Page 34 of Mistaken
He took my hand and headed up to the bedroom and I knew perfectly well that I wouldn’t be eating dinner for at least a couple of hours from now.
“This is exquisite,” I sighed.
Maksim ignored the sommelier hovering by the table for a moment to watch me. The dress he’d picked out for me was forest green, fairly demure in front and dipping low enough to show the dimples just above my bottom in the back. The skirt was short enough that I’d spent most of the ride into town trying to find a way to sit that didn’t show off my lace undies, which he also selected. He seemed to enjoy it more in the car, less so now that other men were sneaking glances at us until he gave them the Bratva Death Stare.
The sommelier was still waiting for our order, his smile becoming a bit strained, so I nodded at the wine list to drag Maksim’s sinister glare from other hapless diners and back to the uncomfortable employee.
“We’re having the seafood degustation,” Maksim said briskly, “so let’s try the Markus Molitor Bernkasteler Doctor Riesling.”
“Very good, sir,” and the relieved man is off.
I couldn’t help chuckling a little, “Why are fancy wines always the ones with the endless name? Why isn’t anything ever named ‘Joe’s Riesling?’ I’d buy it just out of spite.”
I felt almost dangerously relaxed - given the recent tensions - but he seemed pretty chill, too. He’d tanned a deep golden brown over the last 48 hours here on the island, while my English skin had stubbornly retained its pasty white sheen. Of course, it’s not like any sun could fight its way through the copious applications of sunscreen that Maksim insisted on rubbing on me at every opportunity.
He was speaking softly to one of the bodyguards he’d brought along on our ‘date.’ Ivan, I think? The other one at the table just behind us was Fedor. But his distraction meant I could stare at him for a moment without his stupid, handsome face breaking out into a knowing smirk. He looked gorgeous, damn him, in white button-down shirt and dark trousers, the shirt sleeves rolled up to show his tanned, muscular forearms and his stainless steel Patek Phillippe glinting on his wrist.
He was gesturing with those big, capable-looking hands of his, and it reminded me of how many times he’d held my wrists together and over my head as he was defiling me. No matter how many times or how many ways he was inside me, Maksim would never let me touch him. I was a little delirious by the third time last night and he got angry, tying my hands to the headboard because “I couldn’t control myself.”
I crossed my legs, but I could feel too much fresh air blowing up my skirt, so with a sigh, I crossed them the other way. Whatwasit with Hot Murder Daddy, as Tania called him? He made me marry him, and the fact that I couldn’t sit down without gasping like a Victorian maiden from the ache everything south of my waistline seemed to indicate he was attracted to me. Why couldn’t I touch him?
If I craned my neck a little, I could see two more of Maksim’s men patrolling outside the restaurant. It was built on a dock extending out into the harbor; boats returning from a day of fishing would sell their catch right to the kitchen in the back. There were walls covered in blooming vines, growing from window boxes lining the waist-high walls, giving me the feeling of being in the middle of a garden… on the ocean. The lights strung haphazardly overhead lit up the sharp, beautiful lines of Maksim's high cheekbones. Gulping half of my wine, I tried to refocus. I would not sit and stare at him and inflate his already unreasonable self-esteem.
“Max! You bastard you didn’t invite me to your wedding? I had to find out from my father, motherfucker!”
“Dante,” Maksim was at his most unwelcoming, and it made me want to crawl under the table, but the creep in the super expensive suit is, I suspect, already too coked up to notice.
He shouts across the restaurant, “Hey Kimber, get your ass over here!”
A muscle tic’d in Maksim’s cheek as everyone turned to stare. Expensive Suit Guy swaggered over to my side of the table and picked up my hand, attempting to kiss it. “Shit, that reallyisa wedding ring. You really did get hitched? I thought dad was fucking with me!” My hand was immediately removed from his sweaty one and held captive by Maksim instead.
A girl with the most explosive head of flaming magenta hair I’d ever seen had wrapped herself around Expensive Suit- around Dante, I mean - she was smiling dreamily at Maksim. It was a look I was beginning to get used to since everyone with ovaries would stare at him like they were begging him to impregnate them right there and then.
Oh,my god.Maksim wasn’t planning on knocking me up, right? Right? This whole married thing was like walking right into a glue trap. Add a baby to that? There isnoway. I realized I was sweating and started fanning my face with my napkin.
“Darling? Are you listening?”
Smiling prettily, I apologize, “I’m sorry, uh, sweetheart. The restaurant is a little loud. You were saying?”
Maksim was not pleased, I wasn’t sure if it was directed more at me or the couple leaning heavily into our table, but I was breaking out in a sweat.
“Let me introduce you, Dante and Kimber, this is my beautiful bride, Ella Morozov.”
Man, he drew that last name out like it was the most deeply satisfying thing he’d said all day.
“And this is Dante Toscano and Kimber… I didn’t get your last name?”
“Just Kimber,” she was twirling a lock of that violent magenta hair and giggling. Giggling at Maksim, who’d already turned back to Dante.
This guy was a trip. The aforementioned super expensive suit aside, he had slicked-back hair with a stubborn lock, heavily weighted with hair gel, flopping onto his forehead. He had mean, dark eyes, rings on every finger, and teeth so large and unnaturally white that it was clear he’d paid some dentist’s kid’s way through college with that shiny new grille. He was attempting to smile in a way that indicated that he didn’t know how, but he was trying out the look because humans used it.
Maksim…
“Nice to see you, Dante.”
The useless little bastard never did have the common sense to know when to move on before he really enraged someone. His father, Mattia, had two other sons - Giovanni and Dario - who were intelligent and good leaders. Then, there was Dante. Set to inherit his father’s empire just by the virtue of being the firstborn. Their family’s only hope would be that he finally infuriated the wrong man enough to kill him before Mattia died. But while Dante was vicious and usually high, he had a native, animal cunning that kept him alive this far. “But, as you can see, I’m here with my bride and we’re spending some alone time.”
Even emphasizingalone timewasn’t enough to deter him.
