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“Look at those paintings!” I point to the collection Konstantin has hanging in the hallway that leads to the master bedroom. “They’re gorgeous.”
“He used to paint a lot as a kid,” Misha explains.
“Used to? He doesn’t anymore?”
“No, my father put a stop to that. I believe his exact words were, ‘Men don’t paint.’”
“Wow. He sounds like a gem.”
He chuckles darkly. “He was Bratva.”
“You’reBratva,” I retort. “Would you tell our hypothetical son not to paint if he was passionate about painting?”
“Depends.” He shrugs.
“Misha!”
He sighs. “No, no, of course I wouldn’t.”
“Good. I was gearing up for a fight.”
He wraps his arms around me from behind and plants a kiss on my cheek. “I don’t mind. I enjoy fighting with you.”
“Is that why you do it so often?” I tease. He forces me down the passageway, and into the master bedroom. “Are we even allowed to be in here?”
“Why not?”
“It’s the master bedroom. Konstantin’s space. It’s private.”
“What’s his is ours. Konstantin is an open book.”
“I don’t know about that. Konstantin seems a lot more complicated than he lets on.” I turn around so that I can catch Misha’s expression. He’s looking thoughtfully out of the massive windows that overlook the city.
“You may be right about that.”
Before I can ask a follow-up question, he spins me around and hoists me up into his arms. I yelp. “We are not having sex in here!”
“I didn’t intend to,” he says as he carries me back out of the room and into the kitchen. “I just wanted to give you the tour. And God forbid I make you do it on your dainty little princess feet.”
I slap him on the shoulder and laugh. “I’ll shove a dainty little princess foot up your ass if you keep talking down to me, Mr. Orlov.”
He chuckles, but the moment we enter the open plan kitchen, my attention diverts. I’m hit with the smell of Chinese takeout. It’s still in the paper containers, but the scent is overpowering. Not to mention mouthwatering. My lunch today was more about talking than eating.
“Oh, wow, that smells good.”
“Brought in from the best place in the city.” Misha sets me down on one of the swivel chairs that line the center island and points me in the direction of the food. “Hungry?”
I stroke a hand down his muscled arm. “I am now.”
“I was talking about the food.”
I giggle, realizing we’re flirting. It feels so natural, but it’s a new thing for us. I’m constantly surprised by it. I’m still getting used to this new dynamic, this one where things can just beokay.No buts. No catches. Nothing but love.
“Not that I don’t love the spontaneity,” I tell him, “but can I ask why we’re having dinner at Konstantin’s instead of our own home?”
“Because you needed a change of scenery.”
I eye him for a moment. “You wanted to give me what I asked for, but you don’t want me traipsing all over the city.”
