Page 25 of Brutal Vows

“This is lovely,” she says, taking a small sip of champagne.

“Enjoy it while it lasts. Winter is coming.”

“So threatening,” she teases. “You’re a Game of Thrones fan?”

“I might have watched the series. You?”

Her phone pings, and she immediately reaches for it. She swipes it open, and within seconds of reading the message, she’s biting her bottom lip.

“Bad news?”

The shift in her is palpable.

She puts her glass on the coffee table. “No.” But there’s a quiver in her voice. “Can I make a call?”

“Sure.”

She glances around, tracking where the staff are, who is listening, who is watching. I sink deeper in my seat, quietly adding spy to my current job description. I might, at some point, have to hack into my lovely wife’s phone. Channel Benedict this time. I’m going through all my brothers, it appears.

When she finally meets my gaze, her bottom lip seems swollen with the way she’s put it through the wringer. “I’ll just message her.”

“Who is it?” I ask, casually. She’s too nervous to make a call, even here, out at sea. Interesting.

“Just a friend in Russia. I let her know about the wedding and so on…” She trails off, typing at speed with her thumbs.

This is so much more than a sweet just got married to a fucking stranger message. I groan inwardly. Sure, my wife is allowed to have friends and a life, as much as I can give her, but she’s in my custody now. To gain her freedom, she’ll have to first earn my trust.

How long until she actually tries to run? Escaping the Mafia—or the Bratva—isn’t easy, and anybody who tries needs a helping hand. For all I know, this friend in Russia is the other half of the escape plan. I lean back, staring at the odd star making an appearance. I’m so fucked.

Eventually, she puts the phone aside and reaches for her champagne. The constant need I have, my go-to since I was a kid, to joke around and defuse a strained atmosphere, has run dry. I waited too long for her to come out on deck. Now, I’m going to hold my tongue and let her put in some effort, and then we’ll see where this goes. I want to cut to the chase of this situation and have it out with her so I can move on with my life.

For a long moment, she just sits and twists the glass stem between her fingers. She shoots me nervous glances, but I don’t cave in. It’s dark by the time she says, “I wanted to ask you about money.”

“What about money, princess?”

“How does this work?”

“You need some?” I ask, testing the waters. I don’t need to see the Petrov Bratva’s compound, read their annual financial statements, or infiltrate their operations to make a guess. The Petrovs are worth hundreds of millions. Wouldn’t be surprised if they crossed over into the billions.

She audibly swallows. “Ever since I came back from Russia, things have been difficult.”

“Go on.” I’m being a dick by not making it easy for her, but I’m not going for a walk in the park here with her either.

“I’ll sum it up by saying my brother is a real asshole. He cut me off financially, and I don’t have access to any money.”

Nice. I bet he had his reasons, the most logical one being to protect her from her own idiocy, but I don’t have the full picture. “Why did he cut you off?”

Silence stretches, the only sounds the yacht’s engine and the splashing of water as the hull cuts through the waves.

“I—” She breaks off and physically draws away from me. “It’s not that deep, okay? If I need to buy tampons, I really don’t want to ask for money.”

“Tampons are petty cash and an easy online order.”

She widens her eyes at me as if using the word tampon without breaking out in an awkward male sweat is unheard of. There’s an angry glint in her eyes, and if she had fangs, she’d flash them at me. I see how this is going to go. The signs were there earlier already: my little witch has a temper. I resist smiling at her. This could potentially be a lot of fun. “Tell me what you really need money for?”

She shoves the blanket from her legs, stands, and in one swig downs the rest of her champagne. “Can we have dinner? I really want to go to bed.”

“Sure,” I say, following suit. I’d like nothing more than to go to bed early on my wedding night. “I was thinking we could watch a movie afterwards. Which do you prefer: Runaway Bride or How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days? I can also recommend The Fugitive if you’re looking for something with chase scenes and action.”