Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lev

I have to hand it to Mikhail.

First of all, this place is fucking awesome.

Second, my wife is fucking awesome.

We had to get to know each other, and we needed to get to a place of trust, but we didn't have the luxury of time that most people do. Being dropped down in the middle of nowhere in an absolute paradise and having to trust each other? It's getting the job done.

Three days into our stay on the island, we enjoyed the private beach area, taking refreshments onto the sand. Kissing under the shaded canopy. Skinny-dipping in the ocean, with nothing but the blue sky ahead and the occasional call of a seagull.

She lives for sex, and if she has a hard limit, I haven't fucking found one yet.

We've taken full advantage of the Jacuzzi and hot tub on site. She even made me do a fucking yoga routine—said something about it opening my chakras, whatever the fuck those are. She tried to guide me through meditation after, but I tackled her and fucked her in the middle of the yoga studio.

She didn't seem too bothered by that.

It's nice, not having technology at our fingertips constantly, notifications vying for our attention. Even though I love my family with my whole heart, it's nice to have a little break from them.

And sex with Isabella is mind-blowing. There is nothing she won't do, she's a savage. I am here for it. Every time she screams beneath me or on top of me because she's all about riding me, I feel like Superman .

"We've used up most of those premade meals," Isabella says. She's lying on the beach in a bikini, her eyes closed. I let my gaze roam over her beautiful, finely tuned body stunning.

We've fallen into a routine: working out together in the gym, swimming or hiking during the day, followed by lazy afternoons on the beach. Some days, we eat light; other days, we cook a feast. She has a hearty appetite and isn't picky. Everything seems to excite her. She has a thirst for life that brightens my day. She loves to explore and talk about the future… but there's an elephant in the room we need to address.

Two, if I'm honest.

We'll get there.

" Mi querido jefe ," she says, her eyes closed. The sun beats overhead, but the woman doesn't burn. She just becomes more golden.

"Yes?"

"What are we having for dinner?"

"I think we need to cook together. Are we going to survive?"

She opens one eye and gives me a sly grin. "That depends. Can you keep your hands off me?"

Well, that decided it. No.

Doesn't matter, though. We're the only ones here. We have a job to do, which involves me getting to know her body intimately and her getting to know mine. Bonding and all that shit.

I roll her over and kiss her until her lips are swollen and my dick is hard pressed up against her.

"What does mi querido jefe mean?"

She grins at me. "All this time, and you don't know what it means? Really?"

"All this time? It hasn't been that long." It has, though, maybe not in days or minutes or hours, but life before Isabella was a lifetime ago.

"It's been long enough," she says with a wink. " Mi querido jefe means ‘my dear boss.'"

Jesus . I should've studied Spanish. "You've been calling me ‘your boss' this whole time? Is this some kind of joke?" I flop back down on the sand beside her, scattering some across her skin.

"Hey! It's not my fault you don't know the most basic Spanish."

"Excuse me? Are you sassing your husband again?" I quirk an eyebrow at her. She turns on her elbow and gives me a curious look, lifting her own brow in return.

"Depends. What are you going to do about it?"

"Obviously, I'm going to lift you up off that towel, carry you over to that dock, and toss you in the water. What the fuck else would I do? Brat."

She gets up on all fours, and I stifle a moan when she does one of those yoga moves she did in the studio, lifting her neck and arching her back like a kitten. Fuck, she's gorgeous.I forgot what the hell she calls that move, but I know this is just a distraction. She wants me to see her tits in that tiny little top and her gorgeous ass just begging to be smacked.

I groan. "What the fuck are you doing?" I push myself up to my knees.

And then she's on her feet and off at a run, and I'm cursing behind her because she's smaller than I am but faster, by a lot. Doesn't mean I won't fucking catch her. We're both good at this game.

Sand flies beneath her bare feet as she screams and runs the length of the beach. I follow behind her. Even as I chase her, I know deep down in my soul, I will never actually catch her. It will always be her and me together, fighting for survival, and there will always be a chase.

There's not a submissive bone in Isabella's body, and I'm fucking loving it. I love the way she poses such a challenge to me. I love the way she runs. I love chasing her.

Finally, I get a break. She trips, and it slows her down for a moment, giving me the chance to catch her. I bend my knees, toss my shoulder into her torso, and slap my hand across her little ass. She squeals and giggles. I love the sound of her giggling. For someone who's been through so much, she's incredibly resilient. She lives life with such gusto, and I absolutely love that.

