“She likes blue,” I read, awed by that preference she unknowingly shares with the man beside me. “She enjoys reading. She likes to play chess. She enjoys—”
“Swimming,” Vadim finishes before I can. “Playing in the park. Boats. Her favorite food is buttered toast. She also likes horses.” He speaks with such a confidence that I don’t even have to glance at the paper to know he’s memorized them by heart.
And the fact that his home contains both a swimming pool and a stable, as well as a boathouse takes on a new meaning. One that leaves me stunned.
“That’s why you picked that house,” I say, returning the papers to the briefcase. “I thought you wanted to be a dick to your brother, but it was for her.”
His lips contort into a small, beautiful smile that reveals just how exhausted he is. How many nights has he lost worrying about this? Far too many I suspect.
“I cannot be faulted if Maxim also has an interest in child friendly real-estate. Not to mention that I’ve owned…” He trails off, his jaw tight. “Contrary to Maxim’s egotistical view, my life does not entirely revolve around spiting him.”
I recall the phone conversation I overheard last night, more disturbed than before. What trouble might be building between the brothers now?
Today probably isn’t the best time to dig for answers on that subject, however.
“It’s a beautiful house,” I say, gently steering the topic to safer waters. “But together, we’ll make it perfect for her. I promise.” I interlink my fingers with his free hand, squeezing tight. He risks taking his eyes from the road just long enough to eye our clasped hands.
“Together…” He says the word as though it’s a novel concept. One he’s never applied to his life before and again I seethe in jealousy at whichever potential wife he may have picked. No one will help him like I will.
But then you’ll leave him, a part of me snipes. You plan on skipping out as soon as you can, you heartless bitch.
“Have you decided where to attack first, Ms. General?” Vadim wonders once we reach the city proper.
I latch onto the distraction and tap my chin, humming thoughtfully. “No. But I did find a custom boutique online. Everything they sell looks insanely expensive yet beautifully crafted. Let’s start there.”
He chuckles. “Let’s see if you can reach my expectations. With my accounts at your mercy, I should be nearing bankruptcy by the evening’s end. I hope you won’t disappoint.”
“You’re on,” I declare, with upmost confidence.
But something tells me that the stakes of this little venture may result in more than just his finances being at risk. Like my resolve for one.
And my boundaries, too.
After a morning spent shopping, we have lunch and then take a detour to a high-rise that I recognize as one of his offices. Eingel Industries reads the name emblazoned on the corridors as he leads me inside.
“I need to grab some legal documents,” he tells me. “I’ll be just a moment.”
And yet, he didn’t have me wait in the car or come here himself. Could this be a reclusive billionaire’s attempt at transparency? My heart flutters, unsure of how to accept this deliberate turn of events.
As a good thing, I decide.
“I’ll wait out here,” I suggest, spotting a pair of glass doors that appear to lead into an enclosed courtyard. Vadim nods and sets off while I venture out into a small, beautiful garden brimming with carefully cultivated bushes and flower beds. A bubbling fountain ties the peaceful scenery together but when I spy a golden plaque my heart constricts as I read the simple phrase inscribed on it—Hiram Gorgoshev Memorial Garden.
A family member of his? Given what little he’s revealed about his past, I’m not even sure if I should risk asking.
I’m instantly aware the second he steps out to join me. It’s as if the entire atmosphere shifts. Thickens. Mellows.
A lazy smile is already playing on my lips even before I feel his hands on my waist as he comes up behind me. “My accounts are settled,” he murmurs against the nape of my neck. “You may continue to spend as you please.”
My brain reels at that, considering that—together, based mainly on his input—we’ve already spent a small fortune on enough furniture and small knick knacks to please any seven-year-old.
“I’ll turn you into a shopaholic yet,” I declare, spinning around to face him. He looks so freaking pretty in the pale, overcast daylight. Like a fallen angel finally remembering to unfurl his wings after an eternity of damnation. Hopeful.
I hate myself for daring to mention, “This garden… It’s beautiful.”
He shoots me an odd look, an eyebrow raised. “Do you think she’d want one like it?” Before I can reply he slips an arm around my shoulders and steers me back through the building, out to the car.
“A garden would be a nice touch,” I say, letting the subject drop.
As we pull away from the building, his eyes linger on it, and for a split second, his expression slips. Raw pain distorts his features and I want to kick myself for ever bringing up the subject.
Whoever Hiram Gorgoshev was to him, I suspect he doesn’t think on him with quite the same hostility he utilizes toward his brother or his past.
But he isn’t ready to talk about him either, and I can’t help but wonder why.
Chapter Six
“A little to the left,” I command while leaning against a wall of newly purchased pillows, all still wrapped within their plastic packaging. Before me stands Vadim, musing over the correct placement for a scenic portrait.
“Here?” he
