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He tried to ease me back onto the blanket, but I stood stiffly in his arms. He stroked my back and whispered soft words into my hair. I couldn’t go back to our fun evening and pretend nothing happened like he wanted and I pressed my hand against my belly.
“That kid was the son of one of your enemies?” I asked. He nodded against the top of my head. “Will our child be someone’s enemy one day?”
His hand stilled against my back as I waited for his honesty, for the first time not wanting it. “Probably. But our child won’t be an idiot.”
He pulled back to search my eyes, then looked off into the darkness where I now knew his men were guarding us. I also knew the night was over. We walked toward the hotel and as soon as we neared where his men were posted, he roughly took my arm and dragged me the rest of the way while they followed. Someone had brought his car from where we originally parked it and it waited for us in front of the hotel. He didn’t bother opening the door for me this time, only barked for me to get in.
The drive back to my prison cell was silent and as soon as we pulled in front of the huge mansion, I jumped out of the car and hurried ahead of him. I slammed myself in my room, staring at the door, counting the seconds until he burst in. We’d have a fight and then start tearing each other’s clothes off. Disgusted with myself, I still couldn’t wait to get my hands under that crisp white shirt and all over his hard chest. I needed him to make me forget the fear I’d felt on the beach. I just needed him.
I finally got undressed and crawled into my big empty bed on my own, more disgusted with myself at how disappointed I was that he never came.
Chapter 12 - Ivan
I paced the length of my room, down the hall from Reina’s. I was furious with myself for foolishly allowing her to be put in danger, all to see a smile on her face. To spoil her like the queen she was. Now she was angry with me and frightened for our child on top of everything. I was used to her anger, but I couldn’t stand seeing the realization about our child’s future status cause all the color to drain from her face. Steal the light from her eyes. She still didn’t have enough faith in me to never let her or my heir ever be in danger.
And why should she when I practically walked right into that situation tonight? I knew that Sergey Balakin’s promises meant less than nothing, and the proof walked right up to my wife and looked at her as if she was dirt. Called her names and scared her. I struck the wall until my fist went through it. Ignoring the blood on my knuckles, I only wished I’d hit Anton Balakin with that champagne bottle until his head had caved in like the drywall in front of me. I should have cast my vote with Nikolai and Yuri, but I let Aleksei’s siren call of peace sway me. I wanted the best outcome for the child in Reina’s belly and I’d ended up putting both of them in danger.
I called up Aleksei to rage at him, making sure he understood exactly what was at stake. “Find out if your truce is still in order,” I shouted as soon as he answered. “If not, all hell is going to break loose.”
He tried to calm me down, but I ended the call and tossed my phone down to resume pacing. I missed Reina and wished I’d gone to her room. But I was too angry, and there was no denying the devastation in her eyes when faced with the reality that our child would one day be in my position. Would one day carry on the Morozov name, as king, just as I did now. I couldn’t ease that burden for her, nor could I change our child’s fate. I had too much pride in what my own father and I accomplished over the years.
I needed to give Reina space to come to terms with all that no matter how much I craved her body. Once things were more secure with the Balakins I could slowly start introducing her around as my wife, make things public so she didn’t have to stay cooped up all the time. I knew she hated it, and I hated for her to be miserable. In my heart of hearts, I wanted her to embrace us being together and stop viewing herself as a prisoner.
My phone pulled me out of my thoughts, and I stopped pacing to see it was a video call from the Balakin head himself. I accepted the call, and Anton’s bruised face filled the screen. The view pulled back, and a hand struck him hard enough to jerk his head back, obviously not the first strike he’d received that night.
“Tell him,” a voice I recognized from our last meeting. His father, Sergey, he sounded angry.
Anton cleared his throat, looking like he wanted to spit. “I wasn’t ordered to do what I did. I acted alone and my father knew nothing about it.” His wild glare cut to the side and his jaw tensed. Another ruthless backhand landed across his cheek. “I—I’m sorry for what I did.”
The hand shoved him away and the camera turned to reveal Sergey. He looked grim and haggard. It couldn’t be fun to have to deal with such a shameful member of your organization, worse that it was his son. Just like I’d told Reina, I swore to myself that our child would never be such a fool.
“Our truce is still in effect,” he rasped. “Anton won’t be a problem to you anymore. I’ll meet at any time to discuss it further if you need me to.”
I admired him for trying to stay strong despite having to grovel due to his worthless offspring. “Aleksei will contact you again about that,” I told him, keeping my voice cold and devoid of any emotion. Let him wonder if I was truly satisfied with his attempt to make amends.
He nodded, his chin trembling. “Are we good, Morozov?”
“For now.”
I ended the call and sunk into the nearest chair, shocked at how relieved I was. No matter how angry I got, avoiding a war was always going to be the best way to proceed if I was to keep Reina and the baby safe. No matter the cost to our businesses, that was my only concern. I put my head in my hands. Were my feelings for Reina and our unborn baby making me soft?
Chapter 13 - Reina
I woke up the next morning to find I was still in a bad mood about the night before. Sick to death of worrying about Ivan or my status in his life, I asked for my breakfast out on my balcony to hopefully watch the seagulls dive bomb the boats on the waterway. Even poor Hetty suffered from my mood when I snapped at her that I didn’t care what I ate for breakfast.
“Surprise me,” I said sarcastically, kicking the magazine pile so that they all slid off the table and fanned out on the floor.
Feeling like the world’s worst brat, I stacked them back up and rearranged the rattan furniture while I waited for my food. I fluffed the cheery floral cushions and made sure all the bright, potted flowers were watered. Everything I was surrounded by was beautiful and comfortable. There was no reason to be so miserable, or at least so ungrateful. Ivan could have just as easily stuffed me in a dank basement somewhere until the baby was born.
By the time Hetty returned with my breakfast I felt more like a human and was able to thank her without sounding like I had razors in my throat. Then I uncovered the silver tray and the shaky house of cards that was my mood came tumbling down all over again. It was pigs in a blanket, three pancakes, neatly rolled up in a row with perfectly browned sausages sticking out of the ends. I set the tray on the table and sat there staring at one of my favorite childhood meals as tears filled my eyes.
Since my mother died when I was little, my dad had to be both parents. He never remarried or even dated, telling me when I was a teenager that no one could ever replace my mom, the love of his life. He was happy to take care of me, and he did his best, but he wasn’t the best cook. It was something I teased him about, but he still endeavored to always give me home cooked dinners most nights. Most of the time they weren’t that great. What was great were his pancakes every Sunday. Pigs in a blanket, just like the meal in front of me, albeit not on a silver platter or with cantaloupe cut up to look like roses.
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I whispered, feeling responsible for his case still being unsolved.
Maybe I shouldn’t have come to Florida. I should have stayed and ridden the detectives to figure out who killed him. I was a coward, afraid of the unrelenting grief that refused to let up as long as I was still there.
I had to keep up my strength for the baby, so I forced down the pancakes. They were delicious, like everything prepared by Ivan’s professional chef, but they didn’t hold a candle to my dad’s.