I march to the dock with her over my shoulder. "Now you've done it."

"Put me down!" She slaps my back.

"You want me to put you down?"

"Lev! What are you doing?" she screams.

"You know exactly what I'm doing." I walk down the dock toward the water. She fights me, kicking and screaming and pushing at me, but I don't let her go. Not until we get to the end of the dock. I smack her thigh, which makes her squeal, then slide her down off my shoulder and cradle her in my arms so I can kiss her. "You're so beautiful," I say with a smile before I rear back and fling her. She flails and screams, then splashes into the water before she comes up sputtering for air.

"You jerk!" she screams, her soaking wet hair straggling in her face. "That isn't fair!" She paddles, splashing at me, but I have the advantage up on the dock. "Come on in, Lev," she croons. She's so pretty with her hair hanging about her beautiful face, water dripping off her. She could be on a postcard for a beach vacation.

"Let's go," she says. "The water is fine, you asshole ."

I lean back, enjoying the view, when suddenly her face contorts, and she screams. "Something bit me!"

I dive into the water after her without a second thought. Suddenly, I see a jellyfish swimming away, and panic surges through me. I yank her out of the water and swim to the dock. Her leg has a red, swollen mark where the tentacles touched. I quickly swim to her, cradling her in my arms as I bring her back to shore.

"Hold on, Isabella," I murmur, my voice shaking with worry. "I've got you."

She winces in pain, her breath coming in sharp gasps. "It hurts, Lev. Fuck, it really hurts." Isabella has a high pain tolerance, but a full-on jellyfish sting is brutal.

I lay her gently on the dock, quickly inspecting the sting. "I know. We need to neutralize the venom." I remember reading about jellyfish stings and the best way to treat them. I toss sand on her leg and rub to get rid of any residual tentacles, but I must get her back to the resort for first aid supplies.

I make quick work of carrying her back, and she's brave about it. I can feel the tension from the pain, but she doesn't whisper a word of complaint.

"What do you do for this?"

"We need something to neutralize the sting and toxins. There will be a first aid kit."

I sit her on a stool in the kitchen and rummage through supplies, finding a small bottle of vinegar in the cabinet. "This will work. Put your leg out."

She gasps as the vinegar makes contact. "Is it supposed to burn?"

"A little, but it should help," I assure her.

Tears well up in her eyes, but she stays strong. "Thank you, Lev."

I look at her, and I hate that she's in pain. "I'm so sorry this happened. Let's get you situated. Some hydrocortisone will help."

I scoop her up in my arms and carry her to the living room and gently place her on the couch, propping her leg up. "I'll get some ice to reduce the swelling."

She gives me a weak smile. "You're really good at this, you know."

I sigh. "I've had practice taking care of stubborn people."

As I apply the ice pack to her leg, she winces but then relaxes. "Thank you."

I kiss her forehead. This is my job. I'm supposed to watch out for her.

Back in the room, she lies back with her foot elevated. "This is your fault," she says, but I can tell she doesn't really blame me. "If you didn't throw me in the water…"

"If you weren't a brat, I wouldn't have had to throw you in." I do feel guilty, though. "I didn't think there would jellyfish."

"I guess you'll have to make it up to me," she says cheerfully.

"Seriously, how does that feel?" I ask, looking at her swollen ankle.

"I won't be running away from you anytime soon. I know you're devastated. But the good news is, I don't think I'm badly hurt. I'm fine. I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Let's go cook dinner."

I anchor my hands on my hips and glare at her. " I'll go make dinner. You're going to stay right here with that leg elevated."

"I can stand just fine," she snaps.

"You are so fucking stubborn!"

"It takes one to know one," she snaps back. "I don't like people serving me. I like to cook my own food."

"Well, you're just going to have to get used to it."

"Or what?" She challenges me. Here we go again.

"I'm going to tie you to that fucking couch." I glare at her, absolutely ready to do it.

Instead of defying me, she pouts a little, which is more effective than I expect. "Lev, I am not helpless."

"Finally, just a tiny bit. Isabella, you're my wife. Can you just let me fucking take care of you for once?"

She stares at me and doesn't speak for long moments. "You want to take care of me?"

"It's a little different than always trying to tell you what to do, isn't it?" I say.

"I guess it is. But promise me this."

"Yeah?"

"If you get hurt, you're going to let me take care of you. This works both ways."

"Sure. But I don't get hurt."

"We'll see about that," she says teasingly.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Lev, let's cook dinner."

