Page 63 of Scarlet Sins

My hormones are all over the place. One minute I’m mad, the next I’m wanting to cling. I don’t remember such a roller coaster with Sasha, but maybe that’s because I didn’t have my heart on the line.

I sigh quietly. I’m not sure what I expect here. He’s got a lot on his mind. And if I’m being fair and nonemotional, nonhormonal, I know his quietness, the chill in the air I seem to feel has a lot to do with Stefina.

He’s never, not once, shown a lick of interest in her, a smidge of happiness or excitement. Not even warmth. Just cool politeness.

This whole forced-on-him marriage is hard on him, too.

If I’m being fair and logical.

I frown as I look out the window as we pass into Wisconsin. Thing is she’s just always perfection when she walks in. Her gym-sculpted body, the designer outfits, her makeup, hair, even the expensive perfume that trails her is all on point.

Stefina’s a woman who turns heads. She’s manicured and feminine and is always, always shown her best.

Me? Half the time I’m wearing whatever Sasha’s wearing: dirt, paint, food. My hair’s not perfect. Not even back when I was working my full-time job and didn’t have Sasha, when I could go to get my hair cut did it look like hers. She looks like she just stepped out of a salon.

And now mine’s sometimes mussed by Sasha. Or it’s in a messy ponytail.

The only designer thing I own is the dress Demyan bought for me and I wore out. There are other clothes he’s added to my wardrobe, but things I wear, nice dresses, jeans, tops. Like he took one look and summed me up.

I don’t want designer shit. I’m just sick of being second best, of comparing and coming up short.

And not even the fact Demyan reassures me about everything can shake the feeling I’m going to end up heartbroken.

What if they marry and she decides she wants the children with them? I don’t have the power to fight that.

I swallow, the sudden rush of tears threatening to spill free.

“Hey.” Demyan reaches over and takes my hand, squeezing it. “I’m driving, but I’d keep holding your hand if I wasn’t.”

He puts my hand on his thigh as he returns his to the wheel.

A small sound escapes me. I don’t expect this. At all. “Demyan?”

“Lyubimaya,” he murmurs, “no negative thoughts. We’re together and this weekend is for us to put all the shit behind us. I want to show you what you mean to me. This weekend is just about the two of us. Got it?”

“Got it,” I say, nodding.

But I wish it was that simple. How can I just make it about us when I still haven’t told him about the new baby? And how the hell can I just forget my fiancé is marrying someone else?

Lake Geneva is gorgeous, but he drives through the populated area, past the marina and then the big properties where the rich live. He turns onto a small road into the hills and we end up at a cabin.

It’s not your normal, run-of-the-mill cabin. It’s off a private, winding road, and as we get out, it feels remote, set in the woods, with spectacular views of the mountains and a glimpse of the lake around the side where a big porch is. But Demyan punches in a code to the high-tech pad next to the door, and then he turns the handle.

“Come on in.”

Though we’re remote enough, far enough away from other properties we could be deep in the wilderness, there’s afire crackling in the fireplace and the air’s scented with lemon and honey from the furniture polish.

It’s not huge, but it’s roomy, a kitchen and dining area off to one side, a big, fat, comfy-looking sofa and chairs around the fireplace, and then off to the other side, up a few steps, is the bedroom, which is separated by filmy curtains, pulled back to showcase the king-sized bed with cream-colored covers, a corner pulled back and red roses lying on that spot.

Just down from the steps is the en suite.

I go up and pick up the roses, their perfume heady as I smell them. And my heart beats fast.

He could have gone opulent, somewhere as indulgent as the hotel suite where I met him.

But this is modern rustic. A simple setup with all the amenities and I know if I opened the fridge, it would be full, just for us.

It’s romantic and low-key and a place where I can relax and indulge myself in Demyan.

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