Page 11 of Love to Defy You
It’s already furnished with modern, minimalist furniture in shades of black and brown that remind me of IKEA, but for rich people. Most of the walls are painted black, accented by the light, natural wood flooring. Recessed lighting is embedded into the white tray ceilings high above our heads, which makes the apartment feel less claustrophobic. It’s luxurious in a simplistic and cozy way.
“It’s Swiss interior design,” Alek explains. “We can change it if you don’t like it.”
“I like it.” I wander into the kitchen and run my fingers across the beige stone countertops, which are cool to the touch. “All it needs is a few personal touches. A few plants and maybe some framed photos of us.”
“I’ll leave it up to you.” Alek takes our suitcases and wheels them down the hall toward our bedroom. I follow behind, stopping to peek into each room—a massive sitting room with windows overlooking the city, an office, a bathroom—until I join him in the bedroom.
“Holy shit,” I say. “This looks like one of those modern interior designs on Pinterest.”
The platform bed is covered in a black duvet and pillows, and the headboard is made of wooden slats that scale the wall. Dark curtains are pulled back to reveal the cityscape beyond the window alcoves.
“Just wait until you see this.” Alek smacks my ass as he walks past me, approaching a door on one end of the room.
I follow, and when he opens it up, I gasp. “Oh, my God. It’s my dream closet.”
It’s bigger than my childhood bedroom back in Conroe, Texas. The built-in wardrobes are made of dark wood, with clothes already hanging inside, and a countertop island sits in the middle alongside an ottoman settee. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors stand on the opposite end of the closet, and I quickly shut my mouth when I catch my jaw hanging open in my reflection.
Alek rolls our luggage bags inside and sets them against the wall. “I had a personal shopper stock our wardrobe, but we can return anything you don’t like.”
“Let me guess,” I say, “she didn’t buy me any underwear?”
He smirks. “You would be correct in that assumption.”
Alek walks back into the bedroom, but I take a moment to revel in my luxury closet just a little longer. I stare at the counterin the middle and imagine Alek bending me over it while we watch ourselves fuck in the mirror.
Yeah, I’m going to like Zurich a lot.
The doorbell rings, waking me up from my nap. When I tested out the bed, I felt like I was lying on a cloud, and it was impossible not to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out, but I feel rested and refreshed.
I get up and trod out of the bedroom in my bare feet, rubbing my eyes. Alek’s voice floats down the hall from the foyer, and I follow the sound to join him.
When I round the corner, a vaguely familiar guy is conversing with Alek in Russian, but I can’t place where I know him from.
Alek glances at me when I join them and switches to English. “You remember Mikhail Aslanov, don’t you? From my birthday party last year?”
Oh, right. I remember him now—he’s seen me naked with Alek balls-deep inside of me. Heat rises to my cheeks. “Yes, hi.”
Mikhail flashes me a charming grin. “Good to see you again, Willow.”
While Alek’s Russian accent is barely discernible, Mikhail’s is a little thicker. He’s also broader in the shoulders than Alek and stands a couple of inches taller. The sleeves of his black T-shirt strain against the size of his biceps, which makes him look like Alek’s hired bodyguard.
From what I know about Mikhail—which, admittedly, isn’t much—he isn’t a bodyguard, but he does look out for Alek like an older brother would.
He rakes his fingers through his obsidian hair, revealing a dark tattoo on his forearm—a harp encased in an intricate circle, with an arrow piercing through it at a diagonal.
I tip my chin toward him. “Nice ink.”
He brings his arm down and glances at it. “Oh, thanks. If Prince Alek ever lets you see me with my shirt off, I’ve got plenty more I can show you.”
Alek makes a growling noise in the back of his throat. “How did you get up here, anyway?”
“The receptionist and I got acquainted. She buzzed me up.” Mikhail’s stormy gray eyes hold a mischievous glint.
“Why am I not surprised?” Alek mutters. “You could flirt your way into Putin’s bedchamber if you wanted.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face.” Alek’s quip doesn’t hold any bite. “What are you doing here?”
