Page 40 of The Russian's Stalked Bride
I don’t even want to let myself consider her words or entertain the idea, yet the thought of Mila feeling like she’s wasting away here makes my gut tighten. Maybe I shouldn’t care at all, and maybe I should be perfectly fine with getting a tight grip on her, but part of me knows I have a leash on her, and it’s far too tight.
Still, I can’t say it’s worth the risk.
“Please, Ivan,” Mila says, tone a little too close to begging, which sends a ripple of heat through me.
Focus…
“I want to get out of here every once in a while. I want to experience something other than this place, to play music, to sing—”
“You’re not out of the woods yet,” I say, firmer this time.
“Neither are you after everything you admitted to,” she returns, gaze sharp and vaguely warning, like I’m the one walking on thin ice. “Yet I’ve given you more than enough grace.”
She isn’t wrong, but I still don’t like how that fact hits me. And I don’t like the idea of letting her out in the open.
“Mila…”
“My brothers haven’t retaliated yet, and neither has Maksim. You seem to think they will eventually, but what does that leave for me? I’m just supposed to sit here and wait until someone does something?” She asks, looking almost drained now.
“Yes,” I mutter, not knowing how else to go about this. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. Stay where I can see you while I try to fix my mess.”
Mila looks at me with enough betrayal in her eyes to make my chest ache, and that alone is alarming. “I won’t.”
“You will,” I return, lifting a brow at her. “Your brothers are angry, and the Balakins are waiting. Any move you make could be the wrong one, and if you’re exposed out there, any one of them could easily take you.”
“I know…but I don’t care,” she says, full of defiance and perhaps naivety too. Or, this is all coming from a place of being stuck in this for so long that she just wants to know something else. To live differently. “I’m tired of watching my life go by. Please, let me play.”
The longer I have to endure those soft, pleading eyes, the more my resistance wobbles, and I hesitate. It’s enough of a crack for her to notice.
“I’m not scheming, and I’m not asking for you to let me go fully,” Mila says, moving closer until her leg brushes against mine, making something come loose in me. “I want to sing. Even if it’s one night a week, I just need to feel like I’m not suffocating.”
Pulling in a breath, I lean forward a bit more, bringing my face closer to hers even as she stands over me. She notices the proximity and almost flinches, but forces herself to stay in place. How brave of her.
“You want me to let you go, one night a week. To willingly let you risk everything just to sing,” I reiterate, cocking a brow at her, close enough to feel the heat of her skin. “That’s not much of a bargain, Mila.”
“It’s a compromise,” she says, looking caught between wanting to be annoyed and knowing she has to be good if she wants to convince me. “I complain a little less about being here, and you let me sing. I don’t care if I’m flanked by guards just to do it.”
Against my better judgment, I consider her words, reaching forward to carefully take her hand, savoring the light touch of her fingers against mine. I give her the chance to pull away if she wants, but to my great satisfaction, she doesn’t, even if her brows pinch together. The urge to snap is there beneath her skin, but she keeps it at bay for now.
Then I picture her on stage, alive in a way that leaves no room to question who commands the room, even if it’s a soft kind of rule. I see all those eyes on her, drinking her in like I had before. Then, I envision it souring, and her landing right in the middle of a trap set by her brothers or Maksim.
I hate it.
But the way she looks at me, hoping for this small thing, ruins my ability to refuse her outright.
Pulling in a breath, my thumb brushes against the back of her hand. “Mila—”
My phone buzzes on the side table, shattering the moment, and Artem’s name appears on the screen.
Gift or disappointment, I don’t know, and I don’t dwell on it.
My gaze flicks back to Mila. “We’re not done with this.”
“No, we’re not,” she mutters, looking more annoyed now as she pulls her hand away and leaves the room without another glance.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath before grabbing my phone and accepting the call. “What is it?”
“You got a minute?” Artem asks, deep voice calm and controlled.
