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“I don’t like being yanked around,” she admits. Her eyes fill with caution. “If I’m told what to do, I’ll do it. I don’t need to be slapped.”
Christ, give me strength.
“I’ll never hit you, Tiana,” I assure her. A pleading expression tightens her features, and it has me adding, “I promise. I’ll never be violent toward you.”
She stares at me briefly before asking, “Do you have any rules?”
I cut a piece of meat. “Just the loyalty one. No man is to touch you, and you’re not allowed to be alone with one.” Before I pop the bite into my mouth, I add, “That excludes Misha and Alek, of course.”
Tiana nods obediently. “What about the chores I have to do? Do you want me to stay out of your way when you're home? Is there a specific way you like your food to be prepared? Will I do the shopping? Do you–”
I hold up a hand to stop the questions and swallow the food before I chuckle. “I don’t want you hiding whenever I’m home. I’ll eat whatever you prepare, and I’d appreciate it if you’d take care of the house and shopping.”
An emotion I can’t place trembles in her eyes as she asks, “Will I be allowed to make your apartment my home?”
God help me. I hate the fucked up life this angel had to endure.
I take a deep breath before letting it out slowly. Setting the half-eaten plate of food on the coffee table, I wipe my mouth with a napkin while I fight to control the anger threatening to fill my chest.
My eyes lock with Tiana’s as I tilt my head. I hope she can hear the compassion in my voice as I answer, “Once we’re married, the apartment will be our home. I don’t want you to ask permission for anything. I want you to make the place your own. I don’t believe in divorce, so we’ll spend the rest of our lives together. It will take a lot of work, but I believe we can be happy.”
Heartbreaking emotion washes over her face, her chin trembles, and she struggles to keep the tears back. Her breathing speeds up as her eyebrows pull together.
She doesn’t try to hide her strong reaction to my words as she asks, “Will you really be happy having me for a wife?”
Only time will tell. It’s a bit too soon to answer that question.
“As I said, it will take some work on our part. We’re already becoming friends, so I believe if we continue to get to know each other, we’ll be able to have a successful marriage.”
I can see there’s something else she wants to ask, so I wait patiently until she’d ready.
“What about children?” Tiana’s eyes fill with hope.
“God willing, we’ll have children.” I smile at her and ask, “How many do you want?”
Happiness pours over her face, and I feel like a king for being the one to make her feel this way.
“I don’t care how many we have. I just want to be a mother.”
Her emotions seem to settle, and when she continues to eat her food, I get up to pour myself a drink.
“I’m a morning person,” I start to tell her about myself. “I love getting up at dawn when everything is quiet. My apartment has a private courtyard by the entrance where I like to sit and have my morning coffee.” I glance at Tiana. “Are you a coffee or tea person? Or neither?”
“It doesn’t really matter. I like tea and coffee.” She takes the last bite, and getting up, she collects my plate and places the dirty dishes on the cart.
“What do you like to drink?”
“Lemon water. Any juice.” She tugs at the hem of the shirt. “I’m not picky.”
I take a bottle of orange juice from the bar fridge and hand it to her.
“What do you like to eat?”
“Anything but bread.” Her eyes rest on mine. “And you?” Suddenly her eyes widen, and she starts to ramble, “I mean, what do you like to eat, not that I’d like to…eat you.” She lets out a mortified groan, her face bright red, before she covers it with her hands. “Pizdets.”
I chuckle at her cute reaction. “It’s okay. I understood what you meant.”
She lowers her hands while inhaling deeply. “Sorry about that.”
Answering her question, I say, “I love any home-cooked meal.”
A smile tugs at her mouth, and as she’s about to ask another question, my phone starts to ring.
I pull the device out, and seeing Luca’s name flashing on the screen, I answer quickly. “Yes, sir?”
“Viktor and I are on our way. He talked to Aslanhov and Makarova. We’ll meet at St. Monarch’s to discuss this mess.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep the girl there. Don’t you dare run off with her,” he warns me.
“Yes, sir.”
The call ends, and I check to see if any of my texts have gone through to Misha. They’re still marked unread, so I dial his number again to leave another message.
