Page 34 of The Russian's Stalked Bride
I nod with uncharacteristic obedience, starting towards the master bedroom with a slight sway, but I manage to get enough of a grip to get there. Distantly, I hear the faucet run in the kitchen, and for whatever reason, a spark of anticipation flickers in my chest.
By the time Mila returns with a glass of cold water and presses it into my hand, I’m already sitting on the edge of the bed, and our fingers brush long enough for it to feel significant, even if it isn’t.
“Slow down,” she mutters as I drain most of it in a couple of mouthfuls, likely spilling some on myself without really caring.
“Yes, boss,” I say, pulling in a breath as I grin and set the glass aside.
Mila snickers, and this time, it’s a bit softer. Soft enough to dislodge something unfamiliar in my chest.
I’m usually more careful about what I say, but a thought leaves my head from my mouth before I can stop it. “You don’t have to hate me, you know.”
She looks at me, standing above me in a way that’s more appealing than it should be. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“No, I don’t,” I agree in a mumble. “But I can hope.”
She doesn’t move or say anything for a beat, then she sighs and reaches forward, lightly grabbing the buttons on my shirt. “You are lucky you’re drunk.”
I tense instinctively, likely a beat later than usual, then I force myself to relax a bit. I grin. “What, are you planning on taking advantage of me?”
I receive a deadpanned expression, but she continues anyway. “No, shut up.”
Something about that makes me laugh, being far too pliant for my own good.
“Push your luck, and I’ll let you sleep like this.”
“Imagine such a thing.”
Mila rolls her eyes, but smiles as she gets my shirt undone, slowing down a bit as she pushes the material back. As her fingers brush against my skin while removing my sleeves, a shiver moves through me, unbidden. That sensation lingers longer than it has any right to, but something in me wants to move closer towards it.
Even if she has every right to hate me, she handles me with the kind of care that makes me feel more vulnerable than I’m prepared to confront.
Left in my pants now, I look up as she steps back, half expecting her to continue.
Mila lifts a brow instead. “You’re handling the rest.”
The innocence in that demand makes me smile to myself, and I nod. “Fair enough…thanks for getting me this far.”
She nods, and something almost shy moves through her then. “Goodnight, Ivan.”
Feeling warmer than before, I shuffle back and watch as she retreats from the room, but not as hurriedly as I expected from her.
As I take my time getting out of my bottoms and settling into bed, I sit in that quiet space while the last half an hour replays in my head, provoking an unlikely realization in my hazy state.
I liked that more than I should’ve, and the sooner I get to feel her gentle hands on me again, the better.
Chapter 12 - Mila
The kitchen floor is warm when I step inside, while morning light spills, moving with some caution still, but also a bit lighter than before.
And of course, Ivan’s already there.
Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t look visibly hungover like I thought he would be. Instead, he’s sitting at the island with his steaming mug in front of him, already eating. He looks entirely normal with a dark t-shirt on, lacking any tension or regret in his shoulders. If anything, he’s annoyingly put together.
Regardless of the levity from last night, I put my guard back up again, well aware that I’m no longer with drunk Ivan.
“Morning,” he says easily enough, glancing at me while I move over to the coffee machine. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be up, so I went ahead. There’s food in the pan.”
Before I can grab a mug, I pause and study him as discreetly as I can, waiting for a telltale groan of pain or a painstaking breath. I don’t hear either. “You don’t look like someone who drank as much as you did last night.”
