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“No, you can’t do this,” I said, pushing him back, struggling to maintain my outrage.
He dropped his hand and crossed his arms, giving me a stern look. “Look, Em, I felt justified in how I approached the information about your dad when I received it. I was trying to protect you and the less you knew about Armstrong, the better.”
“But what about since you’ve been—” I burst out.
He put a finger over my lips. “But I understand why you’d be mad that I withheld it. Especially since I started protecting you.”
My shoulders dropped as he finally admitted what he did was wrong. “Thank you,” I said softly.
He leaned in and gave me a soft, sweet kiss on the lips that had me quickly seeking more. After several hot minutes of him kissing me, he pulled back. “It was too much, Emmy. Too much for you to deal with. Orlov, the stalking, the bullshit between us. I couldn’t add the shit about Armstrong until I knew he was a threat.”
I nodded my head, understanding his reasoning even though a part of me wanted to hold on to my anger. “When would you have told me?” I knew I was opening a can of worms with this question. Maybe I really did want to stay angry.
He paused for a moment. “I’m not sure. Originally, I had always imagined telling you at some point, or having someone else tell you, but then this thing with Orlov happened. I’d decided tonight to tell you tomorrow, but that was before Drago said something.”
I pulled back, confused. “Having someone else tell me?”
His expression altered, looking suddenly ill at ease. “Well, yeah, if we never saw each other again, I would have had someone else inform you.”
His words ricocheted in my head, and with them a sudden realization. I felt sick to my stomach. “You had no intention of interacting with me again, did you? Once you stopped emailing, that was going to be it, wasn’t it?”
He stilled, seemingly aware he was treading dangerous territory. “Emmy…it’s hard to even think about that. Things are so different now.”
“But there was a time you considered never speaking to me again, wasn’t there?” I was perilously close to tears, heartbroken at the idea that he would decide to permanently cut ties between us.
Even though he stopped communicating with me, in the back of my mind, I always believed that we would reconnect. Even when he was avoiding me in Chicago, some stupid part of me always assumed it was only a matter of time before he finally reached out to me. We felt so destined to be together.
I started to breathe heavily, my eyes prickling with tears. Even though we were together now, there was something so painful about knowing he truly meant to sever our connection forever.
He must have noticed that I was starting to spiral because I felt his strong hands grip my shoulders. “Em, settle down.”
Instead of listening, or settling down, I pulled away, and stormed into the bathroom. I slammed the door and very audibly turned the lock. I needed space and I couldn’t very well storm into the living room where Nikolai and Hannah might be. I had no interest in anyone witnessing my meltdown.
I could hear Ivan cursing from the other side of the door. “Emmy, for Christ’s sake, will you calm down?”
I didn’t want to calm down. I wanted to cry and scream and punch something. Instead of answering him, I turned the water on high in the sink and vigorously washed my hands. What the hell else was I going to do? I was stuck in the bathroom.
“If you don’t open this door, I will break it the fuck down.”
“You can’t do that. This is Nikolai’s apartment,” I said, unnerved at the idea of damaging my sister’s guestroom.
“I don’t give a fuck whose apartment it is.”
Shit. I didn’t have much choice but to open the door. “Fine.” I shut off the water and dried my hands, before slowly shuffling to the door to unlock it.
Ivan surged in, his enraged expression reminiscent of a charging bull. Before I could say anything, he threw me over his shoulder.
“Ivan, what—?”
My words were cut off by his strong hand slapping the now exposed skin of my ass. My panties were doing a piss poor job of covering the afflicted territory and my dress was currently around my waist making my stinging cheek an easy target.
“Enough, Emmy. You’re acting like a brat and if you keep it up, I’m going to punish you like one.” He followed that up by rubbing his palm over my burning skin.
“Punish me?” I asked in shock. Was he serious?
“Yes. When you act like a bratty child, I’m going to treat you like one.”
My cheeks burned at being called a child because it made me all too aware of my younger age. I definitely didn’t want him seeing me as younger than I already was. But I was annoyed and filled with oppositional energy. I felt like a bratty kid, and it was hard to rein it in.
