20. Mikhail

It's late when the front door opens. Soft voices float down the hall to the kitchen.

"He's exhausted," Viviana whispers. "I think the pizza for dinner did him in."

Anatoly texted me a picture of Dante a few minutes ago. He was asleep in the backseat, his head lolled to one side. The red marinara smudge on the corner of his mouth makes a lot more sense now.

"I don't mind putting him to bed," Stella offers. "I saw him eat your slice, too. I'm sure you're hungry."

"A little," Viviana admits. I can hear the hesitation in her voice. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

I don't hear anything else, but they must have come to some silent arrangement because a few seconds later, Viviana pads into the dark kitchen.

She doesn't see me leaning against the counter in front of the sink. She drops a handful of bags on the floor and turns to the fridge.

For a second, I get to take in Viviana's halo of blonde hair backlit by the hallway light. Her cinched waist and flared hips. I get to admire her without the layer of hostility that seems to come default. At least when she's looking at me.

I shift, crossing one ankle over the other, and Viviana jolts.

"God, I didn't realize I was living with Dracula. Ever heard of turning on a light?" she snaps.

I reach over and flip on the under-cabinet lights. "Your good mood tells me you must have had a nice day spending my money."

She rolls her eyes. "I didn't ask you for that. I was actually tricked into it. Kind of a common occurrence around here."

"Looks like someone tricked you over and over again. That's a lot of bags you carried in."

"It's not even half of them," she retorts. "Anatoly is having the rest of them delivered."

Willing or not, the thought of Viviana spending my money—wearing nice things because I bought them for her—satisfies some dark place inside of me. I want her to be marked as mine from head to fucking toe.

"Did you get anything good?"

Her eyebrows jump like she just remembered something. A smile spreads across her face. It's so rare that I almost catch my breath.

"I bought something for you," she says, digging into the pile of bags and coming up with two burgundy jewelry boxes. "For both of us, actually."

Viviana slides both boxes across the counter to me.

I already know what it is. I told Anatoly to make sure she came home with a ring. Right now, her finger is still bare.

"You were supposed to wear it out of the store."

"If you were serious about the rules, you would have been there to make sure I followed them." There's a sultry quality to her voice that she's turning on just for me. I know her well enough to be suspicious.

What has she done now?

I open the first box and stare down at the ugliest ring I've ever seen. It's as big as a flotation device and covered in a rainbow of tiny stones. Yellow, pink, green, and blue gems reflect and catch the light like some toy from a kid's fast food meal.

"Do you like it?" Her brow arches in a challenge. "I wanted you to see it before anyone else."

"No one will be able to ignore," I admit.

She grins. "My thoughts exactly. Which is why I got you one to match."

I grit my teeth and yank open the second box. Just like she said, the same obnoxiously-colored stones are arranged in concentric squares and set in a thick yellow-gold band.

"Look inside," she says, leaning across the island. Her shirt gaps open. I can see the lace of her bra against her skin. "There's another surprise."

I assume she means inside the ring and not down her shirt. I lift the ring up to the light and notice ridges on the inside of the band.

Carved out of the gold like a stamp is one word: Viviana.

"Even when you take it off, my name will be imprinted on your skin," she says, obviously amused with herself. "Isn't that sweet?"

I close the rings in my fist until I feel the cut of the stones in my palm. Then I shove them in my pocket.

"Do you like them?" she asks, knowing full well I don't.

"Remind me to come along next time you go shopping. Apparently, it's true what they say: you can't buy class."

Her smile vanishes. "I guess not. If you could, I'm sure you'd have some by now."

"I never would have bought these rings, so it's a start."

"Maybe you should have picked them out to begin with," she snaps. "Real class act, by the way, having your wife pick out her own wedding ring."

There wasn't time to buy her a ring. Everything happened so fast. Even if there had been time, I still wouldn't have done it.

The last time I bought a ring for a woman, I buried her in it. I have no interest in repeating history.

"I figured a roof over your head and a closet full of new clothes for you and your son was enough of a gift."

Viviana's jaw clenches. Then she whips around and kicks the pile of bags. They go flying across the kitchen floor. "I don't want any of this shit!"

