Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(113)

“I’ll only forgive you if it’s because you’re happy.” She bites her lower lip, hopeful. “Are you happy?”

I take a deep breath, not quite sure how to explain to her the weird headspace I’m in. “I was happy in Prague. It felt like we really… connected when we were there. We talked. Not just about superficial stuff, either. We talked about things that are important to us. To both of us.”

“Oh God,” she groans, burying her face in her hands. “Am I feeling a ‘but’ coming on?”

“When we got back last night, he carried up the luggage and then told me he had to see to some work.

I waited for him for an hour, but he didn’t come back up. I woke up this morning and realized he’d

spent the entire night in his office. Again.”

Cyrille’s face drops. I try to not look as disappointed as I feel. One hand lands on my belly, while the other clutches my pendant. It’s become my gesture lately. My security blanket. Hold onto the things that matter— the past and the future.

Because the present is just too uncertain to be relied upon.

“I think he was trying to tell me what I already know, deep down: Prague was an exception. There were no rules out there. But now, we’re back home… and the rules are back, too.”

“Oh, Paige…”

She reaches out and takes my hand. I give her a little shrug that doesn’t quite manage to be convincing.

“We do have a connection, Cyrille. There’s something between us.”

“I know that. And you know that. Now, we just have to get that stubborn mule of a husband of yours to see it, too.”

“He’s been through a lot,” I say softly. “He’s still going through a lot. I think it helps him to keep me at a distance. I think, in his way, he’s just trying to protect himself.”

“I get it, Paige. I really do. But at some point, he has to realize that he’s not just keeping out the bad stuff in life. He’s blocking out the good stuff, too.” She squeezes my knee. “The best stuff, in my opinion.”

“Thanks.” The cracked, imperfect remains of my heart thump painfully. I’m not sure how much more it can take before it all crumbles into ashes. “I don’t know, though. Maybe I’m okay just playing at being his wife. Maybe this arrangement is for the best.”

Cyrille raises her eyebrows in shock. “No, honey. You can’t mean that. Losing Maksim ripped me apart, but I don’t regret loving him for a second. I have Ilya. I have all of our memories. He was worth it. So is Misha. I know it.”

I know it, too. That’s exactly the problem.

“I’m worried if I push too hard, he’ll break. And if he breaks, I’ll break right alongside him.” I take a deep breath. “Having him in my life is better than losing him entirely… isn’t it?”

Cyrille shakes her head. “You deserve better, Paige.”

I want to tell her I agree. But a part of me wonders if I truly believe it.





87

MISHA

From my office window, I watch Cyrille pull out of the driveway. I make myself wait one hour to be sure she isn’t coming back before I begin to make my way downstairs.

If Paige asks what I’m doing, I’ll pretend that I’ve come to check that Danica and Mario are pruning and shearing as needed before the seasons turn. Lying to my wife about wanting to see her is pathetic, but that’s what it’s come down to.

As much as I despise it, telling her the truth feels a thousand times worse.

I find Paige sprawled across the patio couch with a milkshake in one hand and a copy of Prague: The Historic City in the other. She’s so absorbed in her reading that she doesn’t see me standing amongst the foliage.

That’s fine with me. I’m happy to watch her for a few moments.

She’s wearing a soft cotton dress with large buttons down the center. Her legs are bent in front of her, one calf stretched long and lean and tan and gorgeous. Her bare foot twists from side to side like a windshield wiper as she reads. Occasionally, she wraps her lips around her straw and sucks. Heat spreads through my body every time she licks a drop of milkshake from her lips.

She’s not wearing a stitch of makeup and it reminds me of early mornings in Prague when I would wake up to sunlight slanting across her face.

While we were there, I slept in the bed with her. I woke up with her, too. Yet, somehow, the world didn’t shatter. The ground didn’t shift beneath my feet. I felt like a kid who’d gotten away with stealing cookies from the cookie jar, but I couldn’t help glancing again and again at the shadows over my shoulder, wondering when all of this would be ripped away from me.

Now that we’re back in the real world, the seismic shift I’d been waiting for has, in fact, arrived.

It just happened so subtly that I barely even noticed. The fact that I’m here looking for her is proof enough of that.

She puts the milkshake down and stretches. The book falls across her chest, covering the deep V

neckline of her dress. She turns her head to the side and notices me standing there.

“Oh!” she gasps, dropping her feet on the tile floor. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long. I was just checking on Mario and Danica’s work.”