Page 44 of The Russian's Stalked Bride
The late afternoon light catches in her hair, making it look even softer and more golden than usual, while she sits in the living room. She’s cross-legged with the new music books I ordered for her in hand, brows pinched lightly while she concentrates. She’s been quiet and fully immersed, and hasn’t had much time to hate me, which is more of a relief than I expected.
A week ago, I would’ve told myself this was temporary and that I’d eventually grow bored with this indulgence, like usual. Two weeks ago, I would’ve claimed that neither of us would change. But now, I’m enjoying this more than I have any right to.
With more acceptance from Mila, the condo feels more lived in. She still argues with me over stupid things, like music volume, what’s for dinner, and if I’m capable of showing a full range of emotions, but there’s less of an edge to those moments.
She’s softening, slowly and cautiously, but she is, whether she knows it or not. She’s been less like a skittish animal and more like a genuine housemate.
I shouldn’t find anything appealing in that, and I shouldn’t take satisfaction in the way she looks at me longer than necessary when she thinks I don’t notice, but I do.
Annoyingly, I want more of it. The good and the bad.
When it’s almost too quiet, I glance over at Mila. “You’re thinking too loud.”
She throws me an unimpressed look in response, still vaguely sharp but more humored than anything. “I could be louder.”
“You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”
“I’m tempted to grab my violin right now and play it off-key right next to you,” she taunts, allowing a hint of mischief to flood her features.
“How evil of you,” I muse, grinning to myself. “I think I’m a bad influence.”
“Don’t take credit for it.”
Holding her gaze, I drink in her features while I focus on the warmth in my chest. I don’t know how she does it…how she makes all of this feel so normal and easy.
I’m not supposed to have this. This kind of comfort and connection isn’t meant for someone like me, especially not after what I’ve done.
For a moment, I’m tempted to push my luck and move a bit closer, until my phone rings.
The sound cuts through the peace between us like a traitorous thing, and I have half the mind to throw it across the room with the hope it shatters.
Mila stiffens a bit, then returns her focus to her books.
With the opportunity lost, I sigh and glance down at the screen to see Wyatt’s name. He’s lucky he’s family now.
“I’ll be back,” I murmur, grabbing the phone and heading towards the kitchen. I accept the call and remind myself to focus. “What do you have for me?”
“A problem,” Wyatt says without missing a beat.
“Define that.”
“You were seen out in public with Mila a bit ago. On the Strip. A Grimaldi associate clocked you in the crowd and passed it up the chain,” he answers, not sugar-coating anything now. “Now they know with certainty that a Lukov has their sister. Ergo, problem.”
I still as the information reaches me, and I catch myself glancing at Mila again. She’s still looking at the music sheets, but I have the feeling she’s vaguely listening.
Being seen with her wasn’t much of a concern for me, especially not out in a busy area, but I can only guess there’s more to it than just that. He wouldn’t be calling me if it weren’t the case.
I sigh. “What have they done?”
“Two scheduled shipments were compromised half an hour apart. It was nothing catastrophic, but it’s enough of a message, and Roman has some choice words for you. He wants you there…I’ll send you the location.”
Closing my eyes briefly, I can already hear his voice in my mind. This is what I’ve been dreading, but now I have no choice but to face it head-on.
“Perfect,” I mutter sardonically, running a hand over my face with a forced breath. “I’m on my way.”
“Wise choice.”
After hanging up, I step back into the living room, and Mila glances at me immediately.
