Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(32)

He folds his arms. “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic.”

“I’m a realist. I don’t see the point in pretending this is something it isn’t,” I say, glancing towards the king-sized bed at the far corner of the room and shivering at the surge of heat that sends between my legs. “We can get married. I’ll live in your house. I’ll have this baby. But I will not share your bed.”

For a moment, I think my stellar reasoning has pierced through that rhinoceros-thick hide of his.

But then he meanders forward. The air around me cools and tightens. “Sound as your logic may be, I can’t agree to any of it.”

“Why not?” I ask desperately.

“Because a loveless marriage doesn’t necessarily have to mean a sexless marriage.” His eyes trail over me suggestively, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

“Are… you fucking serious?”

“I am serious about the fucking, if that’s what you’re asking.”

So much for him not being the joking type. I stammer for words. “I agreed to marry you; I did not agree to be your live-in sex doll. Nuh-uh. No way.”

“As if I need that kind of coercion,” he sighs. “The choice will be yours.”

“Except I don’t get to choose where I sleep. Maybe you’ll need to give me a list of the privileges at my disposal.” I slide one yard to my left. “Can I go here?” I take a step backwards? “Is here okay?”

Two steps forward, like I’m doing the Cha-Cha Slide. “What about here? Is this permissible, Your Highness?”

His scowl darkens. “You will have every freedom and privilege you can think of,” Misha says, “if you learn to listen and obey.”

Ah. There’s the kicker. Shoulda seen that one coming.

“‘Obey’?” I repeat, gawking at him. A part of me is still waiting for him to yell ‘Psyche!’ For some TikTok prankster to come out from behind the curtains with cameras rolling and reveal the whole thing as one sick setup.

But no one emerges. No cameras. No setups.

This is real.

“That’s right,” Misha murmurs. “Obey. You will have a life of luxury. You will have children who are afforded every comfort, every advantage known to man. You will have the pleasure of as many orgasms as you want in a week, in a day, in an hour, if your appetite requires it. But that kind of privilege comes at a cost.”

“My pride and my freedom,” I snap, my voice cracking like a whip.

“If you choose to see it that way.”

“There’s no other way to see it.”

“Then I suggest you change your perspective.”

I shake my head. “There is no other perspective, either! You want me to sleep in your room and have sex with you—even though you feel nothing for me.”

“This marriage may be arranged, but there’s no reason for either one of us to live a life of celibacy.

Sex is a necessary part of life. Love, however, is not. It complicates more than it simplifies.”

“Says the man without a heart.”

He smiles as though I’ve just given him a compliment. “As I said, your things are all here. What little there was, at least. Make yourself at home.”

He turns towards the door.

“Where are you going?” I yelp, cringing as soon as the words are out of my lips because they sound so needy, so desperate, so foolish.

“I have work to do.”

I trail after him. “But we’re not done talking.”

“You may not be. But I am.” With that, he closes the door on me.





23

MISHA

Paige’s personal maid stares at me with huge, nervous eyes and a pained expression on her face.

“Do you have Paige’s list?” I ask.

Rada twists her silver rings around her knuckles. “I asked, but… Ms. Masters—”

“Mrs. Orlov,” I correct. “You might as well get used to her new name now.”

Rada swallows. “Mrs. Orlov said she could shop for herself, sir. She said she didn’t like handing lists to people.”

I drag a hand through my hair. Must everything be a fucking fight with this woman? No wonder so many men prefer not to marry. Wives, it seems, are nothing but ceaseless migraines.

“Tell her that if she doesn’t hand over her list within the hour, then I’ll stock her drawers and closets with whatever I see fit. Make it clear to her she will not like what I choose.”

Rada’s eyes go wide with alarm. “You want me to say that to her, sir?”

“Word for word.”

Rada gulps, nods slowly, and heads out of my office. She knows better than to ask questions twice.

I hear Konstantin bungling around in the hallway, his voice thick with the oily charm he spews at any woman within arm’s reach.

“How’s it hanging, angel?”

Rada, to her credit, doesn’t respond.

A second later, Konstantin steps into my office and repeats the question to me, minus the flirtatious undertones and the term of endearment.

“Give me an update on the acquisition,” I say by way of response.

He sighs mournfully. “Must everything be business with you all the time? I’m not here as your second; I’m here as your cousin.”