8. Alexei

ALEXEI

“ B oss. The car is not going anywhere,” Anatoly growls.

Looking outside at the blizzard, I have to agree.

It’s early. I spent a restless night watching the snow slowly build; the kiss that I explored with Magdalena simmering through my veins.

I could not sleep.

Not when the memory of her lips on mine was so… present. Not when I could practically taste her still, sugar and mint, and when my body still thrummed with energy from caressing the delectable curves of her body.

My wife.

One of the very, very obvious advantages of having a wife is slowly becoming clear to me.

I do not need to try hard to find someone to have sex with. I am the head of the Orlov family. I am rich. I can find women wherever I want.

The problem is that I do not often want. I am a busy man, and I have spent much of my time building the empire that my father entrusted to me before his death.

Having a wife, or the process of obtaining one, was never part of my plan.

But now that I have one?

One that tastes so sweet, one whose body calls to mine in a siren song?

I find myself faced with the realization that I am not sure if I can keep my hands off of her. And since I will see her again, which is unusual for me when it comes to my trysts…

I am uncertain what to do.

Anatoly clears his throat as we stand in the main entrance to the house. The snow outside is truly something out of legend.

It’s a storm that I also would not wish to travel in.

I glance at him. “Your family is in the village?”

He nods. Orlov House, and the estate around it, hosts a very small village. In the old days, the denizens were the serfs of our family.

Now, though, they’re regular citizens.

As regular as a citizen can be in Russia, I suppose.

Still, I take the duty of protecting them quite seriously. I do ensure that they’re not bullied by any local oligarchs, and that I attend all of the local festivals and events in my somewhat ceremonial role.

We have that, I suppose.

“Can you make it to the village?”

Anatoly snorts. “There is no blizzard that could keep me from my home, Boss.”

I figured that was the case. Even if there is a blizzard that would keep him from taking me back to Novgorod.

To be fair, ti is a much longer drive. But…

I decide not to press the issue.

With one final nod, Anatoly leaves.

I sigh and head back into the kitchen.

“So you’ll be staying with us, then?” Elena says as she glides into the kitchen.

I can’t help but note how smug she is about that.

“Yes. Until the storm lifts.”

“Ah, well. The storm will lift whenever the storm lifts. Until then, we can enjoy some of your favorite foods, no?”

I arch an eyebrow. “And did you also happen to get all the food to celebrate the holiday with?”

Elena waves her hand at me. “Oh, you know. It is the lady’s first time having Christmas in Russia. And the New Year. She hasn’t even experienced the Russian New Year. I will make sure she knows how wonderful it is,” she says with a smile.

My heart constricts, thinking of the holidays in front of me.

“It is okay to miss her, you know.”

I look over at Elena.

“You did not get the chance to miss her. Not right away. Your father… he took you quickly to his side.”

“He did what he needed to,” I respond stiffly.

Elena nods. “And may he rest in peace. But now, your father is gone too. You have the chance to remember her, to miss her. You have the chance to experience a new life, with your wife.”

I snort. “I don’t need a new life, Elena. I like mine?—”

“Perfectly well, I know. You don’t need to remind me,” she cuts me off. “But, darling, what if it was so much more than just perfectly well? What if you could have the peace that you once did?”

I glare at her. “I am at peace.”

“You are many things. I have not seen you at peace in many years.”

I growl. “Elena. I am who I am to protect the house and the family.”

She nods. “Maybe. But your father has given you the skills to navigate that. You have to decide who you are. Are you your father’s son? Or are you your mother’s?”

For some reason, that hits me somewhere in my chest.

I don’t respond.

Elena smiles. “I will make breakfast. The lady will be awake soon. She enjoys very sweet coffee, like all Americans.”

“Why do I need to know this?” I grumble, eyeing the expensive espresso machine that I brought to the house in an effort to modernize it.

“In case you wish to have a cup ready for her,” Elena winks.

She leaves the room.

I take a minute to stare at the machine, regarding the mugs next to it.

I don’t know how long she will be sleeping for. The kitchen is the informal place to take breakfast.

