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I slink back into the house, but I can’t bring myself to rejoin the party. Not when I know my husband is out there with three men who unsettle me so viscerally.
I’m still pacing the foyer when Misha comes back inside. “Oh, thank God,” I breathe.
His face is twisted into a deep frown. “What the hell were you doing? You shouldn’t have come out there.”
“You’d been gone for a while and I wanted to know why. Who were those men?”
“Colleagues,” he says.
To the untrained eye, the answer was fast and confident. To my eye, he’s full of shit.
I cross my arms. “I know when you’re lying to me, Misha.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. We share a bed; we share our lives. I know you better than you think.”
He’s studying me, and I know exactly what he’s thinking: that letting down all of those walls means more than a happy relationship and amazing sex.
The call is coming from inside the house, Misha Orlov.
“Are you going to keep lying to me or are you going to come clean?”
He walks past me. “I am going to go back to the party we’re hosting.”
“No, you’re not,” I snap, blocking his path to the sitting room. “I want to know who they are.”
“Some things aren’t for you to know. Some things are for me to handle on my own.”
“I thought this whole night was to show everyone that we are partners. That we work together. I’m not just your trophy wife!”
It’s been a while since we fought. I naively thought that we’d put this part of our relationship behind us. I should’ve known better—with Misha and me, I’m not sure we’ll ever be done fighting.
He rolls his eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m not! I’m your colleague more than those creeps. I deserve to be treated with that kind of respect.”
He grimaces. Standing up to Yustina was hot, he said, but I get the sense he doesn’t find this version of my fire quite as appealing.
“For fuck’s sake, Paige, we don’t have time for this right now. We’re trying to convince a room full of people that we’re a solid foundation for the Bratva to rest upon.”
“How can we build a future for the Bratva when you refuse to build a future with me?” I demand.
I’m grateful for the laughter, conversation, and music flowing out of the party. It’s a nice sound buffer for our fight.
He grabs my arm and twists me into his body. “I made you my wife. I chose you. I love you. My cum is drying on your thighsright fucking now, and you think I’m not prepared to build a future with you?”
I’ll admit, his words and his intensity are both turning me on. I have to try really, really hard to block out my throbbing core and focus on my point.
“Building a future together depends on more than just sleeping together and fighting each other, Misha,” I tell him. “You have to open up to me. You have to share things with me and be vulnerable.”
He glares at me, his expression unchanging. I can practically see my words bouncing off the walls he has erected around his heart.
“Those men out there are dangerous, aren’t they?” I press, hoping that if I stumble on some version of the truth, he’ll realize he doesn’t have to hide anything from me. “If they are, Misha—if you’re employing them because you think that’s the best way to keep me safe, to keep our family safe—then don’t. We don’t need them; we only need you.”
But there’s ice in his silver eyes and nothing I’m saying is thawing them out.
Finally, he shakes his arm out of my grip and walks past me. “We have a party to host.”
