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But then an hour passed, and another, and by the end of it, I was hitting four or five out of every ten with reasonable confidence.
The first time I went ten for ten, I whipped off my goggles and headphones and whirled around to look at him. I wanted to see him beaming with pride. I was so, so sure that’s exactly what he’d be doing. That he’d sweep me up in his embrace and kiss that soft spot below my ear that functions like aTURN PAIGE ONbutton.
But he didn’t do any of that.
He looked at me with that cold, gray, glacial distance I hate so much and said, “Good.”
That’s it. Just, “Good.” No “I’m so proud of you,kiska.”No sweet nothings.
Good.The word has never felt so frigid or meaningless.
Now, we’re stepping back into the hotel suite, and I can feel the distance between us like I’m standing on the edge of a huge, dark canyon filled with shadows at the bottom. He’s taking off his shirt in the bedroom when he speaks for the first time in twenty minutes.
“We’re hosting a dinner next week.”
“A dinner?” I ask, trying to get him to make eye contact with me. He refuses.
“We need to address your resurrection, and we need to introduce you to the Bratva from a position of power. It’s a good time to announce your pregnancy, too. Strategically, the timing is right.”
I frown. “Okay. Strategic dinner. Got it.”
“This is important, Paige,” he tells me, as though I’ve just told him that I’m not willing to host it. “It won’t be just the family—it’ll include council members, senior Vors, and long-time business partners. We need to establish ourselves as the ones in charge.”
He sits in the middle of the sofa in just his undershirt, with his arms and legs spread in a limp, exhausted kind of way. His eyes are trained on the open doors of the balcony, but the light in them is bleak.
Nervously, I slip off my dress, revealing the jade green lingerie I have on underneath. It was supposed to be a surprise. The grand reveal of the night, so I could repay him in part for the things both big and little he does just to make me smile.
The set came with a garter belt, but it wouldn’t fit over my baby bump. But the lace bra and matching panties—what little there is of them—still fit fine.
I kick my dress to the side and wait for Misha to pounce. But he doesn’t even seem to notice. His gaze stays locked on the double doors to the balcony and the cityscape spread out below us.
“I had no idea I’d be competing with architecture,” I blurt. “Maybe I should have worn a skyline under my dress.”
He smiles at the joke, but it’s thin. “You’re beautiful, Paige.”
Actions speak louder than words,I think. Usually, Misha shows me exactly how beautiful he thinks I am.
What’s stopping him now?
I move in front of him and slide gently between his legs. I press my hands to the back of the couch on either side of his head, displaying all of my cleavage. “Would you like to tell me what is going on with you?”
“Nothing is going on.”
“Ah, see? There’s the trouble.” I slide onto his lap, straddling his thighs. “Usually, you’d say something like, ‘I’m about to fuck you until you convert to the religion of me; that’s what’s going on.’ But you aren’t even interested in my lingerie.”
In response, Misha grabs my ass and rocks me over his crotch. Heat swirls low in my belly when I feel his excitement. “You’re hard.”
“I’m always hard for you,” he growls, though it sounds sort of pained, in a way I can’t quite explain.
I swallow down my nerves. “Okay, then what’s with the hesitation now? Ever since I started hitting shots at the range, you’ve been… distant.”
His hands stroke gently over my hips and my thighs, slowly massaging away my worries. He’s quiet for a long time before he finally speaks. “It was a strange experience, watching you with that gun. Stranger than I expected.”
“You didn’t like it?” I ask. “It was your idea.”
He nods. “I know. I know it was. And for the first ten minutes, it was sexy. You looked so powerful.”
“But?” I prod.
