Chapter 19

Nineteen

R uby

I'm going to undress myself in front of a man. It doesn't really help knowing that his eyes are closed. I'm terrified and shamefully affected.

Still, he warned me what would happen if I tried my hand at walking away. At disobeying him. At fleeing.

And I know that a man like my husband will most assuredly see his threat through.

With my heart pounding between my ears so violently that I feel dizzy, I strip from my clothes. My knees knock as I watch him closely. Then I move quickly for the bath. One foot slides into hot water I pray will dissolve the ache from my ever-tense muscles, before the other follows. Careful not to touch him, I lower myself into the bath as far away from him as I'm able.

There's a thick layer of bubbles on the surface of the water. Still, I lift my knees into my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs. Then, softly, because I'm unable to manage something more firm, more solid, I murmur, "I'm in."

His eyes open, the black expanse of them shocking in the dim glow of a single flame. I've toured zoos, moved under the scrutiny of tigers, and yet I sense I've never been in the presence of a predator quite like my husband.

When his lips hitch in a slow, half-cocked grin, tension erupts in my belly. He lifts his arms over the back of the tub, watching me where I've tucked myself into the far corner, facing him. The upper ink of his tattoo comes alive on his chest in the flicker of candlelight.

His voice is smooth. "You don't look relaxed."

Bubbles snap, crackle, and pop as he waits for my reply. "I'm not."

He cocks his head to the side. "Should I call for some wine?"

"We're in a tub."

"And?"

"And, what? You think Tatiana is going to come pour us wine while we're naked in a tub?" I scoff. The man.

"Why wouldn't she?"

I gape. "Because we're naked in a tub."

"I fail to see why that would stop her from pouring wine."

I'm flabbergasted. It takes me a solid minute to mutter, "I don't want wine."

"I can think of a few other ways to relax you," he taunts, those dark eyes never leaving my face. When I don't reply, refusing to give him the satisfaction, he continues, "An orgasm usually does the trick."

My face flares. I don't want to talk about orgasms with him. I don't want to be in this tub with him. Or here with him at all.

After a few minutes of nibbling my lip while he stares at me with those dark coffee eyes, I sigh. "Why are we doing this, Kirill? You don't strike me as a ‘bath' kind of man."

"I'm not. In fact, this is my first in this tub."

I can't help but look at him. "Then why are we doing this now?"

He blinks a slow and leisurely blink. "I want to get to know my wife."

"And you think a bath is the place to do that?"

He's quiet as he watches me. "I think you run away from me every time I attempt to get close to you otherwise."

"I sleep with you every night." Gosh, just saying the words makes my cheeks heat.

"You don't talk to me, though."

I feel my brows rise. "You want conversation?"

I hate how he can surprise me like this.

"What is it you think I want as I hunt you around my house, trying to spend time with you?" When I don't answer fast enough, he presses, "To ravage you? To throw you up against the wall and take you as a husband should take his wife?"

It's not just my cheeks on fire now. It's all the parts of me.

I hate how he does this to me. Affects me so physically. So intimately.

"You want conversation, then talk."

His brows knit just slightly. He asks—or demands, "Tell me about your life before."

I blunder. "I don't know what to say."

"Tell me anything."

Exasperated, I heave a heavy sigh as I tighten my embrace around my legs. "I was happy."

"Why?"

I've never had someone ask me why I was happy. I've never even considered the question, but at the ask, I can't help but wonder what about my life made me happy. It wasn't particularly abundant. Mama and I didn't live a life of extreme luxury, even though Daddy could afford a great many luxuries. Luxury, aside from the rare vacation with Daddy, had never appealed to Mama. She'd driven the same cherry-red minivan for the last fifteen years, and my butt had been at the farmer's market table next to Mama every second Saturday, selling the rose soap we made. A labor of love, Mama had called it, uninterested in trying to make more of her soap making talents, even though Daddy had assured her he'd back her business endeavors. Mama hadn't been able to leave her kids at the hospital, and although I loved making our soaps, I'd loved the library more.

I finally have my answer, and meeting Kirill's eyes, I give it to him. "My life was simple."

"And that made you happy?"

"I've never wanted a grand life. A career that made me happy, a husband who cared for me, a man I could talk to and grow with—and babies. It's all I've ever wanted." My nose burns with emotion, because I know I'll never have any of that now. "I wanted a comfortable home. Something big enough that my kids could run, but not so big that I couldn't keep it myself." My eyes burn as I stare into the popping bubbles. "I always dreamed of a big porch. Something I'd sit out on with my husband once the babies were asleep. He'd hold my hand, and we'd sip tea and watch the sun fall behind the trees."

Kirill is quiet for a long moment. My eyes snap to his when he pushes off the back of the tub, sitting up. Water shifts, bubbles riding tiny waves. "If you want a porch, I'll build you a porch. If you want babies, I'll give them to you. However many you want, Ruby." I'm so stunned, I can't seem to find words. "I want you to be happy with me."

As I stare at my husband, my tender heart absorbing his words, I can't help but feel the first shimmer of hope. Hope that I might once again know happiness. Hope that maybe my life isn't over after all.