Second Best (Volkov Bratva 1)

“You scared me.”

“I don’t have all day. Reservations are in thirty minutes.”

“I didn’t know we were going out,” I said.

“Now you do.”

I hadn’t even heard him come home. For several seconds, I just stood there in the bedroom, dressed in a towel. The last place I wanted to go was with him or out in the world. The cuts on my back had mostly healed. Some of the larger wounds had scabbed over, and the pain was no more. I didn’t want to go out, but there was no room for argument.

Drying my body, then my hair, I set about styling it, adding in a few curls, allowing it to fall naturally.

The dress was beautiful, modest. Black with a low front bodice, which would show off my chest, and it fell to the floor, but had slits up either side, giving a hint of thigh.

The arms were also exposed.

I was surprised by how snug the dress fit. I left the bedroom and found Slavik waiting. He held a pair of heels in one hand as he typed on his phone with his other. He didn’t even look up. Not that I should expect him to.

Sergei took the heels and knelt at my feet. After the conversation we’d had, this felt so wrong.

I kept glancing at Slavik, expecting him to explode and kill us both. Sergei wasn’t attracted to me, but I didn’t even know if I was allowed friends. With the heels on, I was ready to face whatever I had to.

Slavik put his cell phone away and stared at me.

No compliments.

He held out his hand, which I had no choice but to take. After Sergei’s confrontation, I felt acutely aware of everything I did with Slavik. This was … wrong. I had no interest in Sergei. He was my guard. A friend would have been nice. Seeing as I spent all day with him, I started to wonder if it would be at all possible to see him as a friend. To enjoy lunches together. To go out shopping.

It was a lame idea.

Neither me nor Slavik talked as we rode the elevator down to the underground parking.

He sat beside me in the car, and Sergei drove us to whatever restaurant we were scheduled to appear. Normally, I could go through these motions, but today, everything felt too tender, too tight. I felt the spiraling sickness in my gut.

Did Slavik know?

“How are you?” Slavik asked, causing me to jump.

“I’m fine. You?” Did I answer too quickly?

“Good.”

The tension in the car mounted.

I wanted to ask about the attack, but I knew it wasn’t my place. A woman’s place in this world was to be seen when he wanted you to be seen. Or in my place, to stay hidden for as long as possible.

I felt … sick.

“Er, how was your day?” I asked.

“Productive.”

This time, I chanced a glance at him. His gaze was on me, and I quickly averted mine. This man was my husband, and the truth was he was a stranger to me.

“That’s good,” I said.

“You?”

“I … went to the pool.” I didn’t dare look toward Sergei.

Nothing happened. I had to get that through my thick skull. All Sergei did was offer me friendship. There was no crime in that, even if it did feel wrong. Why did it make me nervous? Was I so used to not having friends, I pushed people away?

The car came to a stop outside a very nice-looking restaurant. I didn’t recognize the name. Slavik opened the door, giving Sergei instructions.

I followed my husband out, taking the hand that was offered, but he let me go, wrapping an arm around my waist. I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted him to hold me like this. Like the good woman I’d been trained to be, I didn’t pull away, even though I was tempted with every fiber of my being.

We entered the restaurant and after one look at my husband, the maître d’ escorted us to our table.

Slavik held out my chair and I sat down.

A quick glance around the room and I saw people were looking our way. Slavik had a way about him that commanded attention the instant he entered a room.

With my hands in my lap, tightly clenched together, I waited for him to order the wine, and he did. Then he asked for the menus to be brought to us at once.

All this time, I didn’t say a word. These dates, if they could even be called that, were always trying. The truth was I had no idea what to say to him.

We were so different. In age. In our likes. He was a stone-cold killer and I had no place.

Silence fell between us.

Slavik like always, held his cell phone, typing away.

Other couples were looking at each other, swooning. Or at the very least with lust. What did I get? Sat at a table, pretty much ignored. Slavik refused to give me the time for strained conversation.