Satin Princess(82)

“She’s… different than any other woman I’ve met.”

Lev smiles. “Of course she is. Who knew you’d get involved with a woman outside of the Bratva?”

“First, I have to deal with Marina. Then I can think about the future.”

Lev nods. “Fair enough.”

“Now, go and get me those leads I need,” I tell him.

I spend the next several minutes in my office, trying to quiet the voices in my head. But I keep going back to the day of the meeting when Marina stormed in with a point to prove.

She couldn’t sit quietly. She couldn’t be the obedient wife. She couldn’t be the rock I needed to climb higher in the world.

It was why I knew I needed to end it.

Except I didn’t realize at the time that ending it and ending her were synonymous. I won’t make that mistake again.

Without a plan, I stand up and make my way upstairs.

Jessa is not on the bed like I expect. She’s curled up on the sofa, her head pillowed on her arms. She has a book lying beside her, one of her hands closed in the pages.

I check the cover. It’s a cookbook from my shelves, but I’ve never read it.

Her eyelashes flicker slightly. I can see her eyeballs moving fast beneath her closed lids. A sure sign that she’s dreaming. I wonder if it’s of me.

I bend down and pick her up. Her weight settles comfortably in my arms. She doesn’t stir as I carry her to the bed. As soon as I lay her down, she rolls to her side, assuming the same position she was in on the couch.

Watching Jessa sleep seems to have become my new favorite pastime. If someone had told me a few years ago that I would be happy to sit next to a woman’s bed and watch her dream, I would have cut their fucking tongue out for insulting me.

But now, I sit at the edge of her bed, marveling at all the little things I admire about her delicate features. Her long lashes. The gentle curve of her nose. The way her plump lips fall open as she breathes. The little scar on the top of her forehead.

Leaning in slightly, I trace my fingers over the scar tissue. When that doesn’t satisfy me, I bend down and kiss it. She shifts slightly, but doesn’t wake up.

I pull back, get myself a drink from the mini-fridge, and sit down on the sofa.

I should be thinking about Marina. About tomorrow’s meeting with Yaromir. About a hundred other little things that I’ve put to the side because of all the drama surrounding Jessa and our unborn child.

But instead, I find myself contemplating the question Lev asked right before I came up here.

Marriage.

For the longest time, I’ve dismissed it out of hand. Now, I’m thinking that maybe second chances are legitimate.

And maybe, just maybe, I could benefit from one.

So long as it’s with her, I’m willing.





28





JESSA





Chris declined my first six calls. The rest he just ignored. At one point, he’d actually started typing in our message thread. I watched the three typing dots appear briefly. But no text ever came.

He’s not online anymore, but I’m sure he’s still got his phone in his hand. And since he’s being stubborn, I decide my only option is to be relentless.

I know you’re mad. And I understand why, but we can’t just give up on each other, Chris, I text.

Please pick up your phone. I’ve called you a dozen times.

14 actually. I just checked.

I know you don’t agree with my choices. You’re hurt and angry. I get it. You can be hurt and angry. Just don’t stop talking to me. And don’t stop being my friend.

Chris, please.

Chris.

Chris?

No response.

I take a deep breath and decide to just address the elephant in the room. Ignoring it would be disrespectful to how honest he was with me.

I start typing something out. Listen, Chris, about what you told me… about how you feel about me… I don’t want you to think that there might have been hope for us if Anton weren’t in the picture.

I read it back and wince. That sounds way too harsh. So I delete it and start over.

I want to thank you for being honest with me about your feelings for— No. Condescending.

Unrequited love is hard.

Fuck no. What am I, a fortune cookie?

I wish you weren’t hurting right now.

Delete. Stop pandering.

One more try. C’mon. I need to get my shit together.

I know you need space, Chris. But give me one conversation. Just one chance to explain things again. And if you still don’t want to see or speak to me, I’ll respect that.

I read it about a thousand times in a row. Then, before I can chicken out, I hit send. A few seconds later, Chris appears online, and I almost drop my phone.

The typing dots appear and I wait with bated breath. Then they disappear and Chris goes back offline.

“Damn it,” I mutter.

“Something wrong?” Anton asks as he walks into the living room.

I hug my legs to my chest. “Chris isn’t returning my calls or answering my texts.”

“Give him space.”

“The last time I did that, we didn’t talk for six months,” I say. “I don’t want to let that happen. I promised him that would never happen again.”