Page 69 of His Prince

I hear Angel tell Andrew I’m just grumpy and untrusting, but it’s more than that. So much more. He doesn’t even know. He’ll never know the depths I’ve sunk to.

I stomp up the steps and when I make it to our room, Angel is right behind me, shutting the door behind us.

“Leave,” I growl, but Angel refuses, just stands there with his hands on his hips, his pretty pink lips pursed, his eyes cold and hard.

“You were very rude to our guest, someone who came all this way to help us.”

“He’s only helping you. Not me. Don’t fucking lie.”

He rolls his eyes, but I see the way his cheeks are stained.

Katarina looked like that too. And she was guilty of it all.

“I know what you’re doing. I know what you’re fucking doing!” I nearly shout, and that propels him into action. He strides toward me, grabbing my shirt and yanking on it, forcing me to bend toward him. Our faces are now level, his eyes sparking with anger.

“You knownothingof what I’m doing, Mikhail. Nothing. Your head is so far up your own ass, you’re goddamn blinded by all the shit.”

I huff and he tightens his hold on my shirt, pulling me even closer. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips and it moves through me, all the way to my cold and dying heart.

“I’m surviving this hellhole, I’m surviving you. But I’ll never hurt you, Mikhail. I’ll never harm you in any way.”

I’ve heard that before. I’ve heard it all.

All lies.

“You will apologize to my friend.”

I let him jostle me slightly and then his hand releases me, and I stand back up, righting my rumpled shirt.

“You apologize or I’m not fucking you tonight, Mikhail. And you better be sincere when you do it.”

I huff in derision. I don’t need him to fuck me. I can fuck myself.

That thought has me shriveling slightly and I bite my tongue.

Well, not fuck myselfliterally.

I have two hands. I know how to use them.

“We’ll see about that,” I finally say, and Angel cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Oh, wewill,husband.”

I notice his absence.

It’s a gaping hole in my life, the blackness of it seeping even further into the shadows of my soul.

I tell myself to not care, but I do.I fucking care.It seems I still have the capacity for it, even after Katarina.

I pace like a caged animal in our bedroom, waiting for him to appear. But he doesn’t show.

I knew he was stubborn, knew he’d make me fucking apologize.

But I won’t. Mikhail Ivanov doesn’t apologize. Ever.

So I wait for him a little longer, staring at the clock on my phone, the minutes ticking down to my inevitable explosion. It’s a kind of frustrated rage that I’ve never felt before, an itch sitting just beneath the surface of my skin.

I can’t get any relief.

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