Page 78 of Under His Control
I quickly type a response.
I’ll handle dinner. You like salmon, right?
His reply is a winking emoji, followed by:Only if you’re on the menu, too.
I smile in spite of myself, slipping the phone into my back pocket. He has a way of making everything feel lighter, like I’m not carrying this alone—even if he doesn’t know yet. And for now, I’ve decided he won’t.
Not because I don’t want to tell him. God, I do. Part of me wants to run straight into his office and blurt it out, to see the surprise—and hopefully joy—on his face. But I’m not naive.
This baby changes everything.
Anatoly and I agreed on a year. One year of marriage, tied to contracts and strategy, not love. Not forever. And as sweet as he’s been—spoiling me with breakfasts, warming my side of the bed, whispering things that shouldn’t make my heart flutter but do—I still don’t know how deep this goes for him.
I do, however, know how deep it’s gone for me.
And that’s why I have to be careful, because I’ve seen what men with power will do to keep it. I’ve seen what they’ll take. And if I tell him, if I give him this piece of me too soon, he might decide it’s not just a baby.
He might decide it’s leverage. He could argue for custody, and he could win.
So for now, this secret is mine.
It’s nearly 7 by the time I finally clock out. My feet are screaming, my back is stiff, and I’ve hit over nineteen thousand steps on my watch. No doubt I’ll break twenty thousand just walking to the elevator.
TheHospitium’s casino is as alive as ever—bells, laughter, the clinging of slot machines spinning out false hope. I let it all wash over me, hoping the rhythm of it will numb my thoughts for a while.
As I swipe my keycard at the private elevator, I glance around out of habit. A little evening people-watching to unwind. It’s one of the perks of working in a place where fortunes are won and lost before your eyes.
That’s when I spot my brother.
He’s leaning over a craps table, rolling dice with the same cocky grin he’s had since high school. The grin that usually means trouble. But that’s not what stops me cold.
It’s whom he’s with.
Two men flank him—men I recognize from the day Ivan Smirnov strolled into theHospitiumlike he owned the place. The two men who were at his side, thick-necked and smug, eyes like dead fish.
My stomach plummets.
The elevator dings behind me, but I don’t move. I can’t, because Chris is laughing with them. Celebrating with them.
And I haven’t heard from him in weeks.
He hasn’t answered a single one of my texts or voicemails since the wedding. I’ve been worried sick, imagining him hurt, broken, overdosed, lying dead in a ditch. Yet the whole time, he was right here, gambling and rubbing elbows with the same men who threatened his life.
A hot, dizzying rage fills my chest.
He lied to me. Again.
The elevator doors start to slide shut, and I let them. I’m not going home. Not yet.
I stalk across the casino floor, cutting through cocktail waitresses and drunk patrons, heels echoing like gunfire. My heart is pounding in my ears, but I don’t stop.
Chris leans in to say something to one of the men just as I reach the table. He doesn’t see me until I speak.
“Having fun, little brother?”
CHAPTER 31
TAYLOR
