“Maybe to the right,” I say, but I’m admittedly not staring at the painting but something far more enticing just a few feet below. I’m caught when he turns around and catches me gawking.
“Are you referring to the painting or my ass?”
“Both,” I confess sheepishly. “You’re sexy when in interior designer mode—the room looks beautiful.”
And it should—the combined effort of over twenty hours of work, building and painting with a night spent sleeping on the floor to boot. The space he had chosen for Magda was originally beautiful with a perfect view of the water and the surrounding property—though utterly bare. At its core were the basics for a girl’s dream bedroom, however. A bay window, complete with a window seat, conjures the image of a father reading bedtime stories, and the bed we picked out is made of a luxurious pale wood.
“I would have died for a room like this,” I tell him, meaning every word.
“Would you have?” A grin ignites his wary expression, battling the exhaustion and streaks of baby blue paint still speckling his cheeks. I suck in a breath, horrified. My sore piercing—thank God it isn’t infected or damaged despite my throwing the healing instructions to the wind—throbs in a delicious tempo in tune to my racing heartbeat. “You’re going to rock the single father trope.”
“Single?” He tilts his head, stroking his chin with fingers reddened from assembling furniture for hours on end. Something feral seeps into his gaze, eating away at the playful demeanor until… God, he looks too damn serious.
I jump as he pivots, setting the picture aside, and advances toward me, his gaze crackling. The faster I move, the wider his strides become until he’s gained on me. With the tip of his finger, he tilts my chin back, forcing eye contact.
“Single is not something I foresee for myself,” he murmurs, stroking my jaw in a devastating, toe-curling swipe. “Not anymore.”
“Haha.” I inhale sharply and take a small step back. “Planning on another wife so soon? At least let us have our fake divorce first,” I say, attempting a joke. It falls flat—my voice is a hoarse whisper, and Vadim doesn’t laugh.
“Not quite…” He advances again, ruthlessly pinning me against the wall, until I have no choice but to quiver against him. His gaze is too damn intense, demanding in a way that makes my hips arch despite my protests, my pulse thready.
“No new wife. No new woman—” his sly, devious grin makes me exhale sharply, contrasting with the way he sweeps his touch down to my throat, each fingertip radiating possession. All the while, his gaze remains honed, sharper than ever. Determined. “I think I have denied myself of happiness for too long. I think I’d like to renegotiate our options.”
“N-No.” I shake my head, attempting to turn away. “I told you. This won’t work—”
“You did.” He captures my cheek against his palm, urging me to face him again. “But I suggest we renegotiate those terms. In fact… I insist upon it.”
“No!” I sound exasperated, and again I try to escape from around him—but he shifts to block me at every turn.
“Vadim.” My heartbeat falters as I brace my hand over his chest. “Please don’t,” I croak. “Please. I don’t want to ruin this.”
He blinks, and just like that, he flips his internal switch. He’s neutral again, the fire gone. All I sense from him now is ice-cold calm. “As you wish.”
He returns to the wall and picks up the frame, relentlessly hammering it into place within seconds. I watch him, wary for reasons I can’t explain. His insistence isn’t what unnerves me. It’s my own—and fear of things not working out isn’t what makes me want to run far in the opposite direction. No… I find myself stroking the fake ring on my finger as I grapple with the truth—I’m terrified by how good things could be. So good. And I don’t know if I can face the disappointment if that fantasy never comes to fruition.
My time with Jim taught me that relationships, for the most part, always fall apart.
I’m so lost within myself that I barely notice when Vadim leaves the room for good. It isn’t until I find myself searching for him that I finally register his absence. Alone, I stand and pace the room, marveling at the small touches that his money alone couldn’t buy.
For one, he mixed two shades of blue to find the perfect hue to accent the wall above her bed. He found trinkets and books to fill her shelves, picked out without my input. Each detail reveals the depth of a devotion I doubt even he is truly aware of.
He wants his daughter with him. He craves her happiness. And I can’t come in between them before they even have the chance to connect.
Right?
To distract myself from pondering the answer, I gather up the loose pieces of trash strewn across the room. Then I unwrap the pillows and dress them in the crisp, baby blue sheets we picked out together at a boutique downtown. I adorn the bed with them and add a matching comforter and ivory woven throw blanket.
All in all, it’s a room any little girl would love.
Left with nothing else to do, I have no choice but to face the world beyond this room. And the conversation I sense lies in wait the second I do. Warily, I creep down the hall toward the bedroom. There, I find Vadim standing in the center of the space, his face in his hands, his back to me. Seeing him in torment makes me ache in ways I never have. Like my heart is on fire, and only his nearness can put it out. To do so, I’ll risk bending my own rules, just a little. I can’t help it.
“Let’s forget what we said,” I suggest, approaching him. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t—”
He spins around, capturing my wrists, drawing me close. A shudder runs
