I’d told my mama what she’d described on the farm, every damn detail. I made no apologies for it being elegant and exorbitant—I planned to treat her to a life of the best. Once these walls and hard edges she’d erected came down, they’d stay down. I wanted the soft life for her that she dreamed about for herself.
A part of me wanted to point at each detail like, See? I listen. I remember. I’m not just some nigga who takes what he wants. But my shorty wasn’t in a place to receive that.
The entry opened into a wide space, then a hallway that led deeper into the house. There was a sitting room to the left, formal enough for company and a smaller lounge to the right where she could sit and read.
Theory slowed in the foyer.
“You don’t like it?” I asked.
Her eyes darted around. “It’s… a lot,” she said.
Damn. She hadn't even seen her office yet. I shrugged. “It’s yours.”
The corners of her lips turned downward. “Nothing feels like it’s mine right now.”
That little statement fucked with me, but I kept my face straight.
“The world is yours right now,malyshka,” I countered.
“If my world is a pretty little gilded cage,” she shot back.
She wanted to fight. I wasn’t giving her that, just kept looking at her pretty face. She didn’t let go that easily.
“Targen, you don’t think this is a lot?”
“You deserve a lot.”
Her mouth twitched like she wanted to laugh. “You don’t even know me like that.”
“I know enough, and I’m trying to learn the rest.”
She shot me a look that said, “Yeah, right,”and walked ahead of me. I trailed her into the living room. She stopped by the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the courtyard with its gently gurgling fountain. Theory had said she wanted to be our family’s peace. I was giving her the perfect backdrop.
She folded her arms. “I gotta give you credit. You got a nice set up for where to keep your hostage bride.”
Yeah, that was enough. “We not doing that tonight.”
“Oh, we not?” Her tone was sweet. Her eyes weren’t.
I sighed. “Theory. I’m not trying to fight with you. Come on. Let me show you our room,” I said.
Our.
She didn’t comment on the word, but the way she tensed, I knew she heard it, anyway.
Upstairs, the hallway was quiet, sound muted by the soft carpet under our feet. I opened the bedroom door and let her walk in first. The room was big as hell, the huge bed made up in white linen with a pale-blue throw folded neatly at the foot. There was a sitting area by the window, and beyond that, a balcony that overlooked a garden with lights strung through the trees like stars.
Theory stood there, staring. I wanted to touch her so fucking bad. I wanted to pull her against me and tell her everything was going to work out. I wanted to kiss her until she stopped looking so defensive. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to make love to my wife. The way she’d looked all day…
She’d walked down that aisle in that cream, titties sitting up, hips and thighs moving sinuously beneath that material, and I’d had to clench my jaw so tight my teeth hurt. And the little set she wore now—something her mama and sister had helped her change into when the reception was in full swing—didn’t help. It hugged her thick, curvy body in a way that had my brain stuck on stupid.
Her honey-brown skin glowed under the lighting like she had her own sunshine under there. Theory’s body was all full breasts and hips, soft thighs made to cradle me, and a waist dip that made my hands itch to grab it and the beads I knew she wore there. And that face—big, brown eyes and a plush mouth made for trouble. So, yeah, I wanted to touch her.
But I didn’t. Wanting wasn’t the same thing as taking, and she already felt I had taken too much. Tonight wasn’t about whatI wanted, anyway. If nothing else, I had patience. You tended to learn that in Siberia.
“It’s beautiful,” she said finally, sparing me a quick glance.
“I’m glad you like it. Are you hungry?” I asked.
