Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (90)

“I mean the whole thing, not just the tapestries. I can’t believe you own a castle.”

“It was my father’s first big purchase after he restored the Bratva’s reputation. He wanted a symbol of his power.”

“So he just bought a whole freaking castle?” I ask in awe.

Isaak shrugs. “He wanted a good investment.”

“Wow,” I breathe. “I’m literally speechless.”

He chuckles in amusement. “You should eat.”

With his hand on the small of my back again, he steers me towards the ornate table waiting by the windows. It’s laden with an assortment of different goodies, each of which looks and smells better than the last.

We sit down together and I take a tiny little Scotch pie that fits perfectly in my palm.

“What’s in it?” I ask. “Actually, never mind. I don’t care.” I take a big bite and sigh with satisfaction. “Damn that’s good.”

Isaak just sits back and smiles.

“You’re not going to eat anything?” I ask, with my mouth full.

“Not hungry.”

“It’s rude to watch another person eating.”

He shrugs. “I don’t mind being rude.”

I roll my eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Still chewing, I turn admire the view from the huge, arching windows. The castle overlooks a little brook trickling between the green hills. The trees out here look ancient and gnarled, older than time itself. It’s easy to get lost in gazing at this otherworldly vista.

But when I turn back for more food, Isaak is staring at me.

“Now what?” I ask.

“It’s nice to see you enjoy yourself a little bit.”

I shake my head. How can I explain to him that enjoying captivity feels like something only a fundamentally broken individual would relish? That in some ways—in many ways—I hate myself for it?

But he is right about one thing: I am enjoying myself, and clearly doing a bad job of hiding it.

“Alastair will take care of you while I’m gone.”

“You’re leaving now?” I ask, trying not to sound too disappointed.

“I promised I’d meet Lachlan’s family the moment I arrived. I just wanted to get you settled first.”

It’s a nice gesture. Sweet, in fact, but again, I’m scared to read too much into it. There’s probably an ulterior motive buried deep down somewhere. With Isaak, there always is.

And I’ll see it only when I’ve convinced myself that there’s something more between us than just a plan for revenge.

“I’ll be fine. You go and see to Lachlan’s family.”

Isaak gives me a nod. His expression is hard to read, but I’d guess it’s somewhere between acceptance and mild relief. I’m not sure which of that applies to me, and which applies to Lachlan.

“I’ll be back in the night.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll have the castle at your beck and call until then.”

I frown. “That reminds me: why did Alastair refer to me as the mistress of this castle? Apart from sounding completely archaic, it’s not actually true.”

“I didn’t see the need to fill them on all the grisly details of our situation,” Isaak explains. “So as far as they know, you’re my wife. Mrs. Isaak Vorobev.”

My stomach does a little backflip when he says my name that way. Damn him. Damn him and his insanely beautiful blue eyes. Damn him and everything he does to me without ever needing to try.

“Is there a landline here I can use?” I ask, to gloss over the slightly pregnant moment. “Or an internet connection?”

“There’s both,” Isaak replies. “And you have one call.”

“I remember the rules, your highness.”

Isaak gets to his feet, and my eyes automatically dance over his tall frame, his broad shoulders, his perfectly muscled arms.

By the time my eyes reach his, he’s already looking at me, smiling that knowing smile that makes me feel like he can see into my head and read all my thoughts.

“Stop looking like you know what I’m thinking,” I snap.

He laughs. “But I do, little kiska.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I know you’re hoping that I’ll be back soon.”

I should control my expression, but he doesn’t miss the flicker of irritation that, once again, he’s right.

“Don’t worry,” he adds before I can say anything. “I don’t flatter myself that you care about me. But if it’s not my personality, it’s definitely my body you’re after.”

Is he… teasing me? That sinfully dangerous smile seems to say so.

“Don’t you have someplace to be?” I say grouchily.

Still smirking, he walks out and leaves me in his majestic castle. It’s ironic, really. If I ignore just a few inconvenient details, it almost feels like I’m living in a fairy tale.

But I’m no princess.

Isaak Vorobev is no prince.

And there sure as hell isn’t a happily-ever-after waiting for us at the end of the rainbow.





35





Isaak