AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Backing into the hall, my chest tightens and twists. Why on earth did I follow him? He doesn’t need me. He’s a grown man who can take care of himself.
My logic tries, and fails, to overrule the unwanted feeling of hurt. His obvious rejection stings. It shouldn’t, because I don’t care about him at all, but it does. Straightening my spine, I remind myself of everything horrible he’s done to me and that helps to ease the discomfort. By the time I’m back in the bedroom, my heart has completely shut out Dimitri Kozlov.
That entire week Dimitri avoids me. He rises early, and doesn’t return home until after I’ve fallen asleep. I should be the happiest captive alive to no longer have to endure dinner with him, or the tension of preparing for bed together. But I’m not.
I’m pissed off. How dare he?
How dare he treat me like one moment he desires me, and the next he can’t stand to be in the same room. It’s rude.
Ugh, what is wrong with me? I should take this opportunity to ask for that divorce I desperately crave. Instead, I’ve been taking the wonderful dinners that Nina makes me to the cozy home theater every night. Tonight I’m watching Pride and Prejudice for the millionth time.
Maks sits in the recliner next to mine, eating popcorn, and complaining about my movie choice, like he does every night. “How can you watch this boring shit?”
I’m curled up around my bowl of Pad Thai, the best of comfort foods. “It’s not boring. Jane Austen knew exactly what women want. Mr. Darcy is perfection.”
“Mr. Darcy is an asshole.”
I glare at him. “Obviously you have no idea what kind of man women want.”
“You’ve got that straight.” He snorts. “Here we go again with the melodrama.”
“Says the man who cried at the end of Anna Karenina.”
He tosses popcorn at me, and I use my fuzzy blanket as a shield. “I did not cry! Even if I did shed a single tear, it’s a tragedy, people are supposed to feel sad. The fact that you showed no emotion at all is kinda concerning.”
I scoff in mock outrage. “I showed emotion, just not outwardly. Inside I was all teary.”
“Bullshit.” He focuses on the movie. “Turn it up, will you? I can’t hear their terrible lines.”
I hide my smile as I increase the volume. “Are you sure? What about your rule of always watching TV on mute so you can hear if we’re being attacked or whatever?”
“That was at the penthouse. There’s so much noise in the city. Out here we’re surrounded by nothing but a top-notch security system that pings anything suspicious right to my phone. I know about every wild animal that crosses through the garden out back.”
“I’m glad you can finally enjoy some quality entertainment to its fullest extent.” I chuckle at his teasing glare.
He gazes at the screen, tossing popcorn at it a minute later. “Look at that asshole just ignoring her every chance he gets.”
Reminded of Dimitri, I glance away from the television. “Dimitri had a nightmare the other night,” I blurt out, before thinking it through.
Maks’s brows rise. “Really? It’s been a while, I thought the nightmares were gone.”
“You know about them?” That catches my full attention. “Do you know what they’re about? He was speaking Russian, I couldn’t understand much at all. Other than the word papa.”
His usually open expression shutters closed. I pushed too far, didn’t I?
While Maks has been fun to hang out with when he’s around, and when he drives me in town, he’s never been forthcoming about information regarding his boss. His loyalty speaks volumes.
“Never mind, I—” I start.
“We met when he was seven years old and I was nine on the streets of Moscow. I saved him from getting caught by these two bullies who had it in for him. Since that day, we’ve been inseparable. I told him about all the best places to beg and taught him how to pickpocket.” He gazes down at his hands, frowning. “Those were rough times. I think that’s where most of the nightmares stem from.”
Pickpocket? Begging? “But I thought… I thought his father sold him to someone.”
Maks clears his throat. “He did. The man who bought him only needed him once a week, so the rest of the time we lived on the streets.” He glances over at me. “Don’t tell him I told you any of this. It’s not really my story to tell. So don’t ask for more.”
I nod, understanding.
Why is it every time I think I’ve figured out who Dimitri Kozlov is, another layer comes to light? How can a man who seems so simple be so complex?
