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Exiting the bathroom, I spare Kira one final glance—her lips parted, her blonde hair spread messily across the pillow. My hand lands on the doorknob but before I can turn it, Kira cries out.
The sound stops me cold. It's not a normal whimper or mumble of sleep; it's a sharp, panicked cry, full of fear.
I turn around. Her body is tense, her hands clenched in the sheets, face contorted. She’s trapped in a nightmare, one that seems to grip her with an intensity that's almost tangible. I approach the bed slowly, watching her struggle against the invisible demons of her dream. Her breaths are quick and shallow, her brows knitted together.
I have no idea what to do or if I should do anything, but witnessing her torment makes my throat constrict. Gently, I reach out and run my hands over her hair, pushing the strands back from her forehead.
“Kira,” I whisper.
She doesn’t wake up. Still, as I stroke her head, she gradually begins to relax. Calm returns to her features, her breathing evens out, and her grip on the sheets loosens.
Good. I have a million fucking things to do today, and this isn’t my concern.
I pull my hand away and turn to leave when her body jerks violently, a muffled cry escaping her lips. It's more intense, more frantic this time. Her hands claw at the air as if fighting off an unseen assailant.
I should turn and walk away—I don’t have time for this shit. That's what I should do, but the urge to help her, to do something—anything to ease her distress—seizes me.Fuck.
I whip out my phone and blast an email off to Nadya to delay my morning meetings. Irritated, I turn back to the bed, ignoring the inner voice warning me that I’m crossing the line I’ve set for myself.Don’t get close, don’t get attached, don’t care.Not to mention if Kira wakes up in my arms, she will most definitely get the wrong idea.
But here’s the thing about the voice of reason: it’s easy to block out.
Without shedding my suit jacket, I slip back under the covers and pull her into my arms. I stroke her head and let her nuzzle into my chest. She doesn't wake, but again, the nightmare seems to recede under my touch.
Maybe I’ve lost the plot because I’ve never cared whether the woman in my bed sleeps soundly or not. All that mattered was that my dick was wet and she wasn't disturbing me. But Kira’s vulnerabilities speak to my own. I understand how pastpain haunts you in your sleep. Even if you evade those thoughts during the day, they come for you at night. Perhaps that's why I only sleep a few hours each night—to avoid the painful dreams of the car Ilya was in exploding before my eyes.
Twenty minutes later, Kira is sleeping peacefully on my chest, her beautiful face relaxed, her breathing soft and rhythmic against my skin.
I should have been at my desk long ago, with a million tasks waiting, but they can wait a little longer. For the first time in a long while, I'm content to just be still.
Gabriel,my master vintner, holds a wine glass up with an air of self-congratulation. When he takes a sip, he closes his eyes momentarily, letting the flavors flood his palate, and exhales a contented sigh.
I slam the glass down on the tasting table in front of me and turn to Gabriel. “It’s good.”
The wineisgood. It’s even exceptional. But it’s a hair shy of perfect, my usual standard. Still, this is a moment worth celebrating. Except today, my mind is elsewhere.
“I’m glad this meets with your approval,” he says cautiously, like he thinks I’m fucking with him.
He looks at me as if I've grown two heads because I never give my okay so readily. I always have notes, always push for better. But right now, there's a storm brewing in my head, and it's got Kira's name all over it. I’m glad she didn’t wake up when I finally slipped out of bed an hour after soothing her in my arms.
I run my tongue over my teeth, giving a small shake of my head. Word will get around that I’ve gone soft if I act out of character, and that’s a dangerous proposition. “The finish isn’tlong enough, the tannins are too pronounced, and the label texture doesn't match the original. Try again.”
My unflinching feedback is more in line with what he’s used to. He gives me an efficient nod and turns back towards his laboratory.
Back at my office, I slam the door and sink into the chair behind the desk. My gaze immediately lands on the clock hanging on the wall, its hands inching closer to the hour I've been dreading all day.
As if I needed the reminder, Pavel strides into my office, the smug look on his face inspiring violence.
“Don’t say it,” I tell him before I’m forced to throw him through the nearest window.
He lifts both palms innocently. “Then you don’t want me to remind you that you need to leave soon?”
In an hour, I'm expected home to play the doting husband for aSociety Magazinefeature and photo shoot with Kira. The charade of playing the perfect newlyweds, forcing smiles and answering invasive questions, is bullshit I could do without today. The looming pretense already feels like a weight on my chest, especially after this morning when I broke all my damn rules to comfort her. Because seeing her tormented like that, even in her dreams, caused a tight knot to form in my heart.
Blyad. I’m getting weak.
I don’t know the source of Kira’s nightmares, but I’m guessing it has something to do with her ruthless father.
Pavel sighs and takes the seat across from me. “Your marriage is a necessary evil—you said so yourself.”
