Page 131 of The Bratva Sinner

“Nothing. I told the cook I didn’t need anything. I’ll see if there’s one of those freezer meals I can pop in for us.”

“How are the horses?” he asks.

“Good. Ember is getting big.”

It feels ridiculous. I have so much I want to say, but I can’t find the words.

“How was your day?” I ask.

He gives me the abbreviated version. I listen and nod and ask the right questions. Perfectly normal.

I am so furious I can barely breathe.

I nuke some lasagna and plate it up for him. I sit beside him at the island. He reaches over and rubs his hand up and down my back. He does that more these days. Like he can’t resist touching me.

Like he’s preparing for a time when he won’t be able to.

I love him so much that it makes my back teeth ache.

And that’s why I’m so pissed at him.

He made plans without telling me because he knew I’d say no. I’m not running. I’m done running, but he’s doing what he thinks is best.

My mother would have liked him.

He checks his watch after he’s finished his plate.

“I’m going to be late tonight,” he says. “Don’t wait up.”

“Okay,” I reply.

He comes around the island, tips my chin up with two fingers, and presses his mouth to mine. He slides his hand to my jaw and leaves it there for a second longer than it needs to be.

“Get some sleep,” he murmurs against my mouth.

“You come home.” I look into his eyes.

For just a second, I see the concern, but then it’s gone. He kisses me again and then walks toward the hallway.

“Maksim,” I say.

He turns.

I look at the man who’s lying by omission because he loves me. It’s hard to be pissed when I know I would do the same.

“Be careful,” I say softly.

“Always.”

And then he’s gone.

I can’t catch my breath. I press my fingers to my mouth.

I’m not going to Portugal.

But God, I love him for creating the exit.

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