Page 48 of Wicked Villain

“We’re married. You don’t need privacy from me.”

Her frown deepens. “That is ridiculous.”

“It is what it is. Married people shouldn’t keep secrets between each other.”

“And yet, I’m sure you have many, Pakhan.”

Jesus. I’m tempted to ask her to say that again, just as slow and venomous. And this time, she can sit in my lap.

I shove the thought aside. “As Pakhan, there are things I have to keep to myself. Things that would frighten a sweet girl like you.”

“Okay… what about as my husband? You have secrets. You still won’t tell me what my father did that was so despicable I ended up with you.”

I landed myself in that one. I grin back at her. “I’ll tell you one day, printsessa. Let’s talk about your mama now.”

She clenches her jaw and glares at me, looking like she wants to continue pressing for information but doesn’t. I notice the instant when she gives up. She hasn’t known me for too long, but she knows she’ll get nothing from me until I’m ready to give it.

“I’d like to see my mother in the next few days.”

I rest my hands on the table. I contemplated this heavily yesterday while I watched her with her mother. They’re as close as I imagined them to be. Maybe more. They share deep love and attachment with each other. That’s not very common in our world. Most of the women are so into themselves they don’t care about their kids.

Her mother seems similar to mine—the kind of woman who will do anything for her children. And Gabrielle adores her. So, she’ll hate me even more when she hears the decision I’ve come to.

“You can see her in a few weeks.” I give her a stern stare.

Her breath catches and she goes completely still. “Are you serious?”

“As fuck.”

“You’re going to stop me from seeing my mother?” Her voice quivers, but it won’t crack me.

“I said you can see her in a few weeks.”

“She misses me. I miss her, too.”

“Tough shit. You accept the offer or nothing at all.”

“But—”

“You heard me, printsessa.” I tap the table. “This is not a negotiation.”

She looks like she wants to scream in my face. Just then, Zoya returns with a fresh pot of coffee and a plate with some slices of toast. It’s a chance for a timeout.

My wife and I are silent while Zoya pours us each some coffee.

“Just give me a shout if you need anything else,” Zoya says with a polite bow.

“Thank you,” Gabrielle answers, but her eyes are on me.

Zoya heads out again. Gabrielle picks up her mug and downs a good amount of coffee. Looks like she needs it to talk to me, too.

I sit back and continue staring at her.

“Why weeks?” Finally, she speaks.

“Because you and I both know your father will either use your mother to get to you or to get in my way.”

I swear she stops breathing. She tries to talk again but stops each time. It’s because she knows I’m right.