"Then what do you want?"

Her eyes scrape over me, the truth tucked away inside them.

"From you? Nothing." She overturns the bags, silk and lace spilling across the tile floor. "Maybe you're used to women you can pay off with pretty clothes and diamonds, but I'm not fucking interested. None of this makes up for what you've done."

I ease around the island, aware of every inch of space I'm closing between us. "What is it I've done, Viviana?"

She's breathing heavily, her shoulders rising and falling with each breath. I watch her scan me, scan the room. She's looking for an exit as if there's any chance she can escape. As if I won't cut her off at every pass.

"You forced me to marry you."

"You had a choice," I counter.

She drags her hand through her hair, tugging at the roots. "You command me around your house like you own me. Like I'll just go and do your bidding. Buy this; wear that; go here, not there."

"I do own you," I growl. "In every way that counts, you're mine."

"You've taken away everything. Everything I worked for." She blows out a breath, a strand of hair fluttering around her forehead. "Maybe you don't know what that's like, but I had to build a life from nothing. When I walked out of that bridal suite, I didn't have anything. No money. No connections. No—" She looks up at me, something like guilt flashing in her eyes before it's gone. "I had to sacrifice more than you know for the pitiful, classless life you think I was living. Now, it's gone."

"It was going to get snatched away from you either way," I growl. "One way or another, someone was going to destroy your fantasy. You should be grateful it was me instead of someone who would have left you both dead."

"As far as I can tell, you are the threat, Mikhail. You're the one who kidnapped me and my son. You're the one I've been running from for the last six years."

"You weren"t running because of me."

She was running from Trofim. From her father. I never threatened her.

"Tell yourself whatever you need to justify what you"re doing. I don"t need to stick around for it." She spins around to leave.

I spent the last six years looking for her. Not because of Dante. Not because of an heir or because she was in danger.

But because I wanted her.

I still do.

All the while, she was running in the opposite direction.

She still is.

I catch her arm and pull her against me. We slam together, chest to chest. My hand fits perfectly around her throat. My fingers curl into her hair. She smells like sweet vanilla.

I have no fucking idea what I'm going to do to her right now, but she can't leave. Not yet. Not until I understand why she can get under my skin when no one else ever has.

Then I see the tears pouring down her face.

"Viviana."

She twists her face away and shoves against my chest, but I don't let go.

"You're crying."

"I'm surprised a robot like you recognizes human emotions." The words come out watery and weak. There's no real punch behind them.

"What's wrong?" I brush my thumb over her wet cheek and it sets off a new wave of tears.

"This is a new low," she chokes out. "You're what's wrong. You know that, right? You're the reason I'm crying. I'm trapped here and I have no idea what's going to happen. But for some reason?—"

I can't remember the last time I held someone while they cried. Usually, if someone is crying, it's because I'm standing on their broken femur or my thumb is in their eye socket.

"What?" I press.

Viviana looks up at me, her hazel eyes green through the tears. Then she rests her weight against me, her cheek against my chest. "This feels nice."

My hand finds the curve at the small of her back. I stroke my thumb down her spine. We stand like that for a long time. Until her breathing evens out and the tears stop falling.

"Are you done freaking out?" I ask softly.

She rolls her eyes. "Almost definitely not. Being married to you, expect it to happen a lot."

I laugh and Viviana looks up at me. Her lips are full and pink. They part as she exhales. We're so close. All it would take is the tilt of my head.

"I should go to bed," she breathes. But I can tell by the way she says it that she doesn't want to.

She should go to bed. Instead, she might stay here with me… depending on what I do next.

Viviana's hand is still on my chest. I reach for it, curling my fingers around hers. "One more thing before you go."

Her lashes flutter against her cheekbones, expectant. "Yeah?"

I slide the gaudy ring onto her finger. "I never want to see you without this on."

I watch the moment shatter in her eyes.

Viviana pulls away from me and grabs the bags from the kitchen floor. She's halfway into the hall before she calls back, "Don't forget to wear your ring, too, hubby. Otherwise, I'll superglue it on while you're sleeping."

I'd love to see her try.