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Like a man possessed, I go to her. My boots scuff lightly on the white tiles of the kitchen floor. She hears me coming, turning as she takes a bite of the muffin in her hand. It’s studded with red cranberries throughout, hard crystals of sugar clinging to the surface. I notice the empty wrapper of one she’s already finished sitting on a tiny blue plate. Beside it is a glass of orange juice, or what’s left of it.
“Arsen,” she says around the food. Chewing, she washes it down, then reaches for me. I take her cue, scooping her close to kiss her cheek. On the island is a woven basket with a striped towel inside; it cradles a pile of various breakfast pastries.
“Try these muffins. Danil made them this morning. I’ve already had one.” Galina stuffs the other half of a cranberry muffin into her mouth. “Two, I mean.” She giggles like she’s done something naughty.
There are crumbs sticking to her lips and cheeks. I reach out, dusting some away. “You look beautiful like that,” I whisper.
She places the wrapper back on the plate to join the first. “Do I?” she asks, smiling coyly. “I’m just standing here stuffing my face.”
My arms circle her tighter. She sinks against my chest while I lean into her. I inhale the scent of her hair, groaning. “You’re beautiful because you exist.”
Galina sighs under her breath. She reaches up, stroking my jaw, turning us together until we kiss again. Her tongue grazes mine delicately. I can taste the tartness of cranberries. The softness of the kiss—of her—wakes my senses. The familiar ache of need wraps itself around my core. My cock stiffens. I wonder if we can get away with having sex right here. The staff might hear, but they’d know not to interrupt.
The sunshine gets in my eyes. I move us until we’re facing the opposite wall. Our shadows spread across there, merging together in perfect unison. Galina sways slightly, and our shadows dance. Tracing my nails down her arms, I nuzzle the side of her throat.
With a full-body shiver, Galina pulls away from me. “Arsen,” she groans.
I reach for her in confusion. “What is it?”
She hunches over the table and begins to shudder, her shoulders rising and falling like the tide. “I don’t feel right.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, clasping her shoulder protectively.
“I … I don’t know. I just—oh.” Her hand clamps over her mouth. With her eyes bulging, she breaks away, rushing down the hall. The stairs thunk with her running up them.
“Galina!” I yell, chasing after her. She’s fast—if she’d run like this when I first kidnapped her, without my men there, she might have escaped. I take a mild fall when I turn on a dime to make sure I don’t lose sight of her. She bounces off the railing on the landing, sending a small vase of dried sage and flowers toppling to the floor.
Ignoring it, I jump over it and follow her into her bedroom. She sprints into the bathroom attached to it. She doesn’t bother to close the door, so I have a full view of her dropping to her knees in front of the toilet. And without warning, she vomits.
Tensing up in confusion, I kneel beside her, rubbing her back. “Galina!”
She waves a hand at me hastily. She tries to say something but retches again.
“I’m going to call a doctor.”
“No, I … I’ll be fine. I just—” She never finishes her sentence before retching again.
“You’re not fine.” Yanking out my phone, I dial as fast as I can.
Pacing Galina’s bedroom, listening to her throwing up, I bring the doctor up to speed. Once I’m done, I stare out the window, searching for his car. It doesn’t take him more than fifteen minutes to arrive, but it feels like forever.
Rushing down the stairs, I meet him at the front. Dr. Helsan is in his late fifties, but thanks to his round cheeks and bushy mustache, he seems younger. I’ve found his cheeriness to be unnerving in the past. No man who walks into the bloody scenes that a Bratva war creates should smile so much.
“This way,” I tell him, grabbing the sleeve of his white jacket. He doesn’t fight me as he struggles to keep up with my quick steps. I guide him back to where Galina is. She’s moved from the toilet to her bed, but when we walk in, she throws her blankets aside. Her hair is clinging to her face from sweat.
“Galina,” I tell her. “Dr. Helsan here.”
“Let’s see what’s going on,” he says.
“I feel like I ate something bad,” she groans weakly.
The doctor helps walk Galina into the restroom. “Let’s go in here,” he tells her kindly. “I’m going to run a few tests.”
“What kinds of tests?” I demand.
He gives me a flat look. Many people are intimidated by me, but Dr. Helsan isn’t. “I’m helping my patient, Mr. Isakov. You need to stay out there. Everything will be fine, I promise.”
“If you touch my wife without my permission,” I round on him, “I won’t hesitate to end you.”
