Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(51)

Don’t I fucking know it?

“She’s worried about you, brother,” Konstantin continues emphatically. “She thinks you’re consumed with revenge. She thinks it’s taking over your life.”

“I’m not having this conversation again,” I sigh.

“Great—then call her!” Konstantin cries out. “Better yet, go see her. Cyrille and Ilya would love seeing you, too.”

I smirk. “Did you intentionally leave out Nikita?”

He chuckles under his breath. “Yes. She might be slightly less enthused. Matter of fact, she might rip your balls off.”

“Her being irritated with me is nothing new.”

“In this case, I think she has a right to be,” Konstantin says gently. “I mean, come on, man. I do my best, but I can’t fill the void completely. It’s bad enough she lost one brother.”

I pull out a couple of files that need verifying and hand them to Konstantin. “See to these for me, will you?”

Sighing, he accepts what I’m offering and gets to his feet. “You can’t keep everyone at arm’s length all the time, Misha.”

“Wrong,” I tell him. “I can do whatever I want.”





38

PAIGE

When I walk out of the bathroom, Misha is standing next to the bed.

Shirtless.

Really, he’s in the process of removing his shirt, but he might as well be completely naked for the heat that burns through my skin.

It’s been three days since the greenhouse and this is the first time he’s come to our room at night. I have no idea if he’s staying. Or what his expectations will be if he does.

It strikes me all at once that the idea of sleeping next to him is more terrifying than the idea of having sex with him. One feels so much more intimate than the other, for reasons that make no sense to me.

He discards his shirt, but keeps his pants on. I try to look unaffected as I walk around to my side of the bed. “Did you come to leave more money on my bedside table? Or maybe an updated list of rules for me to follow?”

“There are no rules, only expectations,” he says. “I trust you to remember what I expect of you.”

I feel an expectation of my own flutter low in my belly. Along with a pinch of unease.

Only a few hours ago, I set up an account that’s completely my own and under my control. I’ve already transferred ten grand into it and plan to add more in the months ahead.

It’s just insurance, I tell myself. It’s necessary. The smart thing to do. A—what did that mortgage officer call it?—a ‘Break In Case of Emergency’ fund.

The last time I shared an account with a man who I thought was my husband, I was left high and dry with nothing to show for all my trust.

I’m not about to go through that again.

“I’m not having sex with you,” I blurt out. But I make the unfortunate mistake of dropping my gaze to his abs the second after I finish talking.

His silver eyes land on me with barely contained amusement. Then he eyes my oversized t-shirt with distaste. “I figured. Your outfit isn’t exactly screaming, ‘Fuck me.’”

“You don’t like this shirt?” I ask, holding my arms out and spinning in a tight circle. “You should. It’s yours.”

“I bought you pajamas,” he says. “Plenty of them.”

“I already have pajamas,” I snap back. “Or at least, I did. Where is my old bed shirt?”

“What?”

“The oversized t-shirt I had. The one with the picture of a beach on it.”

He shudders like the memory of it grosses him out. “I had Rada dispose of that dish rag.”

My eyes widen with outrage. “What? Why?”

“It was ugly. And old.”

“And it belonged to Anthony, is what you really mean to say.”

I’m not sure why I’m picking a fight over this. A big shirt is a big shirt, right? Perfectly interchangeable. I don’t need Anthony’s old one. I always intended to scrub him from my life anyway.

Maybe it’s just that I wanted to do that when I was ready. On my own time, not Misha’s.

“Don’t tiptoe around what you want to say. Just come out with it,” he says coolly.

“It means you were jealous that I was still wearing my ex-husband’s t-shirt.”

I watch closely, waiting for any indication that I may have hit a nerve. But all I get is the same calm, stoic expression that borders on disinterested.

Lord, that’s getting infuriating.

“Is that what you think?” he asks. “Or is that what you’re hoping for?”

I scoff loudly. “Please, I don’t care about making you jealous. I’m just pointing out that you were.”

“Then you’re mistaken. I had Rada throw out heaps of your shit. I’m guessing the overalls with the white stains down the front and the pink skirt with the rip down the side didn’t belong to Anthony?”

“Stop throwing out my stuff!” I cry out before pushing past him to the bed.

I flop onto the mattress and shove a pillow under my head. I wrap my arm tightly around it, trying to work out some of the tension flowing through me.

I take two staggering breaths and close my eyes. I can still feel him, though. His mere presence takes up so much space. I wonder if there will be room for both of us in this bed. Really, it’s three of us sleeping here.