Page 19 of Untouchable Queen
“You might not see it this way now, but someday, I hope you’ll think of this as your home. That I can be your family,” I say softly. My grip on her jaw softens, and I run the pad of my thumb over her full ruby lower lip.
Despite her anger, Tatiana’s breath catches. Her eyes dilate, subtle signs that her attraction is there, hidden beneath her hatred, and I cling to the idea that it will help me turn this relationship around.
“I have a nice dinner planned for us tonight—just the two of us. Perhaps you’ll indulge me and we can enjoy it while you tell me about your day?”
“Fine,” she says flatly. “But only because I’m starving. I didn’t have time to eat today.”
And she walked out on breakfast this morning. I wonder if she’s eaten anything at all since dinner last night.
“Fine,” I tease, my lips pulling into a grin. Then I lean in and steal a kiss before she can object.
Tatiana’s back stiffens momentarily, but she doesn’t push me away, and when I pull back, keeping the kiss brief and chaste, she actually follows me—as if her lips don’t want to leave mine even if her mind refuses to realize it.
With a smirk, I take her hand, tucking it beneath my elbow to walk with her to dinner. She follows, her measured steps striking an authoritative beat against the terra-cotta in her heels. Tatiana’s one of those women with a natural strength in her presence. She was born and raised with the understanding that she deserves respect, and she exudes that even as she grudgingly allows me to lead her into the dining room.
But her steps falter when she sees the intimate setting. Daniella’s done a beautiful job, setting a table for two near the window overlooking the grounds rather than putting us at the larger dining table. A sage green silk tablecloth covers the smaller table, and a single candle flickers at the center, a small vase of flowers tucked against the wall.
A bottle of Chianti already sits breathing in a glass decanter, our lemon and parmesan arugula salads waiting to be eaten. After a moment’s shock, Tatiana keeps walking. When I pull out her chair, she settles into it, and as I sit across from her, I can see the temptation in her eyes as she looks at our starting course.
“Eat,” I insist, picking up the decanter and pouring each of us a glass of wine.
Tatiana does, delicately picking up her fork and spearing some salad. As soon as it hits her tongue, she groans, her eyes closing with appreciation.
“Daniella is a master of Italian cooking,” I state. “I promise, you won’t be disappointed.”
“Is this how you intend to convince me to come home every night?” she asks suspiciously before taking another generous bite.
“Why, is it working?” I tease.
“Maybe …”
Chuckling, I raise my glass of wine, and she reluctantly sets down her fork to mirror the gesture. Lightly clinking our glasses, I watch her as I take a sip of the wine. She does the same. I let hereat her salad in peace, offering her the freshly baked bread along with it before working on my own salad.
When the main course comes in, a thick porterhouse sliced Florentine-style along the bone and served with coarse salt, Tatiana’s eyes widen. Blanched spinach and roasted russet potatoes join the main dish, which Daniella brings in herself, allowing the large slab of meat to be carried by one of her younger assistants.
“Thank you, Daniella,” I say as the older woman gives a humble nod, and Tatiana’s eyes flick in her direction, fresh curiosity intensifying their color.
She watches them leave the room before turning her eyes back to the impressive meal. “How are you even supposed to eat something like that?” she asks, studying it with fascination.
“One medallion at a time?” I suggest, lifting several slices of the perfectly cooked meat onto her plate. “I normally dip it in the salt for flavor, but you might not need it.” After adding a small portion of food to my plate, I demonstrate, then watch as Tatiana follows my example.
The moan of satisfaction she gives as the steak finds her tongue makes my cock start to harden, my arousal awakening before dinner’s even done.
“You’ve never had Florentine steak before?” I ask.
“I’ve never had any kind of steak this good,” she admits, gratefully taking another bite.
“I’m glad you like it.” Not that I had any doubts. I intend to use every one of my best assets to woo Tatiana, and Daniella’s cooking is most definitely one. “So, care to tell me about your day?” I ask lightly, curious if the meal will help Tatiana open up to me.
Her face immediately shutters, her expression tensing. “Why don’t you keep your nose out of my business, and I’ll keep mine out of yours?” she suggests icily. “We can call this an alliancefor the sake of the peace our marriage will bring. But so we’re clear, I don’t intend to work with you any more than is absolutely necessary. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust that confiding in you will make this situation any more tolerable. So why don’t you stay in your lane, and I’ll stay in mine?”
My lips twitch as they creep into an involuntary smile. “Alright. You just seemed stressed, and I thought you could let off some steam.”
“Well, you’re really the only reason I would need to let off steam, so you can stop worrying about my day,” she snaps.
I doubt she meant for the comment to be a window into what happened that’s put her in a worse mood than when I left her this morning, but I suspect that facing her men after having to give in to my demands yesterday wasn’t easy. Bratva men aren’t known for being particularly respectful to women—they certainly don’t consider a woman in power a traditional, or even acceptable thing, as far as I’m aware. So marrying me to protect her sister probably created waves among the men. The thought sends a flash of protective anger through my veins, making my pulse quicken. She wants me to stay out of Bratva affairs, so I’ll do that—for now. But if her men decide to challenge her because of her decision to marry me, then I will crush any thoughts of disobedience on their part. I don’t need to command them to command their respect. And theywillobey my wife.
I switch topics, coaxing my wife toward a better mood by keeping the conversation light for the rest of dinner, and when the dessert of tiramisu arrives, it’s impossible for Tatiana to continue fuming. Try as she might to prove she’s impervious to my charms, when it comes to Daniella’s cooking, I know I’ve won her over.
