Page 29 of His Prince

ANGEL

Idon’t see Mikhail for the rest of the day, the hours stretching from afternoon to evening quicker than I expected. And despite making golubtsi for dinner and insisting Mikhail get none of it, Nina insists.

“His grandmother used to make this. He will enjoy it.”

“I don’t care,” I say as she piles a plate full of food. “Let me poison it first,” I murmur, but she just tuts, stalking away without a backward glance.

I let her go, realizing it’s not worth fighting over. I don’t care if he eats my meals or not. I don’t care about him at all.

From now on, maybe I’ll make dinner at the bodyguards’ house. But just as soon as I think that, I realize I don’t want Mikhail to think that he’s scared me off. I don’t want him to think I’m cowering.

I sigh as Casey makes his way inside, his eyes meeting mine, smears of dirt on his shirt and cheek.

I move toward him and wipe it away before pointing to the sink.

“Wash up, you heathen.”

“I’m your heathen.”

“That you are,” I say as the rest of the guys make their way inside, and I do the same for all of them, helping them wipe dirt from their faces before ordering them to wash their hands. They all chirp a whispered response, “Yes, little husband,” before piling food onto their plates and taking it outside to eat, Russian words of praise on their lips as they stare at a dish that I took extra care to make.

I know they appreciate it.

Usually, we’d eat inside, leaning over counters and perching on chairs around the island, but Mikhail’s presence has ruined that. None of them want to be in here for any longer than they must.

So I don’t stay either.

I follow them outside, the food on my plate mostly untouched, but I force myself to take a few bites, my stomach still in knots from the fact that my husband is home. I know he’s here, and yet, I haven’t seen him.

He’s made his presence completely scarce, and I know it’s because I’m here.

He’s upset with me, with the changes I’ve made to his home.

And I know I shouldn’t care, but I do.

I fucking do.

I’ve always cared far too much.

“You gonna eat that?” Gael asks, peering at the piece of bread on my plate.

“Go ahead,” I say, and he snatches it from me before anyone else can.

“I also have ice cream in the freezer if you’d like any,” I add before standing up and rubbing at my eyes. “Please help yourselves because I think I’m going to turn in for the night. Can someone do the dishes?”

“I will,” Casey says, concern in his eyes, but I dismiss it.

I can’t be worried about him when I need to focus on myself and making it through the night.

I plan on sneaking up to our bedroom and locking the door so hecan’t get in, so he has to sleep in that guest room where he spreads all hisguestsout and fucks them.

Maybe that’s where he is right now.

I set my plate in the sink and make my way down the hallway, unable to keep my hands from shaking as I pry that guest door open. But it’s empty, no hint that it’s been used since he arrived. Relief pulses through me and I let the door close with a snick before making my way up to our bedroom, closing and locking the door.

He’s not here. I can take a bath in peace and ruminate on how I’m going to manage to get through my life with him in it, present and yet…not. Not at all.

I let the tub fill, adding soap and bath salts to the water as I undress. When it’s half full, I sink into the warm water and let my head fall back against the cool ceramic, my eyes slipping closed, my toes fiddling with the faucet still pouring out steaming water.

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