His mouthabsolutelystarted smiling like that.
“And?” he prompted.
“And… you got work to do, and I got shit to figure out, so I'on wanna hear about no babies and nothing like it ’til I tell you we good... if I tell you. But I’m not giving up. Not yet,” I admitted.
The night air hit us as he carried me outside. Targen stopped walking. For a minute, he just looked at me, his expression warmer and kinda hopeful. Then he bent and pressed his forehead to mine.
“Good,” he said softly. ‘’Cause I wasn’t letting you.”
I rolled my eyes even as my heart did something soft and weak. “There you go, ruining the moment with your caveman behavior.”
He smiled and started walking again. “You love my caveman behavior.”
I didn't deny it. Instead, I snuggled closer before I could stop myself.
“Julien Reed?” I called loudly.
Behind us, Juvie groaned. “What, girl?”
“Come drive! I wanna go...” I stopped, looked up at my hopeful husband again. “I wanna go home,” I finished softly.
I wasn't giving in all the way, yet. He still had things to show me. But… I felt like I might be willing to see them.
(Wednesday,June 18)
I spent a lot of the week after the wedding in my office. That office was… ridiculous. But I had to grudgingly admit that I meant that in the best, most over-the-top way. It was beautiful, all sunlit and soft. It suited me so perfectly that it got on my nerves. It had big windows that let in the light of the bright Texas sun, warming the gorgeous wood floor and everything it touched. The centerpiece of the room was the desk, no doubt. It was hand-carved and somehow elegant but functional, with intricate designs and a beautiful inlaid map. There was enough space for my notebooks, my pens, my laptop, a drink, all the little things I liked to keep near when I wrote. The shelves were lined with books, pretty editions mixed with my favorites, takenfrom my house. Off to one side was a sitting area with a plush couch and a chair that looked and actually felt good. Someone had folded a soft throw over the arm like they knew I liked to be warm when I curled up to read or write. There was a fragrant selection of candles, all the kind of sweet, fruity scents I liked. The room was feminine and luxurious and I loved it. It felt like a place where words would come easy, where I could build whole worlds. And what irritated… and endeared me most was that Targen had it built for me.
I thought about that every time I walked in there. It would’ve been okay if it were some random room in some random big ass house. But, oh, no. He clearly designed this space with me in mind.Me. My work. My habits. My taste. My dreams. All those things I’d whispered to him under the cover of starry Louisiana nights. He’d first shown it to me the day after the wedding, after I watched him and Juvie and Mikhail kill four men, before I drowned my sorrows with my family. He’d walked me down the hall like my head wasn’t still buzzing with everything he’d told me. He had a calm look on his face, like this wasn’t a big deal. But I knew better. He was tense and his eyes kept cutting to me. He wanted me to like it. Badly. I could tell that when he opened the door and went quiet.
I had stepped inside and just… stopped. I didn’t know what to do with this, with him. What was I supposed to do with a man who paid attention like he obviously did? I had blinked back tears. I didn’t want to give him that, didn’t want him to see how touched I was. But it was too much. The things on the desk and shelves, the inclusion of the reading nook—it was all mine somehow before I’d even touched anything in it. Then I looked at him, standing there trying so hard to act normal, but those beautiful eyes gave him away. My opinion on this room, another of his gifts to me, mattered to him. And that mattered to me.God, why was he making it so hard to be clear-headed about being his wife?
Of course, I didn’t make it easy on him. I crossed my arms and tried to look indifferent like the room hadn’t already wrapped itself around my heart. This man, my husband, really saw me. I had to be careful with that, protect myself while I decided if I could accept the life of a Bratva bride.
So, here I was in my office, halfway into the first week of being married to a man that was more stranger than husband to me, in some ways. I was standing in front of one of the windows when he knocked on the open door and walked in dressed in one of those beautifully tailored suits, looking so damn delicious that I wanted to lick him like a chocolate ice cream cone… well, maybe a golden vanilla one. Caramel?
“…you hear me,milaya?”
“Huh?” I asked, hastily shaking my head to clear it.
A sly smile tilted one corner of his lips. “What you over there thinking about?”
I wasn’t telling him that, even though that smile told me he already knew. “What did you say?”
“Nah, what’s on your mind, shorty?”
“I’m just… I was…” I fumbled around, looking for a good excuse. “Working out a storyline problem with my main character.”
He ambled closer to me, his face telling me he didn’t believe a word I was saying. “Oh, yeah? Tell me about it. Maybe I can help.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Sure. She has a worrisome ass husband who keeps secrets and just pissed her off by keeping a big one,” I snapped.
“Mmm. What’s her plan?”
“Well, she thinks about leaving…” My voice trailed off, coy and provocative all at once.
His mouth tightened as he finally stopped less than a foot away. “What if her husband wants her too much to allow that?”
I tilted my chin to stare up at him. “So, she has no say in whether or not she stays?”
