Page 6 of Conquer
Chapter Two
He lets me rest, panting for air as he shifts to sit on the end of the bed, his back to me. Despite everything, I reach for him, sensing the bricks of his wall reforming too quickly to batter down.
What the hell happened in the space of time I was in the pool? Something vital. Something that’s shaken him so thoroughly even sex can’t clear his head.
Much like he did when Irina first inserted her presence into his life again, he’s spiraling.
“Don’t shut me out,” I whisper, my voice rasping and broken. “This isn’t a rejection. I promise. I promise—”
“Every time you look at me, I can see you plotting your escape.” His voice. It’s ice-cold, such a contrast to how he spoke to me just mere seconds ago. I go rigid, the air trapped in my chest, my hand frozen inches from him.
“You take what you can from me, but it is never enough, is it?” He stands, striding for the bathroom. His stiffened posture warns me not to follow. Regardless, his voice reaches back like the snap of a whip. “I prefer for you to spend my money.”
“V-Vadim!” I watch him go, blinking frantically. It isn’t until a searing warmth runs down my cheeks that I realize I’m crying, hurt by that implication way more than I want to be. It sounds so dirty. So vicious—using him. Maybe I have. Maybe I am.
But sometimes, manipulation is a two-way street.
I hear the water run, used as a barrier to disguise the sounds of what he’s doing. Splashing water onto his face? Showering? The former, I suspect when he returns, dry save for his damp hair, mussed as if torn through by raking, ruthless fingers.
“What did she say to you?” I demand, alarmed by this shift in him. He isn’t like this—driven by emotion. Wild.
Callous.
His eyes meet mine, so cold I gasp, shrinking in my seat. “What will it take?” he demands, stopping short just beyond the bed, utterly naked. When I sputter wordlessly, he crosses his arms, his chin cocked in that cruel, calculating way he does when only one thing is on his mind. Business. “Name your price. More money? Clothing? Shoes?”
“Don’t do this.” I shut my eyes just to get a reprieve from his icy exterior. “Don’t hurt me. I am not rejecting you—”
“What do you call it then?” he counters. “When a man offers you the world, and you not only spit on his hand. You demand his thoughts. His secrets. You always ask for more.”
I flinch. “I call it one thing—”
“What?”
“I’m scared!” My voice breaks, echoing so violently I’m sure Magda can hear it. We both wait, straining through the silence, but no other sound stirs. Just his frantic, furious—gosh, he’s so angry—breaths, and my shallow whimpers as I fight back the tears I feel brewing.
“I’m scared, okay? I marry you in the heat of the moment when your thoughts are on your daughter—as they should be. But what happens in six months when the danger wears off?”
I draw my knees beneath my chin, hunched against the mattress as tears spill down my cheeks, wetting the sheets beneath me. “I’ll tell you what. You realize that you’re shackled to a…” My voice breaks. I’m channeling my ex-husband in this moment. What were the words he said to me on the eve of our divorce? “A lazy, selfish, self-centered, spoiled bitch who can’t even run a home, let alone fend for herself. That’s fine in a one-night stand,” I add, laughing bitterly. “I know my limits. But do you? Do you want more children? I told you about my miscarriage, but I never told you why. It’s not easy for me to get pregnant. Most doctors I consulted recommended IVF. Painful, expensive, grueling treatments that may or may not work. Are you willing to sign up for that? Are you willing to sign up for supporting someone who can’t even hold a fucking job outside of one handed to her because her husband is prominent in a church? You claim I’m after your money? Money can only get you so far.”
It can get you a life, beautiful on the outside, but jagged and agonizing within. A world wherein people only see your worth in a resume or who put a ring on your finger. A world I went on a wild, sexual goose chase just to escape.
“I’m not holding back out of fear for myself. I’m fearful for you! I don’t… I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t want you to wake up one day, bored, and go looking for another model. I don’t want to be broken again. Iwanta relationship with you.”
The mattress shifts. Warmth engulfs me, drawing me into a body that conforms to mine, strong and welcoming. He holds me so tightly I couldn’t pull away, even if I wanted to. His voice bathes me in reassurance, so gentle that I relax instantly, my fear drained. He says something in French, too grated to decipher.
In this moment, I don’t need to. I don’t need anything from him but this. Silence. Nearness. Understanding.
I hide my face against his chest, seeking out any comfort in his embrace I can find. The real world can wait—because this conversation isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
But for now, he relents.
And I have a fraction of more time.
* * *
I wakeup before he does and escape into a robe, throwing on a nightgown underneath. Entering the hallway, I stop by Magda’s room and peek in to find her still sleeping.
Thank God.
