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Gently, I nestle Cora onto the mattress and pull the blanket up to her chin. She shifts. Her lips part. Then she exhales deeply and sinks back into sleep.
I back away from the bed, not taking my eyes off of her. “She doesn’t have any belongings.”
“They haven’t arrived yet or—?”
“She has nothing,” I explain. “I’m putting you in charge of ordering her whatever she needs: a new wardrobe, jewelry, shoes, anything. Whatever she asks for, she gets. No questions asked.”
“Of course,” Niles says. But his eyes are burning with excitement. The man has been trying to dress me since I was a teenager. It’s Christmas fucking morning for him.
In Niles’s hands, no one will question whether Cora belongs here or not. She’ll look made for the role.
She’ll look made forme.
19
IVAN
Yasha is leaning against the wall next to the bedroom door when I step out into the hallway.
“Did you get your lady love all settled in?” he croons.
“Shut the fuck up.”
He holds up his hands and shrugs. “That sour attitude must be why Niles just tore through here like he was on fire. I’ve never seen him so flustered.”
“If we want people to believe Cora is my wife,everyoneneeds to believe it. No exceptions.”
“You don’t have to convince me.”
I look to Yasha, brow raised. “What does that mean?”
“It means I knew from the start there was no way in hell you were going to marry some ditzy daughter of a don and be happy. Those girls exist in the safe little snow globe worlds their daddies build for them. But this girl?” He hitches his thumb towards the door and blows out a breath. “I can see the two of you working well together.”
I snort. “You must have missed when she insinuated she’d rather chew off her own leg than marry me.”
“And you must have missed when you went all caveman on that sniper for trying to touch her.”
“He didn’t try to touch her; he tried to kill her,” I snarl.
Yasha snaps and points at me. “That’s what I’m talking about. If that’s part of your husband act, then you’re nailing it. Very believable.‘The Oscar goes to… Ivan Pushkin!’”
I blow out a deep breath and walk past him towards my room. “Sort out the protection teams for her friends and meet me downstairs in half an hour.”
I think Yasha says something about me “sorting out my hard-on for Cora,” but I slam my door before he can finish.
My clothes smell like gunpowder and sweat. I peel my shirt off and kick my pants into the pile next to the hamper.
Yasha was just being an asshole, but he wasn’t entirely wrong about the hard-on. A fight always gets my blood pumping. Usually, I call up a sure thing afterward. Someone who knows it won’t ever be more than an hour between the sheets.
But I can’t think of a single other woman I want to call right now.
Because the only woman I can think about is only one wall away.
“A shower. I need a shower.” I stomp into the bathroom and turn the handle to searing heat. I hiss as the hot water pelts my back and then sink into the comfort.
Trace bits of blood I didn’t notice swirl down the drain. Bit by bit, my muscles relax in the heat.
But no amount of steam and scrubbing can cleanse my mind of Cora.
