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I snort and look away. I understand Ruslan’s agenda now, why he decided to talk to me and paint this heartwarming picture of their childhood. Alexei the caretaker, Alexei the protector—I’m supposed to just buy into the fairy tale. Except I grew up in a family like theirs, and I know the truth: if this were a fairy tale, Alexei wouldn’t be my knight in shining armor.
He has too much dragon in him.
“Let me guess,” I say, turning back to arch my eyebrows at Ruslan. “Alexei is the one who’ll watch over me now, right? Protect me the way my brothers always have?”
Ruslan’s gaze is steady. “He will. He’s good at that.”
“Good at what?”
My pulse spikes at the sound of Alexei’s deep voice, and I turn to see him standing in the sun a few feet away, his tall, powerful body glistening with water from his swim. I inhale sharply. Even though we had sex this morning—twice—and I’m feeling increasingly queasy, my insides clench and my bikini bottoms turn embarrassingly damp.
“Being an asshole, obviously,” Ruslan replies, a mocking grin springing to his lips as he puts his sunglasses back on. “I was just entertaining your bride with stories of our illustrious childhood. Seeing as you abandoned her and all…”
Alexei’s dark eyes narrow. “Why don’t you go entertain yourself? Elsewhere.” His voice is low and dangerous, making me realize that he’s jealous of his brother again.
Ruslan’s grin widens. “Gladly.” He rises to his feet with sleek grace. “I’ll leave you two to it.”
He saunters away, and I keep my eyes off his muscular back—both because I’m not the least bit interested and because I no longer feel like provoking Alexei’s jealousy. Though Ruslan’s story hasn’t made me magically fall in love with his brother, it has made me regret any tension I might’ve added to their relationship.
I don’t want to come between them, not even to notch some kind of dubious win in this peculiar war between me and Alexei. Not that it has felt as much like a war in the past couple of days. Just as the morning sickness weakens my body, Alexei’s inexhaustible attentiveness weakens my resolve to hate him. He’s never not focused on me—and it’s as flattering as it is unsettling.
As the youngest of four children, albeit the only girl, I’m used to being an afterthought. None of my childhood milestones were special to my parents because they’d already been through it three times. Just about anything I achieved—learning to read at four, acing my math class, climbing the tallest tree in the yard—one of my brothers had already done it and better. I couldn’t even compete in the looks department because my brothers were also pretty kids thanks to their signature Molotov features, and Mama got plenty of compliments on their behalf. It wasn’t until I entered puberty that she started taking more of an interest in me, since she couldn’t do designer gowns, hair, and makeup with her sons, but by then, I was used to being left to my own devices—my toys, my books, and especially, my video games.
It’s different with Alexei. I get the feeling that I’m the center of his world. At the very least, if he’s to be believed, I’m the only woman he’s wanted in the past eleven years. A part of me still finds that hard to fathom, but I see no reason for him to lie. His actions, awful as they are, speak for themselves.
Even now, he’s glaring at Ruslan as the latter dives overboard for a swim of his own.
Saliva floods my mouth as my queasiness abruptly intensifies.
Shit.
I push up to my feet and sway a little. Fucking dizziness. I do my best to hide it, but I’m not sure I succeed. Alexei’s gaze swings to me, like a sniper’s laser homing in on its target, and his eyes narrow.
Double shit.
“I need the bathroom,” I say, aiming for a normal tone, but even I can hear the strain in my voice. My head throbs and a cold sweat covers my skin as I lurch toward the stairs, only to realize that there’s no way I’m going to make it. Shakily, I change direction, heading for the starboard, but I don’t make it there either.
Alexei’s strong arms close around me from the back as I start to fall onto all fours, and I puke onto the wooden floor, missing his feet by centimeters.
For the first few moments, I’m too sick to be embarrassed. This has been the worst episode thus far. My esophagus burns from the acid, my skin is clammy all over, and I’m so dizzy that if he weren’t holding me, I’d collapse onto the soiled floor. But he is holding me, murmuring soothing endearments, seemingly oblivious to the grossness of what’s happened, and as he turns me around and lifts me against his naked chest in a bridal hold, I feel small and helpless… and cared for.
