It was bad enough being a bastard, but to be a product of something unwanted? At least my mother had never looked at me with resentment. She’d loved me with all of her big heart, which, like her voice, I had not inherited. No, the cold dead spot in my body that beat as a machine must have come from him.
The boy staring at me suddenly looked cold. Mortal after all. Chaos churned in his eyes. What was he thinking about? That he was putting me in the same place as my mother? Forcing himself on me? I had to make it clear that wasn’t the situation. I’d chosen this path.
I . . . wanted it, just a little.
His gaze swung away. “I’m tired. Go sleep in your room.”
I disobeyed him for the second time tonight, and as I crawled over to him, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. I put my hands on his shoulders and straddled his lap, all while distrust slid down his face. I’d never practiced seduction before, but I prayed it came as naturally to me as tempo.
It came out breathlessly when I tried to control it. “You’re not alone in this big, stupid house anymore.”
He peered up into my eyes as his hands settled on my waist, but his expression was impossible to read. “And if you want to stay here in the big, stupid house with me,” he leaned forward and brushed his lips over the pulse thrumming in my neck, “you’ll do what I tell you to.”
He shoved me hard, tossing me off his lap.
“I sleep alone.” His harsh tone made me feel like a fool. “Get the fuck out, Oksana.”
18
I sat on the end of Vasilije’s bed, wearing the white lingerie he’d bought me and covered with his black robe while my insides rattled. I’d washed the lingerie last night before going to sleep, and my hands shook when I put it on this afternoon.
It was necessary and just sex, right? People did it all the time. I’d done harder things. Worse things. Fucking Vasilije shouldn’t be a big deal. All I had to do was lie there and let it happen. But I wasn’t an idiot. Nothing was simple or easy with him, and no amount of psyching myself up could mentally prepare me for the moment. He enjoyed my confusion. He liked my discomfort.
Six o’clock came and went.
The bedroom was a tomb, and the quiet ate at me.
I made the bed. That was the only thing I did to ready the room. If I lit candles, he’d never let me hear the end of it, and it wasn’t my style anyway. I didn’t do romance, and was sure he didn’t, either. I just wanted to get this over with.
Time dragged, and I stared out the window with nothing to do but think about him. I could have been downstairs, seated at the piano and working. Even though the thing wasn’t tuned, I’d never gotten so much undisturbed time to write, and it made me greedy for more. Was this calculated? Was Vasilije making some sort of statement by having me wait for him?
Because it was late November, the sun had set almost two hours ago, and I stared at my reflection in the glass. My blonde hair fell loose around my shoulders, and I looked pale wrapped in the black robe. If I’d had makeup, I’d have done something to cover the dark circles under my eyes, but there was nothing in this house for me to use. I’d slept a full eight hours last night, but I didn’t feel rested. It was like all that had happened was the passage of time.
I looked . . . plain. Unremarkable.
At six thirty, my anxiety morphed into anger. I’d been on pins and needles all day, so dragging this out was cruel, which led me to believe it was intentional. I stewed in my frustration. I couldn’t exactly leave, and I’d gone too far to give up my goal.
I heard the garage door on the far side of the house at six forty, and blew out a breath. All this waiting, and instantly I wished I had a few more minutes. His loud, rapid footsteps pounded out downstairs, and then he was coming up the steps . . . two at a time? Was he hurrying?
The door burst open, and he looked as startled to see me as I was him. He was carrying a red plastic bag and flung it down on top of his dresser, while his hand went to the knot of his tie. “Fuck, that took a lot longer than I thought it would.”
His tone was strange. Almost apologetic. He stared at me on the bed. “Have you been waiting for me this whole time?”
Was he serious? “You told me to.”