Page 66 of Conquer
Chapter Twenty
I’m only vaguely aware of the moment he releases me from the straps, cradling me into his arms. His jacket encases me, a prison of tailored cotton, as he carries me from the room and then the club entirely. I can sense the change in the atmosphere—the sensual tension traded for welcome calm—right up until the moment he finally brings me over the threshold of our home and utter contentment sets in. Now I know why Magda missed it so much during our brief absence—the smell. The familiar feeling in the air that makes me relax into his arms as he takes me into our room.
We’re on the bed, my limbs still slick with sweat when he drags me closer, his lips pressed to my forehead. “I love you,” he tells me in a low, fierce hum more beautiful than any other sound in the world. “I love you.”
* * *
Magda getsthe benefit of having her playdate extended to midafternoon as I spend the morning recovering in bed, and Vadim pampers me with mind-blowing attention to detail. He bathes me first, then feeds me a hot breakfast of eggs and toast—I’m starting to appreciate how his research has broadened into culinary skills. When we finally get dressed and drive the short distance to Maxim’s home, Vadim’s still so relaxed there’s barely any clue as to his unease.
It’s only when he finally parks in the driveway and steps from the car that a frown tugs on his mouth as his gaze fixates on the front door. His right hand sinks into his pocket, and I envision him grasping his cell phone, ready to call Magda the second he doesn’t catch sight of her.
But as the seconds pass, he doesn’t take a step toward the house.
“Come on, Mr. Brooding,” I tease, stepping forward to slip my hand in his. But inside, I’m just as uneasy.
Can the brothers extend their terse truce for longer than a few seconds at a time?
God only knows.
I aim for optimism, however, as we approach the front door. I think it’s the first time that it isn’t automatically opened from the inside. Instead, we’re forced to knock, and Vadim’s wary expression deepens into flat out dread.
Seconds pass in silence before audible footsteps approach from inside the home. Finally, the door cracks, revealing an unfamiliar face so unexpected that I blink.
“They’re in the back,” a teenager declares, his dark hair shaggy and untamed. He must be sixteen or seventeen, at least, nearly as tall as Vadim. Is he one of Francesca’s siblings? I think I vaguely recognize him from the “party” I attended all those weeks ago.
Without a more thorough introduction, he inclines his head for us to follow him inside and leads the way out onto the terrace.
One look at what awaits us on the lawn, and I feel my eyes threaten to fall from my head. Beside me, Vadim’s jaw tightens, his gaze unreadable.
“Off with his head!” Magda shrieks. Somehow she got a hold of one of my old pageant dresses—a bright pink chiffon that hangs on her tiny frame, clashing with her fanny pack. Wearing an equally extravagant dress is Ainsley, crouched beside her, cackling maniacally.
Both girls look poised to lunge at the poor, unfortunate figure caught in their midst.
“Get him!” Ainsley calls, leading the charge.
Both girls proceed to throw themselves at their victim—the only fact impeding their attack is that their opponent dwarfs them in both size and stature. Nonetheless, he’s a good sport and playfully keels over to accept his fate.
All circumstances aside, it’s an oddly heartwarming thing to witness. Maybe I’m not the only one who feels as much—Vadim’s watching as well, his expression blank. Mistrustful, still? Even if he is, he doesn’t march forward to draw Magda’s attention.
He merely watches the scene unfold, and I imagine him envisioning all the many ways he was denied one similar to it. A peaceful, happy childhood spent playing games with his brother on their lawn, safe and protected.
The longer he observes them, the more pained his expression becomes until, finally, I feel compelled to brace my hand over his shoulder.
“Let’s give her a little bit more time, huh?”
His only sign of acknowledgment is a terse nod before he turns on his heel, retreating inside the house. I spare the trio one last glance—they’re so caught up in their game, Maxim it seems has turned the tables on his two charges, lifting them into the air one by one. Neither one seems to notice our arrival or our absence.
* * *
We retreat backto the house, and by the time Magda finally returns, courtesy of Ena, she’s a rumpled, exhausted shadow of the earlier, energetic princess. She can barely keep her eyes open during dinner, and Vadim has to carry her up to bed.
Once she’s down, I follow him into the master suite, but even as I run my hands down his back, inching toward his front, I sense he’s not fully here. Especially when I tug at the fastenings of his pants, and he doesn’t react.
“Earth to Vadim,” I murmur against the back of his neck, but I’m worried. I’d almost forgotten just how far away he can seem when his thoughts are focused inward. Like we’re miles apart, separated by infinity. “Tell me what’s wrong,” I urge him, moving my hands to cup his hips.
“Maxim,” he says coldly, but his voice lacks the vitriol I’m used to hearing where his brother is concerned. “Given how much you’ve been eavesdropping, you’re probably aware, but someone has been causing his business interests trouble in Russia. I’ll spare you the nitty details—let’s just say that everything my brother has a hand in isn’t necessarily legal, so his position is a bit more precarious than you’d think.”
“Legal,” I say, tasting the word carefully. It tastes dangerous. Like a trigger to a potential avalanche of unwelcome information—like the aspects of him that Irina alluded to. Mocked me over. “And what about you?” I ask him softly, my eyes on the line of his jaw—it tightens. “Is everything you docompletelylegal?”
