Page 37 of Mistaken
Nothing here was mine.
“Okay,” I sighed, “self-pity time is over.”
The master suite was imposing. There was a huge fireplace, masculine leather furniture, and - like every other room in the penthouse - a spectacular view of the city. And then, there was the bed. A giant sleigh bed made of elaborately carved walnut. Given that Maksim was 6”6 and broadly muscled, this was logical. But its vast expanse meant I could be on one side and he’d have to put on his running shoes just to make it over from the other end of the bed. I would never make it easy to touch me ever again, much less convince me to have sex.
Seating myself gingerly on the lovely thick mattress, I looked around. Black and white again, how creative. There were accents of forest green in the long curtains and the bedspread, but that was it. I could tell which side of the bed was his; there was an untidy stack of books on the bedside table.
So he read. Maksim was still a bastard.
Flopping back and staring at the white ceiling, I thought about his genuinely appalling statement on the helicopter pad. I’d bet my apartment - if I still had one - that it was related to the scarring on his back. He was never shy about stripping down, but I’d never spotted the scar before. Were there more? Who gave them to him? Or… maybe he was just a controlling, intimacy-deficient scalawag.
“Scalawag: a cruel and morally corrupt person,” I mumbled. It didn’t matter because he’d taken the last part of me I’d ever allow. Because I’d rather have him kill me than touch me again.
Maksim…
Ella was lingering by the dining room, running her fingertips over the backs of the chairs, reading the name cards. My Christmas Day brunch was a long-running tradition, hosted first by my father for all the key Russian families in Manhattan. I know my parties were more eagerly attended than his because no one was ever shot during brunch. I preferred to separate celebration from punishment, something my father could never seem to manage.
The only time I’d seen my bride since we returned was when she was asleep, huddled so far on her side of the bed that she was always in danger of falling off. She kept well away from my reach at any other time. I might be many things, but I was not a rapist. She could sulk all she liked; but as a Bratva wife, she would be hearing far more terrible words than what I’d said to her.
“Did you study your dossier on the families attending today?”
Ella turned her head slightly, not looking at me. “Yes.”
The soft chime of the elevator opening with our first guests saved her from enduring further conversation with me. The penthouse filled with our partygoers, elegantly dressed parents, and their children scrubbed into their best clothes, but almost immediately losing their shyness and sliding down the long expanse of the marble flooring in their stocking feet.
Lucya Turgenev nudged me lightly with her elbow. “You know, it’s next to impossible for us to make our children behave when Yuri is encouraging naughty behavior.”
She was smiling at the sight of her daughter and two sons laughing uncontrollably as my idiot brother helped them get a running start.
“He is irredeemable,” I shook my head, chuckling at his gleeful expression. “Yuri so rarely allows himself to let go of his responsibilities asSovietnik.I think he’s regressed twenty years.”
“So? How was your honeymoon with your lovely new wife?” Lucya nudged me again. This must be her third or fourth glass of champagne.
“I’d like to ask your help,??? ????.She’s not from our circle.”
“Mhmm,” she agreed, “I was surprised when you married a civilian.”
“She needs… guidance.”
She opened her eyes wide, ready to taunt me. “Oh, didn’t your mother tell her everything she needed to know?”
“You are so very fortunate that I like you, Lucya,” I sighed.
“And also, that you are wisely and reasonably prudent regarding my husband,” she added.
I chose to ignore her, though it was true that Alexi was one of the few men in the Bratva that earned my highest respect. And caution. “Would you help her? I know you and Alexi had your own challenges at the beginning of your marriage.” This was an understatement. Lucya had been promised to marry Alexi’s older brother, a vicious and abusive monster. Much blood was shed before her marriage arrangement was made with Alexi instead.
“That is the understatement of the century,” she agreed, shuddering slightly.
“I didn’t mean to bring up ugly memories,??? ????.My apologies.”
Ella had lost her shyness and was laughing as she watched the children - and Yuri - sailing down the marble expanse. Her cheeks were flushed and she was wearing the first smile I’d seen since we left St. John’s.
“Of course I will, Maksim. Only because I like her more than you already, and she’ll need some survival skills to tolerate you.”
“So cruel, you?????? ???????.And here I have always worshiped at your feet.”
Before we could entertain each other with further insults, her husband stepped up behind her, kissing her cheek.
