Page 18 of The Tsar's Obsession
“Why would you think that?” I responded curiously, my blood pumping in my own ears. Mia was fearless tonight, looking me over without reservation.
“I don’t know, it’s just…maybe you remind me of someone?” she asked.
No way in hell would she have recognized me that fast. When I saw her all those years ago, I looked like a different man. In fact, Iwasa different man. I was rising to power, and I engaged in all the sins life had to offer. I also had a very big, bad, secret habit—I was addicted to coke, to my own fucking product.
I was young, my head was shaved, and I didn’t sleep. I smoked like a chimney and drank my weight in alcohol every weekend. Andit was her kiss, her energy, and her passion that fueled my transformation.
“You look and…feel…so familiar, but I don’t know why."
Feel.God, I could barely wait to live that word out in reality with her. I was about to respond something stupid, something along the lines ofmaybe I’m from a different life,but her eyes flicked down and she leaned in even closer, reaching for my neck, the gesture so unexpected and welcome.
“What’s this?” So carefully, she pulled the chain out of my shirt, her touch lingering a beat longer than necessary. “Wow, that’s a huge cross. You’re religious?” Such innocent curiosity shone in her eyes that reflected my Orthodox cross.
“Yes.”
“Why— how? I really didn’t peg you for someone who’s fearful of God.” Her eyes jumped up to mine, sending a shiver through me. “You don’t seem scared of anything.”
Wrong. I was petrified of screwing this up. It was the only thing I’d ever been fearful of. So, I took it slow, not forcing, not pushing—luring her in. “Do you believe in God, Mia?”
The breathtaking woman in front of me shifted in her seat and abandoned her gelato while she thought about it. “I don’t know,” Mia shrugged. “Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Were you always religious?”
The proximity between us allowed me to take in all the details of her angelic face. She had a tiny scar on her left eyebrow, and one of her eyes was a slightly lighter shade than the other. Her smile was genuine, meant just for me, and I was fully engaged in this precious moment.
“No. Religion came late into my life. Maybe ten years ago.” Actually, it was precisely ten years ago, right before I met her. I was convinced God sent her to me. God watched over me; he gave me a light that lit up my pitch-black world. “There was a small church I accidentally walked into, and I would go back there. And that’s how I came to believe in God.” Mia listened with bated breath, her eyes wide but full of disbelief.
I would stand with the priest and confess my sins. He listened, never interrupting, and called me hisson. And Isowanted to hear that. I would come back to the church and the priest over and over again, and I would sink to my knees and pray. I learned the rules, I fasted. I became a man who believed in God. But on the outside, the Bratva ruled my life.
“Have you ever been to my church? To an Orthodox church?” At this question, her eyes lit up once more. I’d pay the man behind the counter for the rest of my life if that meant we could sit here for all eternity.
“Yes!” she responded with energy. “I’ve been to Russia before! Did I ever tell you that?”
“No! Really?” I hoped my fake surprise wasn’t over the top. All of Mia’s attention was on me while she recounted her trip, telling me all the details she remembered with enthusiasm and gusto. But that night—the night that changed my life—she didn’t mention at all.
My mind was a thick and heavy haze, just like that first night I saw her. I was drunk on the sight of her, vulnerable from the sound of her voice. She disarmed me; she broke down all the rough exterior and somehow reached inside me, coaxing out my tender and gentle side.
Ugh. I was a mess.
The man dropped off more gelato flavors while we drowned in our conversation. The hoodie I grabbed made it onto her body and swallowed her whole. I considered this a huge win, like I was marking my territory irrevocably.
Hours passed, and we spoke about everything and nothing serious. Mia told me about her job and how much she began despising the lifestyle. I told her how much I missed Russia. She laughed at my silly jokes; I drank in all of her aura.
At some point in the middle of the night, Mia slumped into the front seat of my car, exhaling in exhaustion, her eyes half-closed. “Mmm, you’re a bad man. I’m so tired. I need my sleep.”
“I thinkit’s the wine–”
“My feet hurt so much!” she whined and stifled a giggle. “You made me traipse all over the city, and you didn’t even like anything I showed you!” She accused me, kicking off her heels with renewed energy. “Oh,shit,” she gasped, wiggling her toes. “There’s no way I can put those on again.”
My gaze flicked down. Black nail polish. Fuck. Anything and everything she did riveted my imagination. Every inch of her was perfect.
I stepped over the threshold of her home with her in my arms, kind of like a rehearsal for when I would do that on our wedding night. Was I getting ahead of the game? Yes. But I also didn’t fucking care. I knew I would make her mine. Period, end of story, I was certain of it.
“No-oh!” Mia was pressed against my chest. “This is too weird! You’re my client; you can’t be carrying me like this! I shouldn’t have taken my shoes off.”
“You always so anxious when you’re drunk?” I set her down in the hallway, my hands on fire from touching her.
“No!” she laughed loudly. “I’m not drunk anymore, but sometimes, I can do crazy things!” Yes, I was well aware—that kiss from a decade ago still lingered on my lips. “But this time I’m just exhaust– ugh, I need cold water on my feet.” This was like whiplash. She turned, heading toward what I guessed was the bathroom. “I’m only wearing sneakers with you from now on.”
I leaned against the doorway, watching her run cold water over her feet, her shoulders slumping in relaxation.
