“I didn’t think you’d be so easily impressed.”
“I mean the whole thing, not just the tapestries. I can’t believe you own a castle.”
“It was my father’s first big purchase after he restored the Bratva’s reputation. He wanted a symbol of his power.”
“So he just bought a whole freaking castle?” I ask in awe.
Isaak shrugs. “He wanted a good investment.”
“Wow,” I breathe. “I’m literally speechless.”
He chuckles in amusement. “You should eat.”
With his hand on the small of my back again, he steers me towards the ornate table waiting by the windows. It’s laden with an assortment of different goodies, each of which looks and smells better than the last.
We sit down together and I take a tiny little Scotch pie that fits perfectly in my palm.
“What’s in it?” I ask. “Actually, never mind. I don’t care.” I take a big bite and sigh with satisfaction. “Damn that’s good.”
Isaak just sits back and smiles.
“You’re not going to eat anything?” I ask, with my mouth full.
“Not hungry.”
“It’s rude to watch another person eating.”
He shrugs. “I don’t mind being rude.”
I roll my eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Still chewing, I turn admire the view from the huge, arching windows. The castle overlooks a little brook trickling between the green hills. The trees out here look ancient and gnarled, older than time itself. It’s easy to get lost in gazing at this otherworldly vista.
But when I turn back for more food, Isaak is staring at me.
“Now what?” I ask.
“It’s nice to see you enjoy yourself a little bit.”
I shake my head. How can I explain to him that enjoying captivity feels like something only a fundamentally broken individual would relish? That in some ways—in many ways—I hate myself for it?
But he is right about one thing: I am enjoying myself, and clearly doing a bad job of hiding it.
“Alastair will take care of you while I’m gone.”
“You’re leaving now?” I ask, trying not to sound too disappointed.
“I promised I’d meet Lachlan’s family the moment I arrived. I just wanted to get you settled first.”
It’s a nice gesture. Sweet, in fact, but again, I’m scared to read too much into it. There’s probably an ulterior motive buried deep down somewhere. With Isaak, there always is.
And I’ll see it only when I’ve convinced myself that there’s something more between us than just a plan for revenge.
“I’ll be fine. You go and see to Lachlan’s family.”
Isaak gives me a nod. His expression is hard to read, but I’d guess it’s somewhere between acceptance and mild relief. I’m not sure which of that applies to me, and which applies to Lachlan.
“I’ll be back in the night.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll have the castle at your beck and call until then.”
I frown. “That reminds me: why did Alastair refer to me as the mistress of this castle? Apart from sounding completely archaic, it’s not actually true.”
“I didn’t see the need to fill them on all the grisly details of our situation,” Isaak explains. “So as far as they know, you’re my wife. Mrs. Isaak Vorobev.”
My stomach does a little backflip when he says my name that way. Damn him. Damn him and his insanely beautiful blue eyes. Damn him and everything he does to me without ever needing to try.
“Is there a landline here I can use?” I ask, to gloss over the slightly pregnant moment. “Or an internet connection?”
“There’s both,” Isaak replies. “And you have one call.”
“I remember the rules, your highness.”
Isaak gets to his feet, and my eyes automatically dance over his tall frame, his broad shoulders, his perfectly muscled arms.
By the time my eyes reach his, he’s already looking at me, smiling that knowing smile that makes me feel like he can see into my head and read all my thoughts.
“Stop looking like you know what I’m thinking,” I snap.
He laughs. “But I do, little kiska.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I know you’re hoping that I’ll be back soon.”
I should control my expression, but he doesn’t miss the flicker of irritation that, once again, he’s right.
“Don’t worry,” he adds before I can say anything. “I don’t flatter myself that you care about me. But if it’s not my personality, it’s definitely my body you’re after.”
Is he… teasing me? That sinfully dangerous smile seems to say so.
“Don’t you have someplace to be?” I say grouchily.
Still smirking, he walks out and leaves me in his majestic castle. It’s ironic, really. If I ignore just a few inconvenient details, it almost feels like I’m living in a fairy tale.
But I’m no princess.
Isaak Vorobev is no prince.
And there sure as hell isn’t a happily-ever-after waiting for us at the end of the rainbow.
35
Isaak
A Few Hours Later
She opens the door almost immediately. Like she’s been waiting for me.
“Isaak.”
I give her a tight, tired nod. It’s the best I can manage after my depressing evening with the Murphy clan. Cami is wearing a gauzy white dress with cutaway sleeves and a deep V neckline. I have to take care not to stare.
“You look nice.”
She looks down at her dress and then back at me. “Thanks. You bought it for me.”
“My taste is as good as ever, it seems.”
On another day, this same conversation would have resulted in a fight. Cami would have accused me of trying to control her by paying for everything she owns.
And I would have bitten back with some low blow that would have had her slamming the door on my face.
Which, of course, would require me to push my way in through said door and remind her who is boss.
The sudden little fantasy has my cock stiff as an iron rod in two seconds flat. That, and the way she’s looking at me now with those fierce green eyes.
“Come on,” I say gruffly. “We’re going out.”
“Now?” she asks. “It’s almost ten o’clock.”
“Do you have other plans?”
She purses up her lips in irritation, but follows me out of her room. We head outside quietly, where my midnight blue Ferrari is parked and waiting for us.
I open the door for her and I notice how her eyes brighten just a little. As though the simple gesture is something she’d been waiting for all her life.
I get into the car and we start the drive. Camila keeps shooting me little glances every few seconds, and from the way she’s wringing her hands together, it’s obvious she’s nervous about something.
“What?” I ask finally.
“I just… I don’t know if I should ask or not,” she admits.
I sigh. “It was predictably horrible.”
She winces. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s the nature of this life. Death isn’t just inevitable; it also comes sooner than you’d think.”
“I could have come with you,” she says. “For support.”
I glance at her and she blushes immediately, turning her face to her window so that I can only catch a glimpse of her profile.
“But I’m sure you had support,” she adds quickly. She clears her throat. “So where exactly are we going?”
“The Scottish Rose Garden.”