Page 68 of Owned Bratva Bride
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. You’re my boss’s wife. You just sound different, and I know it happens sometimes when a newly married couple begins to annoy each other.”
I chuckled before answering.
“I’m okay. And it’s okay that you asked. I mean, you’re the only one I can call a friend among his men.”
“Please, you shouldn’t call me that. I can’t be friends with my boss’s wife. It’s wrong. And even punishable,” he revealed, a small laugh leaving his lips.
“Oh, sounds like a high-class crime.”
“It really is. But is everything okay?”
“Yeah. As good as can be,” I answered, shrugging. “Are you in a relationship? I mean, I’m just wondering if normal things like love and marriage are so abnormal here. Excluding Agatha, of course.”
He scratched the back of his head.
“I’m married, actually.”
“Wow! I never would have imagined.”
“Yes, I understand. But a few of us are married or in a relationship. So, no, it’s not considered abnormal to have someone.”
I nodded in understanding.
But then, another question popped up.
“So, are you different with her? Or are you the same merciless Mafia man at home? Is there even a difference?”
“I’m notmercilesswith her,” he disclosed. “But I’m not as soft as the other guy, too. She’s like a part of me, so it’s not about sweet feelings all the time; it’s about doing anything to keep her happy and comfortable. It’s not about being different or having different sides; it’s about how much I’m okay with letting her see of me. We’ve been together for about six years, married for three, so it didn’t just happen at once.”
“I get that.”
He wasn’t wrong there. People didn’t just become good friends overnight.
But something told me that wasn’t the issue with Eduard. It wasn’t just time; he was actively pulling away.
Or am I simply jumping to conclusions?
***
After almost overstuffing my stomach with a late lunch, I went to the study to get a book for bed.
That was when I heard the faint sounds of music floating across the hallway. Following the sound, I wasn’t surprised it came from the room with the musical instruments.
The open space between the double doors was much tinier than the last time, but it was enough for me to see who was playing the piano.
Eduard.
He played with that same attention, as if the piano were a friend he shared secrets with. His head made the slightest movements as the melodious sound filled the room.
Maybe he did share secrets with the instrument. Maybe each key and note was an encrypted letter about the musings of his impenetrable heart. The possibility made me itch to get closer to him. To ask him things and hear him pour his heart out to me.
Assuming we talked.
The only form of connection we had was the brief, charged moments between us. Our bodies did more conversation than we did, really.
What the hell is wrong with me?
He’s distancing himself from me; that’s enough for me to stay away.
