a throbbing between my legs that’s entirely too tender. A I love every aching pulse because it reminds me of Sandro.
I roll onto my back with a groan, stretching stiffly as I stare up at the ceiling.
My new husband has an appetite unlike anything I could’ve imagined.
He was relentless, insatiable, and yet controlled, as if keeping himself in check every moment he touched me.
The thought of seeing Sandro unbridled sends a shiver down my spine. I’m not sure my body could handle it.
Even with his restraint, he took me again and again, until I thought I couldn’t possibly endure more pleasure—then he pushed me further still.
It should terrify me—the complete lack of control I had in our bed last night. But instead, I find myself smiling like a fool. I never imagined sex could be like that. I never realized it could make me feel so alive, so connected to someone I hardly know.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I turn my head toward the clock on the bedside table.
It’s ten in the morning. My eyes widen, and I sit up too quickly, instantly regretting the motion as my muscles protest. I never sleep in this late.
But when I do the math, I realize I’ve barely gotten five hours of sleep.
That would explain it. I stayed up nearly until dawn, tangled with Sandro in ways that still make me flush just thinking about it.
The bed beside me is empty, the sheets already cool.
There’s no sign of Sandro, and my stomach twists.
Did he sleep at all? Knowing what little I do about him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t.
He seems like the sort of man who thrives on constant motion, like stillness itself would suffocate him.
Forcing myself to climb out of bed, stiff and awkward in my movements, I make my way toward the bathroom.
Hopefully, a hot shower will help. At the very least, I need to wash off the smell of sex that clings to my skin and makes my stomach quiver.
Still, I wish I could keep the scent of him that lingers in my hair after a night of sleeping in his bed.
It leaves me feeling giddy, and a sharp stab of longing lances through me.
I shouldn’t miss him already.
That’s ridiculous—especially since we’ve never even spent a day together.
But after last night, it’s like the gravity of my world has shifted.
And my equilibrium now relies on him.
Get ahold of yourself, Evi. Sandro needs a wife who can support him, not a clingy girl who can’t manage in his absence.
By the time I’ve finished showering and dressed, I’ve pulled myself together.
Wearing a sage-green summer dress I fashioned myself, I take a fortifying breath and step out into the hall.
The Novikov mansion is hushed but not sleeping—faint sounds drift from the main part of the house, evidence of life going on without me.
I follow the scent of something rich and savory toward the kitchen and find my way into the breakfast room.
Anika is already there, perched at the table with a mug cradled between her hands.
She looks so effortlessly graceful, as though mornings bend to her will instead of the other way around.
Her blond hair is brushed and gleaming, her posture relaxed but elegant.
She’s everything I could ever hope to be, and when she glances up and sees me, her face softens into a warm smile.
“Good morning, Evi.”
“Good morning,” I echo, suddenly self-conscious as I tuck a strand of damp hair behind my ear. My gaze flicks to the cup in her hand. Steam curls up from it, carrying the faint but unmistakable aroma of coffee.
I hesitate, then blurt, “I thought you weren’t supposed to drink coffee when you’re pregnant?” Because in the few short weeks that we put the wedding together, she told me about the baby she and Miko had been blessed with.
Her smile turns wry, almost amused, but not unkind. “It’s decaf,” she assures me, lifting the mug as if in a toast. “I really do miss caffeine,” she admits, looking longingly into her mug. “But this does the trick—sort of.”
“Oh.” I sink into the chair across from her, relief washing through me, though it feels silly. Why should I care so much about her health, about her baby? And yet I do. I can’t help it. Or the hollow ache that settles in my chest.
Anika studies me thoughtfully, her free hand drifting almost unconsciously to the modest curve of her belly.
She strokes it with a kind of absentminded tenderness, her smile softening further.
“It’s worth it, you know. Every sacrifice.
Every change. It’ll all be worth it if you’re with the right person. ”
My chest tightens at the simple joy glowing in her expression.
A joy I’ll never understand—even if, against all odds, Sandro might be my right person.
But the possibility of having children isn’t an option for me.
I don’t tell her that, though—even if I trust Anika more than anyone else in this home.
I don’t tell her how much it hurts to see her like this, radiant and fulfilled, while I sit across from her, pretending to be content.
Because my mother’s words of warning ring fresh in my ears, reminding me to swallow the pain and put on a brave face.
With difficulty, I manage a smile and murmur, “I believe you.”
She beams at me, and for a moment, I entertain the fantasy that one day I might know that same happiness.
If it were ever possible, last night would be the test of it.
Sandro left me sore and aching, yes, but he also left me feeling fuller and more content than I even knew I could.
If life were fair, maybe I could have earned such a gift.
I push the thought aside before it can spiral further, focusing instead on the gratitude I feel for having a wedding night as incredible as I did. It’s easier to cling to that than the hollow ache of longing for something I can’t have.
The kitchen door swings open, and one of the maids steps in with a steaming pot and a mug.
“Coffee, ma’am?” she offers, stopping beside me.
“Yes. Please,” I say, then wait as she pours the dark liquid into my mug and provides me with a bowl of sugar cubes and cream.
She leaves without another word, and I focus on stirring the sweetener into my drink.
“Do you know where Sandro is?” I ask after a moment.
Anika chuckles softly, setting down her mug. “He and Miko usually go spar in the mornings. Call it their version of a workout.”
“Oh.”
My mind immediately conjures the image—two men, fists flying, sweat dripping, strength meeting strength in brutal collision. I can almost see Sandro’s expression, intense and unyielding, and the thought sends a shiver down my spine. Then I recall the bruises he came home with last night.
“Is that safe?” I ask, worry tightening my stomach.
“I’m sure they won’t get too carried away. They got a late start this morning.”
Anika’s tone lilts playfully, and my cheeks burn as I lower my gaze, suddenly fascinated by the grain of the wooden table. Is she… hinting about what Sandro and I did last night? Or how many times we did it?
When I finally glance back up, there’s a knowing twinkle in her eye.
But she doesn’t tease me. Instead, she gives me a wink.
“Miko and I kept the party going long after you two left. We danced until nearly midnight, and the guests didn’t leave until well after that.
It was a wonderful celebration. I think we all needed it. ”
Relief washes through me, though it does little to cool my blush. “I’m glad the wedding was such a success. Thank you for… well, everything, really. But especially for helping me pull it off in such a short time.”
Her eyes sparkle as she studies me, and I get the feeling she can spot my gratitude for the tactful change of subject. “You’re very welcome,” she says, then her eyes slide down to my dress. “That’s a lovely outfit. Where did you get it?”
“Oh, um. I made it actually,” I admit, my cheeks flushing once more.
“Really?” Anika says, sitting up in her chair as she studies my dress more intently. “You’ve got an eye for fashion,” she observes.
“Thank you,” I murmur, caught off guard by the compliment. I’ve only every fussed with sewing and design to keep my mind occupied and my hands busy. But having Anika, who always looks so beautiful and stylish, tell me she likes my fashion sense means a lot to me.
And though I feel like a fish out of water in my new situation, it helps ground me in a way I didn’t expect. Perhaps I can find a way to be useful here—even if I can’t provide Sandro with the heirs he’ll expect. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I’m struck by a wave of discouragement.
I shouldn’t count on it.
When my husband finds out I’m not fit to fulfill my duty as his wife, I’m sure he’ll send me packing. And until then, my main job is ensuring no one knows I’m sitting on a secret.