Midnight Lies (Tasarov Bratva 2)

"This is my normal face."

"Yeah, I know. That’s the problem.”

“You didn’t have a problem with anything I did with my face last night.”

“I’m too exhausted to be quippy,” she sighs as she rubs her hands over her tired eyes. “Do you have work to do today?”

I shake my head. “Stefan is on it. My plan is in stasis until he gets word back to me.” Before she can respond, I wrap my hand around her thigh. “But I have an idea on how to keep myself busy.”

Her legs part slightly. I hear her breath hitch in her chest.

“How are you doing this?”

I slide my hand higher, inching my fingers up her silky inner thigh. “Doing what, exactly?”

“We just spent all night together, but… I’m ready for more.”

“You saying shit like that is why I always look smug.”

She snorts. “You don’t need me to stroke your ego.”

“No,” I agree. “I’d rather you stroke something else.”

My hand is a whisper away from her panties, and I’m about to make her come right here in the middle of the living room, onlookers be damned. If Toma walks in, then I guess we’ll have an audience.

But suddenly, her hand rests on mine. “How are you with tea parties?”

I lean back, eyebrow arched. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

Emery sighs. “As much as I want to do this, I think Isabella needs me today.”

I frown at once. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Emery shakes her head. “She’s fine,” she demurs. “Physically, at least. But she’s been through a lot of changes the last few weeks. She’s out of school, moving all over the place, meeting new people. And I’ve been busy or… away a lot.”

Locked up, she means.

“You agreed to this,” I remind her. “You asked me for help. And then you made shit complicated.”

“I’m not blaming you,” she says. “Isabella loves you. I mean, you heard her the other day, didn’t you?”

I nod curtly, though inside, my chest is a flaming knot of tension. She called me Daddy. But what’s most alarming is not what I did do; it’s what I didn’t do.

Didn’t get angry. Didn’t retreat.

It just felt… right.

Fuck if I know what that might mean for all of us.

“You played it off well,” Emery adds.

“I do everything well,” I say.

“Like I keep saying, so smug,” she sighs. She raises her eyes to meet mine hesitantly. “I know I’m asking a lot from you, and I get it if you say no. If you… can’t. But if you can… can you be there with us today? And I really do mean just be there. She needs it. And I—well, it would make me happy.”

“How happy?” I murmur.

Emery’s gaze turns molten. Her soft lips slide into a smile, and she slips off the couch and settles between my legs. Her warm hands smooth up my thighs. “So, so happy.”

I’m already straining against my jeans. My voice comes out in a hoarse rasp. “Show me.”

Emery unzips my jeans and does just that.

If Toma overhears me grunt when I come in my wife’s pretty little mouth, he has the decency to ignore it and stay in the kitchen.

* * *

“More tea, sir?” Isabella inclines her head toward me, almost knocking off the bedazzled crown she’s wearing in the process.

“Sure.” I hold out my tiny glass cup to Emery, who pours a healthy serving of fake tea. She’s wearing a ruffled maid’s apron that I’m already imagining her wearing later—in bed, with nothing else underneath.

“Thank you,” I say, dragging my eyes down her body.

“Of course, My Lord,” Emery says, bowing.

I grit my teeth to hold back a breathy exhale. I could get used to her little submissive act.

Before I can even pretend to sip from my cup, Isabella grins. “Okay. What now?”

“What do you mean?” Emery asks.

“What next?” Isabella asks.

“We already did a makeover,” Emery says, pointing to Isabella’s pink sequined dress and crown, her curled hair, and the vibrant makeup on her lids and lips. “Then the nail salon. And now the tea party. That feels like more than enough, doesn’t it? What else is there?”

“Cake?” Isabella asks hopefully. “And a movie? And candy?”

“Cake and candy?”

“And chocolate milk.” Isabella beams up at her mom, as if there is no other possible option.

Emery frowns. “Well, Bells, that’s a lot. I’m not sure if Adrik has all of the stuff we need for—”

“Of course you can,” I interrupt. “Today is your day, Princess Bella. You can have whatever you want.”

“Within reason,” Emery adds. “You have to eat some fruit first.”

I shake my head and lean in to whisper to Isabella. “Whatever you want.”

Isabella grins at me. Emery, still smiling, rolls her eyes at both of us as she stands. “Hand me your dishes so I can scrub them up,” she says, reaching out to take the cups and saucers from us.

I give her mine. Then, as casual as could be, Isabella does the same. Picks her china up with steady hands, extends them to her mother, and then re-folds her hands in her lap.

It’s only when the motion is finished that we all realize what happened.