"Isabella," I say, exasperated.

"Please," she says sweetly. How am I supposed to say no when she asks me like that?

I bend down and lift her. To her credit, she doesn't protest that she can walk or anything; she just lets me.

"I like when you carry me," she says in a little voice, a hint of vulnerability that's unusual for her.

I like it.

"Do you?"

"There's just something about a strong guy carrying me that makes me feel… I don't know, protected. And even I can't help but like that, at least a little bit," she admits.

"Well, I'm happy to protect you," I whisper, kissing her.

"I can help you cook," she says, her voice surprisingly steady. "I'm perfectly fine, Lev. It hurts, yes, but that doesn't matter. I don't care."

Is she really this stubborn? This is going to be my life with her. I have to admit, I like it. I'm not the kind of guy who wants things easy. I like the challenge, and I like to fight.

"I'm making dinner tonight, but I promise you'll get plenty of opportunities to cook for me. Maybe you can chop veggies on a stool or something."

Her eyes twinkle, and her lips twitch. "Maybe you're not that bad."

I slide her into a chair. "Sit. Elevate that leg."

"I've never had a man cook for me before," she says with a hint of wonder in her voice.

"Seriously? Most of us cook. Who the hell feeds you?"

She tilts her head, a wistful look crossing her face. "Staff." She shrugs. "I cooked for myself mostly."

I rifle through the contents of the fridge and cabinets. "Do you miss Colombia?"

"Yes and no. I miss what used to be in Colombia, not what it is now."

"What do you mean?" I take out vacuum-sealed chicken, then rifle through the cabinets. I chop onions and garlic at the kitchen counter while she tells me.

"When I was a little girl, my father was very occupied with business. But it didn't matter to me. None of it. I didn't care back then. I had friends and a beautiful backyard to play in. I liked to read, ride my bike, and go swimming in the lake by my house. Yes, a little part of me knew that my father did things he probably shouldn't. I would overhear things. And when he and my mother fought…" She looks away and doesn't respond at first. I give her space, sliding the chopped onions and garlic into the sizzling hot pan. "He hit her. It wasn't unusual for a man like him, but I hated it when she cried. I hated it when he got angry. And I promised myself that would never be me."

This doesn't surprise me, but I don't like it.

"As a little girl, I knew it was socially acceptable, at least in my father's circles, to treat women as second-class citizens. In Colombia, you don't have to look far for that, even here in America in some places." I nod, understanding her point.

"Things changed when I began to develop. I wasn't a little girl to be pushed out of the way anymore, but someone who would attract attention. That was a problem for my father." She looks away. "My mother wasn't a fool, but she was every bit under my father's thumb and fully expected me to be the same. She didn't like conflict, except when she lost her temper. She wanted me to avoid the brunt of his anger, so she tried to teach me to be quiet and obedient." Her lips twitch, and her beautiful eyes meet mine. "You can imagine how well that went."

I grin, onions and garlic sizzling in the pan. "Probably about as well as telling my own sister to do that."

"She did teach me some things. And I'm grateful I have those skills. I can cook, and I like my space clean, like you, so in that way, we'll get along just fine. But I have a mind of my own, Lev."

"I know."

For a long moment, the only sound in the kitchen is the sizzling of the vegetables and the low boil of the pasta water. "I tried to cook for my whole family as a surprise. My father was having a bad day," she says with a rueful smile. "That's what my mother used to say. Your father is having a bad day. As if somehow that gave him free rein to act like a child. Anyway, I did what I thought I had seen done before, but the pan I used was too small, and oil splashed onto the flame. I caused a small kitchen fire. My mother found out before my father did, and she took the blame for it."

Her voice trails off. She doesn't like her mother, or maybe she hasn't forgiven her for past sins. I don't know, but she doesn't like telling these stories. I don't like hearing them, but I need to. I need to know every thread that weaves the fabric of who she is today because this is no passing relationship. This woman is my wife.

"When he saw the fire, he screamed and raged at her. He didn't hit her, but he broke things." She looks away. When she looks back at me, her eyes are shining. "I hated that she was taking the blame for me, so I told him the truth. That's when he hit her… for lying."

I season the chicken and lay it in the frying pan and scowl at it. "My father also wasn't a nice man. I understand."

I don't offer details on my own because this is her story, not mine, but apparently, she wants to know.

"Tell me. What was Stanislav Romanov really like?"

Of course, she knows his full name. She's researched my family. "It was his way or the highway… typical." I don't look at her while I stir the pot of pasta because I don't like to talk about this.

