30. Natalya

Chapter 30

Natalya

I sleep better than I have in a long time that night. When I wake up, he’s there by my side, and he’s looking at me like she’s been watching me for a while. I smile at him and a strange feeling rushes over me.

There’s something about him watching me—about him looking at me and really seeing me—that’s insanely intoxicating.

It’s not just the cameras. It’s what he told me last night about wanting me for years but never letting himself take that step.

I understand why he held back. Alex defines himself by the Bratva. Everything he is as a man is wrapped up in his loyalty to my father.

Sleeping with me, crossing that line, that would’ve ruined him.

But now, we’re too far gone, and it’s like he’s finally revealing himself to me.

He’s deeply, deeply obsessed, and I really like it.

“How long have you been staring at me like that?” I ask him as I stretch.

“Too long,” he admits. “I should get up.”

“You don’t have to. You can stay, if you want.” I smile a little and casually pull my shirt off.

His gaze sharpens. “What are you doing?”

“I was warm. I’m just getting more comfortable.”

I try to smother my smile as he licks his lips. God, yes, that’s the stare I like. He’s looking at me like he can’t control himself.

Like he couldn’t look away, even if his Pakhan commanded him.

I like that I have power over him, but mostly I like that he wants me .

Unfortunately, before anything can progress, my morning sickness catches up with me again and I spend an hour hugging the toilet.

He tries to help but there’s not much he can do besides leave me some crackers and water. I suffer through the nausea and eventually it passes. I drink, eat a little bit, and take a long, hot shower.

By the time I’m done, he’s standing in our room. Sweat covers his brow and he seems slightly out of breath, but he’s still wearing the same sweats and t-shirt from earlier.

“Did you go for a run?” I ask, getting dressed. He watches my every move.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“Really?” I face him, eyebrows arching. “Does it involve sex by the pool? Because I just got done puking and I’m honestly feeling about as sexy as a rusty nail.”

“No, baby, it isn’t sex by the pool. But I think you’ll like it almost as much.”

That’s got me interested. I finish putting on clothes and follow him back out into the living room. He faces me and gestures behind him, and at first, I’m not sure what he’s talking about.

Then I see it.

“You didn’t,” I say, taking a step forward.

“It wasn’t easy getting in here, but you’d be surprised what money can accomplish.”

I walk slowly over to the upright piano, the same piano from Patricia’s shop. I run my fingers along the edges and lower myself down onto the bench.

Tears threaten to spill down my cheeks.

I’ve missed this so much .

“Play for me,” Alex says softly, brushing his hand across my shoulders. He stoops down and kisses my cheek. “Play your songs for me, please. I’ve been desperate to hate them again.”

I tilt my face toward him. “You mean that?”

“Ever since Paris, your music’s been in my head. I can’t let it go.”

Slowly, I begin to play. My fingers feel rusty, but that quickly fades as I feel myself falling into the music, and the world fades into nothing.

This is what happens every time I get a chance to play. It’s like nothing else matters but the next note. All I want in the whole world is to find the next phrase, the next chord, the next melody, and it’s like I can find myself in the way the piano sings for me.

And Alex listens. He really listens. I feel him there watching, and after a while he makes coffee, but he doesn’t walk away. He sits on the couch behind me and drinks and he listens and he watches, and for the first time in my life, I feel like there’s a person who actually understands.

He feels this music the way I do. It draws him toward me and I can’t really explain how it works.

But it’s there, the connection.

I don’t know how long I play for, but by the time I finally turn around to face him, I’m feeling pretty hungry.

He nods at me. “That was beautiful,” he says.

I walk over and straddle him. I lean down and bury his lips with mine. “Thank you,” I say and kiss him again. His hands grip my ass.

“I know you needed this, and honestly, I’ve been wanting to hear you play again.”

“It means a lot that you’d let this old, beat up piano ruin your perfect apartment’s decor.”

He scowls at me. “You’ve already done that with your shoes. How can one girl who barely leaves the apartment have so many pairs left scattered all over?”

“Ah, Alex, you can’t ever fully change, can you?” I pat his cheek and get out of his lap.

His scowl deepens. “Don’t get me started on the sticky notes. You leave the all over the place, but they end up crumpled on the floor half the time and don’t even serve a function.”

“They’re reminders.”

“They’re trash .” I sigh and go make myself some coffee. He follows with a smile on his face like he knows he’s just messing with me. “I actually have another surprise for you,” he says casually.

“Seriously? What else? And you better not call me spoiled anymore. If I’m spoiled, it’s your fault.”

He smirks and walks over to me. His fist reaches into my hair and he tightens it. “If I spoil you, that’s my prerogative. I’m your husband, remember? And you’re carrying my child.”

I let out a little whimper. “Sometimes I think you enjoy hating me.”

“Just a little bit. Makes it that much sweeter when I finally break you down.”

I release a moan and he kisses me, but he pulls away before it goes too far. “You have a friend coming in an hour. I don’t want to get you all ruined before she shows up.”

“Really? Who?”

“That old woman, Patricia. When I bought the piano she practically demanded that I let her visit you. I think she thinks I’m abusing you or something.”

I press my hands together in excitement. “Are you serious right now? You’re going to let some stranger into your apartment/”

“She’s an old woman. It’ll be fine.”

“And you really don’t mind?”

“So long as you clean up after yourselves, I don’t mind.”

“Thank you.” I throw my arms around him and hug tight.

He softens and pats my ass. “Soon, baby, you won’t have to worry about coming and going. When this shit with the Italians is over, you can go visit your friend whenever you like.”

“I have a feeling you’ll still make me ask permission, you sick bastard.”

This time, he grabs my ass and squeezes. “No, baby. I’ll make you beg.”

I laugh and kiss him, and he grins down at me as he holds me in the kitchen, and for the firs time in a while I don’t feel that constant, aching hole in my core.