Page 46 of Gilded Shackles
So. Nikolai wants me in his room.
That means something, right?
It has to. Because I've spent the last fourteen days turning "not trying" into an art form.
I've mastered strategic indifference. Showing up at the pool in the smallest bikinis I own. I've noticed he particularly loves the red one, shocker. I make sure to be stepping out of the water just as he walks out to the back, sometimes bending to arrange my towel on the lounge chair in full viewof him, all while pretending to be oblivious behind my black Prada sunglasses.
Every. Single. Day.
I'd catch him roving his gaze over me. Holding his breath. But he never stayed long enough to give himself an invitation.
Three nights ago I took it up a notch. Engineered a kitchen run-in that ended with me licking cake batter off my finger, slowly, while asking if he preferred chocolate or vanilla.
His jaw clenched so hard I thought his molars might file for divorce.
He thinks he's made of ice. Cold and untouchable. But I've felt what's under there. I've seen the look he gives me when he forgets to be careful, when those blue eyes flick down and come back up darker.
There's heat under that stillness. A furnace banked low. I've felt it burn. Can you blame me for wanting to feel it again?
But despite it all, Nikolai held out. Then last night happened. Another strategic attempt at temptation. I was tired of being alone and bored as hell. Enough was enough. A girl's got to work for what she wants, and is it so damn awful to want in with her husband?
I decided to walk to the kitchen for tea, right around the time I knew he went for his ritual protein shake. Only I changed from my usual pajamas into my baby blue nightgown, the one with the lace hem barely covering my ass and zero back coverage.
I turned the corner and ran straight into him.
Solid chest.
Bare skin.
A breath caught in my throat like a fire alarm.
He grabbed my arms. Steadied me. Didn't let go. His eyes dropped. Took me in. Slowly. And then he exhaled, like I was a problem he didn't want to solve.
"Do you sleepwalk?" he asked, voice rough.
"What? No!"
"Then you shouldn't be walking around the house like this."
"Why?" I smiled sweetly. "Is it distracting?"
He looked at me then. Full-on. Like he wanted to drag me into the shadows and ruin me all over again. Like he remembered everything.
His fingers twitched. Then he let go.
"Staff and guards could be around. Goodnight, Elle."
"Didn't know you cared," I whispered.
He stopped. Just long enough for me to see that look on his face, like he'd been struck with an open palm. "Of course I care," he said. Then went back to acting like I didn't exist.
What the hell was I supposed to make of that?
Only now I realize he did more than think about it. He moved me into his bedroom.
"Eeeepppp!" I squeal, jumping out of bed and scooping up Sir Isaac. "Sorry, baby." I kiss his silky head. "I wish I could take you, but we've all got to compromise."
I grab a quick shower, give myself a pep talk in the steamy mirror. "Don't overthink this. It's a good sign. At least he's not sending you to the attic."