But, I suppose that I would like a coffee as well.

She enjoys very sweet coffee.

Fuck it.

Let us see how sweet the little American girl can be.

I have just finished making the latte when Magdalena walks in.

She freezes in the doorway, and I can tell in that moment that she is just as affected by the kiss as I was.

Or, that she’s perplexed to see me here.

Mentally, I thank Elena for giving me the hint about coffee as a way to break the awkward silence.

I turn, offering it to her. “I heard you like very sweet coffee.”

She flushes. It’s a pretty expression that makes my eyes trace the blush down the smooth column of her throat, and fantasize about where it disappears into the soft cream of her sweater. “Elena keeps saying that, but I swear I just like a regular amount of sweetness.”

“Americans tend to take their coffee sweeter than Russians.”

“Well, if by that you mean that I don’t like it strong enough to strip paint, then yeah,” she murmurs.

I laugh.

I can’t help it. Magdalena’s quick wit is very much entertaining to me.

Her eyes round a little at my laughter, as though she’s surprised by it.

My chest sinks. Does she really think me such a monster?

You’re the bigger monster.

I shake off the thought. Offering the mug, I tilt my head. “Do you want it?”

After a moment, she nods. “Let me see what you’re working with here.” She takes the cup from my fingers, and I note that she’s careful not to brush against me as she does so.

Is she repulsed by me?

Doubt cuts through me.

Still, I watch as she takes the cup and presses it to her lips. I have to look away as she drinks, because seeing her perfect plump lips makes my mind wander to other uses for them.

Or how they felt underneath mine as she yielded so sweetly to my kiss.

“Okay. You might have done something good here,” she says, her voice throaty.

I train my gaze back on her.

Magdalena sips again, her eyes closing. “This is good.”

“I aim to please.”

I hadn’t intended the statement to be quite so… enticing.

But the way her eyes snap open and meet mine, I fully see how she interpreted it that way.

My lips curl slightly in satisfaction.

“Well. I guess mission accomplished,” she whispers.

Elena bustles into the kitchen then, and the tension breaks.

We both sit, and Elena provides a delicious breakfast of blini and preserved fruits. Elena and Magdalena chatter while we eat, and I can’t help but consider how… domestic this is.

And with the snow, falling in sheets and hissing slightly against the windows?

It is just as Elena described.

Peaceful.

While I have not necessarily felt chaotic, or frantic, or any other word that stands opposite of this peaceful feeling, I do notice now how nice it is.

Elena gives me a knowing look toward the end of the meal. “Maggie, dochka, have you ever experienced a Russian holiday before?”

I want to roll my eyes at the endearment. Dochka. Doll.

She is a doll. As pretty as one, anyway.

Magdalena shakes her head. “No. I assume it’s pretty different from an American Christmas?”

Elena clicks her tongue. “Oh, most certainly. What would you do for an American Christmas?”

Magdalena sighs. “Nothing huge. We’d decorate, listen to music. Bake cookies. Decorate them. Play in the snow if it snowed. Look at Christmas lights. Read books by the fire.”

“We do all of those. Except perhaps the cookies,” Elena smiles. “Maybe you could show us what those are?”

Magdalena perks up. “I’d love to.”

“And Alexei, perhaps you could tell Maggie about some of the ornaments on the tree?”

I raise an eyebrow.

Elena shrugs. “Just an idea. They are family heirlooms, after all. She should know the history of the family if she is to be the lady of the house.”

“It’s okay, I don’t want to intrude?—”

“Come,” I say, rising. “I will tell you about them.”

I can see Magdalena startle, as though she wasn’t expecting me to be so forthcoming. I myself am not expecting it.

But Elena has a point.

Maybe it is the peace. Maybe it is the consistent thrum of the snow against the windows.

But for some reason, the memories that I keep tightly locked under my skin feel a little looser today. The ache in my chest does not feel quite so painful.

Instead, it feels…

Manageable.

Magdalena stands cautiously.

I reach my hand forward, and the wait for her to take it feels like an eternity.

When she does, I can’t help the shiver that courses through me.

“Let us see the tree,” I murmur.