Page 45 of The Tsar's Obsession
No. No. It was all much worse than I had anticipated. I was fuckingexcitedat the memories. Kirill handled that fucking situation like a boss. Yes. Like a boss.
What the actualfuckwas wrong with me? What the fuck had he done to me? He didn’t even flinch; he acted. His resolve when protecting me, protecting what washis,was a turn-on.
I had fucking issues.
How could I still have even a smidgen of respect and desire for him after I saw what he did last night? Without hesitation, he shot through someone’s head!
That was definitely not his firsttime.
Logical thoughts entered my mind and then promptly left. What stayed was my conviction about how I felt. How I truly felt.
This was so complicated.
Why couldn’t I be attracted to someone simple, like Ari? What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t I have developed feelings for a regular man? He was normal and everything one would want in a partner. He and others like him chased after me all the time. Smart, rich, funny, and from a good family.
But I knew why, didn’t I? I knew why. He was too boring, too predictable. Too…safe.
If I were with someone like Ari, I’d know the trajectory of my life up to the minute, and that scared me more than Kirill’s penchant for murder. Marriage, babies, maternity leave, giving up my career, him providing for me by working late nights, and building a bigger business for himself.
Eventually, he’d cheat on me, and I would forgive him to save the family. After the kids were a bit grown, I’d start up a business again, interior design or something of the sort. The same get-togethers with family, obligations, beach vacations, birthday parties, etc., etc., maybe a divorce in our fifties or sixties.
I saw it all on the palm of my hand, and it made my skin crawl. I was terrified of the same mundane life, day in and day out. More terrified than of the dead body.
But then I wondered how all of that would feel with Kirill. The mundane stuff, the marriage, babies, maternity leave? Why didn’t it feel suffocating when he was in the picture?
A bright sparkle caught my eye and interrupted the image of Kirill holding our baby. There was something placed on a little side table at the foot of the bed. I sat up and squinted at the sparkle in the room, like water reflecting the sun. Indeed, it looked like a jar with water—something floating inside it.
Drawn to it, I moved the covers and crawled closer until my whole body jerked back.
Eyes. It was a pair ofhuman fucking eyeballs!
20
Future Husband
Kirill
Mia’ssurprisedanddisgustedshriek signaled that she was awake. Her quick footsteps pattered on the floor, and she flew into the living room, escaping what she just saw.
“Oh my God! No! Ew, ew, ew!” She hopped onto my couch in complete disarray. “Are you insane?! What is that?! Please don’t tell me they’re real!” she demanded, wide-eyed and shaking in her little beer-stained dress.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” I called out from the dining table across the expanse of the open floor plan. “Are you feeling okay?”
“No! Did– did you put those in there?” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other while I enjoyed the sight of her in my home once more. Finally, I could breathe easier.
"Good-ah mornin', Miss, my name is Francesco," my butler called out in his Italian accent, his voice raspy and old.
Mia jerked her head to him, doing her best to process who he was. She clasped her arms around her, like it would protect her from the eyeballs.
"I make-ah coffee for you?" he asked her so calmly, his unbothered approach throwing her off even more. "Or maybe an orange juice-ah? Freshly squeezed, hm?" Francesco piped up again, doing his best to keep her morning normal.
He was probably seventy-five, but his energy and zest for life kept him young. I didn't want to hire him at first, offering him some money to retire, but he insisted that work was the way to happiness. It turned out that I loved having him around.
"C-coffee is good." Mia cleared her throat and responded to the waiting Francesco. "Thank you." She was always so polite, so kind, such a ray of sunshine.
Francesco puttered around the kitchen making coffee and breakfast, and I pondered what to do. I had to leave today and at this point, she was coming with me, no question about it.
I lifted myself off the chair and stalked toward her, unable to contain my smile at the way she looked over my naked, inked chest. As if afraid of me, she pressed herself into the back of the couch.