"Lev," she prompts, pouring herself a glass of wine. "This is a two-way street, mi querido jefe. "

Now that I know what that actually means, it holds a different kind of weight.

"He had his own way of dealing with us. He got physical."

"I didn't ask how he treated everyone," she says in that way of hers that cuts right to the heart of the matter. "I asked how he treated you ."

There's no harm in telling her, so I don't know why I hesitated to begin with. "You know my brothers and Polina were adopted. My father did that on purpose, believing there were advantages to taking in people who were mistreated and then treating them well."

She nods, understanding. "It's one of the most basic rules of management," she says with a smile. " El perro es fiel a la mano que lo alimenta. A dog is loyal to the hand that feeds it."

"I honestly don't remember much before being adopted. My family was poor, and I was orphaned. I had no siblings, just my mother. When she died of illness in Moscow, the Romanovs took me in. But I was the youngest, and much was expected of me, more than I could manage as a child. At least, that's what my mother tells me."

Her eyes soften as she listens, but thankfully, she offers no sympathy. She just takes another sip of wine in that elegant, beautiful way that makes my heart ache a little.

"As I grew older, nothing I did was good enough. He assigned ulterior motives to everything I did and took things personally."

She shakes her head. "What is it with these narcissistic parents?" she says.

I laugh, but she's spot on. There's nothing funny about it. "Yeah. I don't really like to label things, but I guess that's accurate."

I flip the chicken and move it around the pan, appreciating the aromas in the kitchen. My stomach growls. "Wine?" she asks.

"Yeah." I take a glass and sip it. "For a long time, my older brothers treated me the way my father taught them to. Viktor was the one to be feared—too big for my father to handle—so he gave him over to Kolya. Mikhail was the oldest, and we had to obey him." I don't know why I say "had to." We still do. "Mikhail was in charge. Ollie always kept to himself, and Nikko was older but an ally. When I was a teenager, Nikko taught me to shoot. At fifteen, I made my first kill."

She doesn't even flinch, just listens to me as if I'm talking about fishing. It's only then that I appreciate being with a woman who understands. She's not horrified by my reality because hers is so similar. The details differ, but the end result is the same.

"I felt like I had to prove myself for a very long time. Prove that I was loyal, that I was strong."

"How did that assault a few years back affect you?" she asks. Fuck . Of course she knows about the assault. She's done her homework. She knows I was overtaken, beaten, hospitalized. We long since got our revenge for that, but I still bear the scars.

"Honestly? This might be hard to understand, but I'm grateful it happened."

She shakes her head. "It's not hard to understand at all. For a man like you, it was a defining moment, no?"

God. She understands more than I gave her credit for.

I look at her and nod. Maybe it hasn't been that long since we've known each other, so why does it feel like we've known each other our whole lives? Maybe humans are more alike than I thought.

"Exactly. It was exactly that. I had two choices: nurse my wounds, let the trauma hold me back…" My voice is choked, and I'm uncharacteristically emotional.

She completes the sentence for me. "Or let it shape you into who you are today. Determined that no one will ever do that to anyone you love again."

The pan is smoking. I shut it off and pull it off the heat, scooping the chicken onto a plate. I toss the pan in the sink and run water on it, steam filling the room.

"Looks delicious," she says. "I've always wanted to try blackened chicken."

I snort.

I scoop the pasta onto a plate, add some butter and parmesan, and open the fridge to take out a premade salad.

We dig in.

"Why do you shove the greens down your throat like that?" she asks curiously, taking a delicate bite of pasta.

"Because I fucking hate them."

Her mouth drops open. "You don't like lettuce?"

I shake my head and chase the salad with a large swig of wine. "Fucking hate vegetables."

"What are you, ten?"

I smirk at her. "I just made your dinner. I don't have to like my vegetables; I just have to eat them."

"Why? You're an adult."

I flex my bicep and shrug. That's why.

She leans forward, her voice growing low and seductive as she squeezes my bicep. "Because you like to get laid."

"I do."

She grins, one of those smiles that lights up her whole face. "Fortunately for you, so do I."

I'm glad we didn't dwell on the conversation we had. We don't need to. She understands, and so do I.

After a while, the bottle of wine is empty. She sighs.

"My brother will not stop, Lev. There is only one way for us to stop him."

"I know." I lean forward, reaching to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Are you sure about this?"

She nods. "I've never been so sure of anything in my whole life."