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“Yes!” I roar, rounding on her, causing her to back into the shelf. She makes contact; a few books topple to the floor from the impact. “That’s exactly what you should be doing!”
Galina’s chest rises and falls from her fast breathing. We’re close together, the way we’d stand if we were about to kiss. But this moment isn’t something as sweet as that. Shutting her mouth in a snap of teeth, she glares at me with clear disgust.
“Then I guess the matter is settled,” she seethes.
Bending down, she picks up the books. With her back to me, she replaces them on the shelf, paying careful attention to position them the way they were before. That small action brings me back to my senses. What the hell am I doing?
She’s pregnant. Of course her emotions are going to be all over the place. And like a thoughtless fool, I carelessly trampled over them.
“I’m sorry,” I say, but I can tell from how she doesn’t react that the damage is done.
Ignoring me, she walks stiffly out of the room. I watch her go, longing for her to turn around, to return and give me a chance to mend things. Your inner demons escaped, I scold myself. All this turmoil about the war and you let it get to you. I feel like an immature child. No man worth his salt should lash out at his wife.
His pregnant wife, I remind myself soberly.
I understand that Galina wants the freedom to explore outside my mansion, but it isn’t possible. Leaving would put not just her at risk, but our child. Yevgeniy’s actions are too much of a mystery to me. If I could understand what he was after, I could plan around it. That was the point of the damn wedding! I was sure he’d make a move during the ceremony.
My confidence is cracking. All my perfect moves, my scheming, have proved pointless. All I’ve gained from them is a surprise baby.
Even if this baby is real ...
Our marriage isn’t.
Yet Galina talks to me like we’re actually married. She demands freedom, special treatment, and continues to test my rules. On the outside, we’ve fooled everyone. I should take pride in our acting skills. Instead, I feel a sourness over our performance.
Playing imaginary house … it’s pathetic. No one should be satisfied with such a thing. But what other choice is there?
Ever so slowly, like sap down a tree, an idea drips into me. An idea so damn tempting that I feel my pulse quicken. The marriage can become real. My delight is crushed just as fast as it gets started. What will my brigadiers think? They’ll never approve. They expect a proper Bratva princess, not an ordinary woman like Galina. But … marrying for love isn’t the craziest idea. It’s been done before.
Somewhere down the hall, I hear a door slam.
I know Galina is angry; she has every right to be.
I also know what I can do to show my remorse.
I just have to convince my brigadiers.
34
GALINA
I’ve never been so furious.
How dare he? How fucking dare he!
Arsen had no right to raise his voice to me. No, you’re mad about the wrong thing. The issue is he’s still controlling what you do! For him to deny me the right to walk out the front door, to feel the sun on my skin, and to smell the fresh air simply because I desire it—he’s being a damn bastard.
I’m not paying attention to where I’m going. Looking up, I find I’m in the main room by the front door. Lately, my subconscious continues to lead me here. Locking my legs, I gaze at the exit longingly. I could do it. Just open it, run outside, and ignore the men who would try to stop me. If I go fast enough, they won’t catch me.
Imagining Kostya’s face when I dart past him brings me a flash of perverse delight. He hates me. I know it. Making him panic would be so satisfying.
My hand inches toward the brass knob. From the corner of my eye, I sense movement through the window. Jolting backward, I lean closer, recognizing my mother on the other side. She’s standing in the same spot she was the other day. Her cigarette dangles from her lips—it’s mostly ash, nearly to the filter.
She’s not crying this time. I look closer, noticing how she rocks from side to side. My mother is stressed to all hell. I’ve never seen her like this before. Whatever she’s been hiding is weighing so heavily that I worry it will snap her in half.
Stubbing the cigarette out, she puts the end in her pocket. Then she vanishes, appearing again through the front door. At the sight of me, she goes white as the wall paint. “Galina.”
“You’re smoking every couple of hours these days, huh?” I ask cynically.
