Page 60 of Untouchable Queen
I have this sinking suspicion that it’s because she’s contemplating running away and taking the baby with her. I can’t let her do that. I can’t let Tatiana just walk out the door with my child. But more and more, lately, I feel like I’ve walked into a cage of my own making.How can I live with myself when the woman I love hates me so much she doesn’t even want to confess to being pregnant with my child?
I don’t have answers. All I have are questions that keep running in circles through my mind.
Releasing a heavy sigh, I gather the stacks of paper I can work on at the dinner table and head down the hall to the privatedining room where Tatiana and I usually eat. She’s not here yet, and I’m almost grateful as I settle into my chair and spread the papers across the table beside me.
I’m halfway through a thought when I catch the familiar sound of Tatiana’s heels clicking lightly against the terra-cotta floor. She must have changed from the silk robe she was wearing when she came into my office earlier, and I have to say, I’m grateful. It’s excruciating not to think about laying her across the nearest flat surface and claiming her when she’s dressed in that flimsy slip of fabric.
But as she enters the dining room, I find that her chosen outfit of the evening isn’t any better. Dressed in an off-the-shoulder glittering black bodycon minidress and sky-high heels, Tatiana looks like she’s ready for a night on the town rather than an evening in with her husband.
My cock comes to half-mast against the zipper of my slacks, clearly missing the memo of why I’m trying to put some space between us. And though I can’t help but watch as she passes by me, the warm scent of honey and lavender filling my nose, by the time she turns to take her seat across from me, I manage to wrench my eyes from her gorgeous curves and glue them to the paper in front of me.
From the edge of my vision, I think I catch her ruby lips curving slightly at the corners and the image of that full, perfect mouth wrapped around my cock floods my mind. Christ, it’s near torture not to touch her. And every night, as I lie beside her, it gets harder. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to jerk myself off just to relieve the pressure because Tatiana’s never far from my mind. And after weeks of claiming her everywhere and anywhere I like at whatever time suits me, quitting her cold turkey has been agonizing.
It’s at that moment that Daniella enters the room, and as Tatiana turns to watch her approach with Henry, I take theopportunity to press the heel of my palm against the base of my throbbing erection, trying to get it under control so I can make it through dinner.
Daniella sets salads before each of us, then gestures for Henry to put the casserole dish of lasagna in the middle of the table. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says sweetly. “I thought I’d serve you dinner family-style tonight.”
My head snaps up, and it’s impossible to miss the color that infuses Tatiana’s cheeks. It makes my stomach clench, and I wonder if Daniella notices the impact that single word had. But she gives Tatiana a quick smile before turning and waving Henry from the room.
My eyes follow them to the door back into the kitchen as I frown.
“What’s gotten into her tonight?” Tatiana asks sweetly—as if she’s completely oblivious to the coincidental turn of phrase. Like she doesn’t know that wecouldbe starting a family together right now if only she felt that she could tell me she’s carrying my child.
“No idea,” I say flatly, training my eyes back to the paperwork by my plate as I spear a bite of salad with unnecessary force.
35
TATIANA
My stomach quivers anxiously as I try to keep my nerve, but finding Lucian working at the dinner table when I came in threw me off from the start. It was my idea to have Daniella serve dinner family-style, and from the look on his face now, I can only assume the hint fell flat. Then again, I’m probably being too subtle.
Like Natasha said, I need to lay it all out there, but I’m not good at wearing my heart on my sleeve, and after what happened in his office earlier, I’m terrified that he actuallydoesn’twant to be with me. That I’ll put my heart on the line, and he’ll just walk away.
“Would you like me to serve you some lasagna?” I suggest, pulling the casserole dish toward me and picking up the knife.
He glances up at me, his eyes shifting from the blade to my plunging neckline, then quickly to my face. “Sure. Thanks.” Then he looks back at the papers and makes a note before taking another bite of salad.
Each time he looks away, it chips at my confidence, making me wonder if I should have done this a different way, but I want tonight to be special. I want to show Lucian that I can makegrand gestures too, and I want him to feel like I put love and effort into choosing how I tell him we’re going to have a baby together.
“I thought we could celebrate tonight,” I suggest, keeping my voice light as I slide the layers of pasta onto his plate before serving myself.
Taking a deep breath, as if searching for the strength to be patient with me, Lucian sets his pen down and rests his fists on the table. “And why would we do that?”
My stomach flutters, and I press my palm against my abdomen, asking for strength and courage. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I thought today went about as good as it could have gone. We didn’t lose a single man, and we brought down Saturo.”
“You’re right,” Lucian says, his hazel eyes sharp and assessing as he raises his glass of champagne.
Thankfully, I’m prepared this time, and I put sparkling cider in my glass rather than alcohol. So it’s easy to lift my glass and clink it against his. He takes a generous sip, downing half the glass as if it’s nothing and sets the glass aside before turning his attention back to his work.
Damn it, Lucian. Why do you have to make this so much harder than it already is?
I’m on the brink of caving to my insecurity, and I nervously run my palms over the short skirt of my dress. “I was hoping for a bit more celebration than that,” I say, infusing my voice with allure to try and pull his attention back to me. Reaching out, I brush my fingertips across the back of his hand.
His eyes flick to the touch, and he stills, giving me a moment of hope before he clears his throat. “Yes, you certainly look like you’re headed out for a fun night.” Then he moves his hand to fork another bite of dinner into his mouth.
Biting back a sigh, I have to face it—I’m not going to get by with subtle hints or suggestions. I need to be brave enough to tell Lucian what I want.If I don’t, how will he ever know that I’ve changed my mind, that I’ve forgiven him, and that he’s what I want?
He doesn’t even look up as I rise from the table, pushing my chair back with my knees. I step far enough from the table that I’ll have freedom of movement without potentially knocking into any of the dishes, then I reach behind me to slowly drag the zipper of my dress down my back.
