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It scares me. I’ve never been so desperate for someone. I wasn’t allowed to be. But the man next to me is, objectively, the most attractive man I’ve met in my life. And he chose to run away with me for some strange reason. Despite my size and the way my ass fits into this dress.He chose to rescue me, in his convoluted way. The irrational parts of me that aren’t furious with him are desperate for him. My body wants to show him exactly how grateful I am.
It's best that I say nothing. If I freeze him out long enough, he’ll eventually get the hint. I don’t know how long I’ll reasonably be able to keep that up, though. Not when every cell in my body is screaming at me to touch him.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Ivan
She hasn’t spoken since we got into the limousine, but I can’t stop staring at her. She’s an exquisite creature, a firecracker ready to go off at any time. I have a hard time believing she willingly walked into that church in the first place. She doesn’t strike me as the type of woman who does anything she doesn’t choose to do, yet she was so clearly not looking forward to marriage.
Then again, there’s a lot I don’t know about her. I think back to the way she cowered behind me when her father tried to strike her. For as long as I live, I won’t get the image out of my head. She doesn’t deserve a life like that. She’s too bright to be hidden under the covering of a father who’s willing to marry her off to a boy she doesn’t love.
Dimitri is a weak excuse of a man. The thought of him makes me want to spit. He was given the gift of this beautiful woman as his daughter, and he can’t appreciate her for who she is. Idiot. I want to give her everything and allow her the space to be whoever she wants to be. That is, if she ever speaks to me again.
Even if she ices me out forever, I want to show her that I mean no harm. I want her to experience the life she deserves. She shouldn’t be forced into anything she doesn’t choose. Then again, I did essentially kidnap her and ruin her relationship with her family. Not my best move.
I watch her in fascination as we pull up to my penthouse on the upper east side. My driver parks the car at the curb, and she simply stares out the window, taking in the building’s size. I know Dimitri is no slouch, but there’s nothing like this in Brooklyn. I can’t help but wonder what kind of life she’s lived up to this point.
I get out of the car, running to her side to open the door for her. I hold out my hand for her to take, but she pointedly ignores it, instead maneuvering herself out of the car by herself with some difficulty. I notice she hasn’t put her shoes back on. She doesn’t even grab them, instead leaving them on the floor of the limousine and walking up to the building barefoot.
She clutches the leather bag and robe her mother pushed into her hand as if they’re sacred. I feel a pang as I remember the way her mother cursed at her. I wonder what their relationship was like before I showed up. It’s hard to imagine what she had to deal with for her entire life.
My mother died when I was very young, but what I remember of her is warmth. She loved me unconditionally, to the point that I still feel that love decades later. Katrina deserves the same kind of love, if she’s willing to accept it.
My doorman eyes us curiously, but he knows better than to comment on the state of the runaway bride. I’ll make sure he gets a good bonus in his next paycheck for his silence. Of course, I look down to see she is shooting him her own murderous look, daring him to say anything to her. Instead, he looks straight ahead and murmurs for us to have a nice day. Good man.
We head through the lobby, straight to the elevator. I swipe my keycard and the elevator shoots up, taking us to the top floor. The penthouse suite. The doors open into my apartment, and she can’t help the gasp of surprise that escapes from her lips. I smile to myself, not daring to let her see my satisfaction at her reaction, though it reminds me of the many gasps she let loose during our earlier interaction.
We’re forties stories up, overlooking Central Park. It’s a stunning building, a newer build, but no less opulent than the historic buildings surrounding it. The apartment is outfitted with modern décor, courtesy of my private interior decorator. I spent a lot of money having this place decorated, not that I’m here often. It was important to me that I had a home that felt comfortable, but also modern.
In a way, it was like I was preparing it for her. I had imagined that one day I’d bring home a woman who could appreciate the space in a way I didn’t always have the time to. I want her to be that woman, though I won’t push. She needs the freedom to grow into this space.
She stands in the entryway for a long time, looking around to take in her surroundings. I give her space to explore, careful not to startle her. I have no doubt this day has been overwhelming for her, and she needs some time to herself. I texted my staff ahead of time to get a room ready for her. Hopefully she’ll be able to unwind once she’s inside.
“Katrina,” I say quietly, realizing it’s the first time all day that I’ve called her by her name.
She looks at me sharply, a cross look on her face. “Don’t call me that,” she says coldly. “Only my parents call me that.”
“I apologize,” I tell her. “It was the name on the wedding program. What would you prefer I call you?”
“I’d prefer you call me nothing at all,” she answers.
I try again not to chuckle. This is the firecracker of a girl who claimed me in that small bathroom. Her words are biting, but I can work with her anger a lot more easily than I can work with her silence.
“Well, ‘Nothing At All,’” I joke. “Please let me show you to your room.”
She looks at me warily but follows me up the glass staircase in the middle of the living room to the second floor. Once we reach the landing, I turn to the right, down a long hallway with several closed doors. Her footsteps make no sound, her bare feet falling lightly against the plush carpet.
I know she’s behind me, though. I can feel her presence. It’s a strange sensation. Never in my life have I ever been so aware of another person. It’s like I’m drawn to her with a strong magnet.
When I finally reach her room, I open the door and step aside so she can enter. She looks up at me, a question in her eyes, and enters the space. It’s a light, airy room set in the corner of the penthouse. I love this room because of its floor-to-ceiling windows on two of the walls. Being in this room feels like having a private viewing room for all of Manhattan.
The other two walls are painted a light, sky blue. It’s as if the whole room is part of the sky. In the middle of the room is a California King with fresh linens. On the nightstand is a vase of fresh flowers. There’s a set of dressers with a smart TV and the necessary remotes, and a large walk-in closet, nearly as large as the room itself.
My housekeeper did a fantastic job of preparing the room. No one has been in it since I moved in except the interior decorator. Until today, it was gathering dust, but now it has new life. This will be her space to do with as she pleases.
After walking around the room and running her hands delicately along each surface, she looks at me curiously. “I wasn’t expecting to have my own room,” she says, almost as an accusation.
This makes me laugh. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a heathen. As much as I’d love to be with her.
